#the bean has spoken

[hoppinkiss]

ive changed my mind about starburst jellybeans I think to please me everyone should leave an offering of strawberry starburst jellybeans

[theconstantnightmares]

Writing Maxwell and Wilson like an old married couple with all their bickering is my life blood and I’ll never stop

[lovelylovelyartist]

Henry Cavill got fired fire being a gross misogynistic creep who would spew nothing but 4chan conspiracy theories. He’s a fan of the GAMES not the books. He never read the books beforehand and it got in the way of production. He would disrespect the female director. Ignore her and try to sexually come on to female staff. Stop bootlicking and reading clickbait articles. He’s fucking gross and you’re adding to the lie.

Hi, I appreciate the info, but also I'd love to know why you felt the need to be a rude asshole to me about it instead of talking to me like an actual human. At least have the decency to not be a coward and be off Anon, lmao

[iamtheshriekingguineapig]

"You aren't allergic to nuts, you're eating peanut butter right now-"

PEANUTS👏 AREN'T👏 NUTS👏 THEY👏 ARE👏 LEGUMES👏

[bookishjules]

percy making sure to grab the blue jelly beans even as they rushed to leave the cabin in montauk, and then having them become maybe the only thing he has left to remember his mom while at chb.. and you know he's not going to eat them. he's going to guard them like he did the minotaur horn. he's going to set them on his shelf in the poseidon cabin while he thinks about going after her. a simple handful of jelly beans, but they mean so much more.

and whether the middle finger feature was purposeful or not (probably not but i wouldn't put it past walker).. i can't help thinking about the pipeline of sally using blue food as a middle finger to gabe and a way to rebel.. to percy using this specific blue food as a middle finger to the gods and a symbol of rebellion against the real purpose of the quest. "what matters most in the end" isn't the parent whose ass needs covered by the child he's never spoken to

[aealzx]

The living room was fairly easy to locate, especially since Leon could hear his brothers’ hushed voices along the jangle of a small bell. The back of Raph’s head above the couch was the first part of his brothers that Leon saw, then he quickly caught sight of Lil Mikey swishing a feathered toy through the air between them. Leon was a little surprised to then see a mostly white cat scramble across the floor before leaping after the toy, reaching Lil Mikey’s shoulders easily and earning a series of muffled cheers and coos from the two boys.

“Hey Mikey- woh-,” Leon started as he reached the edge of the couch, breaking off when he noticed there was another figure with them, and said body was fast asleep on the couch next to Raph. “...How is he sleeping through this?” Leon asked, squinting in confusion down as Mikey just snored softly, seemingly oblivious to the playing around him.

“I dunno, but Raphael said we shouldn’t have to worry about waking him,” Raph responded before getting immediately distracted by Lil Mikey leading Pepperjack to jump onto Raph’s lap. Both of his legs were propped up on a square cushioned stool, so it was easy for the cat to perch on his thighs and swat at the feather Lil Mikey was swinging. Leon was pretty sure Raph would start crying with the way his eyes were shining over having the cat perched on him so readily.

“Are you here to play with Pepperjack too? Isn’t she cute? It’s the best name, isn’t it?” Lil Mikey asked in rapid succession, the arm that wasn’t caught in a sling swirling random patterns with the stick.

“Well I am curious why she’s named that, but I’m actually here for you,” Leon admitted with a chuckle, pleased to see Raph and Lil Mikey both doing a lot better than when he’d first found this lair. And Raph was even getting ridiculously spoiled with someone carrying him around and a pet not being afraid of him.

“Me? What’s up?” Lil Mikey asked, pausing in play for only a moment before realizing it probably wasn’t urgent and therefore he didn’t have to stop immediately. Leon was being rather relaxed, so it was probably just a casual request.

“Yeah, Donnie is awake, but he’s in his ‘I hate food’ phase,” Leon explained, wiggling his fingers in quotes and imitating his brother despite not having heard Donnie say that before. “But he also has to eat something considering it’s been like fourteen hours since he fell asleep and he has blood loss to deal with,” Leon rambled, rolling his eyes slightly as flopped his raised hands out into a shrug. “The stew from last night makes him wanna puke. Can you figure something out for him? Preferably with a lot of iron?”

“O’oh… Yeah, let me see what I can do… Or what I can boss you around to do,” Lil Mikey stammered slightly, wiggling the fingers of his injured arm with a mild gesture to it. He wasn’t going to be cooking on his own anytime soon, and he could understand Donnie being in one of his selective moods. He could still remember the rage that had saturated Donnie’s ninpo as he’d mutilated Augustine’s machines. Even under the protective barrier he'd created, the energy had prickled Lil Mikey’s skin. And the way Donnie had spoken to them made it obvious to Lil Mikey that he had been borderline to breaking down screaming. Honestly Lil Mikey was surprised Donnie was even talking at the moment. “What’s got iron in it?” he asked, pushing the memories from his mind for now and passing the feathered toy to Raph before following Leon on the way back to the kitchen.

“Beef. Red meat, spinach…. Uhhhh, “ Leon was quick to answer at first, but then trailed off before fishing his phone out to search the internet for a reminder. “Eggs, shrimp, sweet potatoes, strawberries, beans….”

“Hmmm… that should be easy enough then- Hey Don,” Lil Mikey hummed, thinking over the options pretty quickly, then greeting Don when he saw him at the table.

“Hey Mikey,” Don returned with a slightly sleepy hum around the mug held close to his mouth. Just sitting there smelling the rich scent of coffee was so relaxing. “How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?”

“I’m good! My arm isn’t numb anymore, but it also doesn’t hurt,” Lil Mikey chimed, swinging his arm slightly then wincing as the movement earned a twinge of pain in his upper arm. “Unless I move it too much, heheh,” he corrected sheepishly.

Don could only smile thankfully at the response, knowing that Lil Mikey would still be sore if he moved too much and just glad his arm didn’t hurt when it was still. He also knew he couldn’t expect a teenager to keep an injured limb still for long. “Let me know if anything feels unusual,” Don prompted automatically, then glanced at Leon in a sheepish flinch before apologetically adding. “Sorry, habit. You can still go to your brother if you’re more comfortable that way,” he assured, not wanting Leon to feel inferior or replaced in any way, and addressing him next. “Let me know if you can’t find anything you need in the infirmary.”

“...Sure,” Leon responded simply before focusing more on Lil Mikey.

It was a bit of a surprising response, but after a bit of consideration Don realized it was probably just because Leon was concerned about something. Either that or he wasn’t in need of help that only they could offer so was back to being wary of them. Or perhaps it was something else? Don ended up lost in thought about the sudden shift in behavior as Leon opened the fridge again to follow Lil Mikey’s directions. 

“I think he might eat some steak if we cut it thin enough and keep it plain. Looks like they have spinach too, so we can just make sure that’s washed well,” Lil Mikey mused, looking over what ingredients they had in the fridge and latching onto some of the foods Leon had listed.

“Really? Just bland boring steak and raw veggies?” Leon voiced his doubt despite still grabbing the containers Lil Mikey selected.

“Yeah. It’s still hard to predict what won’t bother him. Usually I just default to his flavorless juice, but since he needs more than that I think keeping it simple and something that’s completely within what he would expect would work,” Lil Mikey hummed, doing his best to help with one hand and snatching the bag of carrots before Leon closed the door.

“What if that doesn’t work?” Leon asked, following Lil Mikey’s direction to snap open the package of beef and start cutting it up. He’d never had to help with this issue before, so hadn’t really paid attention. Lil Mikey cooked for them a lot, but other than that they usually tended to feed themselves. And the last time Lil Mikey had been unable to cook for them both Leon and Donnie had been unable to help either.

“Lock him in the kitchen and he’ll eventually piece on enough things to feed himself,” Lil Mikey responded bluntly, earning a snort from Don that caused Leon to glance over at him after giving his own snort.

“Well that explains a lot,” Leon snickered, letting Lil Mikey locate the frying pan and click on the stove.

It was a simple enough meal that it didn’t take long at all to cook, even with Lil Mikey having only one hand available. Watching the two interact and make easy comments to each other earned a fond gaze from Don as it reminded him of several moments he’d had with his own brothers.

“Are you sure that’s cooked enough?” Leon ended up asking when Lil Mikey told him to take the beef strips off the frying pan.

“We’re making steak, not shoe leather,” Lil Mikey shot back, swatting Leon’s hand away and grabbing the tongs to pull the beef off himself. It really was a very plain meal, but Don wasn’t about to comment on it. They knew their brother way better than he did, so he’d just have to trust them to get Donnie fed.

___

After each taking a turn in the small bathroom, April and Donnie had shuffled back to the bed they had woken up on. Donnie’s wary eyes were constantly flicking around the unfamiliar room, and when he had even the slightest suspicion something might touch him he was all for flinching away from it. Especially anything that hinted it might touch his exposed back. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable there, but it wasn’t like he could leave and go somewhere to decompress. Which meant he had both hands gripping April’s hand like a lifeline, his form keeping close to her as she tried to match his pace back to the only established safe spot. Sleeping on a bed for fourteen hours was enough to have it categorized as probably safe in his mind. Safe enough that he was quick to scuttle back onto it and shuffle the blanket up around his shoulders to give some sort of cover to his back. And only after a moment of April sitting on the bed in front of him did he register that she was unnecessarily exposed as well. Which prompted him to wordlessly extend one arm, offering her the option to share the minuscule ward that was the blanket.

April could only snicker slightly at the offer, but nevertheless scooted over to tuck in next to Donnie again. She’d honestly thought Donnie would have been ecstatic about being in another dimension. But something was obviously wrong, and he obviously didn’t want to talk about it. April didn’t know what exactly had happened, but the minimal information she had gathered from both Raphael and her own observations made it easy for her to jump to undesired conclusions. There was always a fear of what would happen if certain people got a hold of her brothers. And with Raphael saying they had a run in with a scientist, and Donnie was suffering from blood loss yet had no visibly major wounds, April was fairly confident in her thoughts. As much as she hated to think them.

Feeling a little sullen now, April wrapped her arms around Donnie’s upper arm while she leaned against him. They were quiet as they waited for Leon to return, listening to the quiet hum of the infirmary machines. She could be patient. Her brothers were all together in the same home now. There was nothing immediate to worry about.

Apparently Donnie wasn’t as patient though, for after at most ten minutes he shifted uncomfortably. “...Raph is in the living room,” he announced quietly, somewhat abruptly and without explanation for why it was important.

It caught April off guard for only half a second, but she was somewhat used to this kind of behavior from Donnie and hesitantly proposed an action in response to the comment. “Wanna go join him so he isn’t alone?” Donnie hadn’t mentioned anyone else with Raph, so she could only assume Raph was alone, and that might be bothering Donnie at the moment.

It seemed her assumption was correct enough, for Donnie nodded once and gave her a moment to respond, or at least register the response from him, before he started squirming off the bed again.

Snickering slightly once more, April complied and scooted off the bed as well. Donnie insisted on clinging to her and keeping the blanket over them both though, so they ended up shuffling out of the room in an awkward waddle.

The new lair was unexpectedly quiet as they made their way down the walkways, half remotely directed somewhat by Leon, and half just able to see the living room and Raph once they reached the railing. Donnie wordlessly nudged them along, falling a little more quiet as the room they were in was now more open and had more potential for other people to be there. He seemed determined to join Raph though, almost single mindedly pattering towards his big brother. The closer he got the more a small strain of comfort threaded into his tense form.

Until someone new abruptly threw their arm around his shoulders.

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Well that took freaking forever |D Major holidays are a pain =<= But I guess cutting off all caffeine to try and fix insomnia issues, and then stopping a mood med because I found out it reacts with the stomach meds probably didn't help either.

Anyway X'D I'm really glad you guys like Pepperjack and Onion Ring. It took me like 5 days to think of their names X'D Hopefully Pepper looks okay, drawing animals is always an effort for me, I'm so inexperienced |'D

I can't remember anything else I may have wanted to ramble, so enjoy =3=

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 1

Notes: This is set after the canon events of ACOSF when Nesta and Cassian go to the Prison. Instead of opening the wards to the cells, she ends up in Lunathion. Bryce doesn't exist in this universe and no magic language beans are required.

Nesta could not do more than twitch her fingertips as an invisible, oppressive weight bore into her, like it’d flatten her into dust upon the starry ground of the strange chamber in the Prison.

Let go, she silently bade the Harp, gritting her teeth, fingers brushing over the nearest string. Free me, you blasted thing.

A beautiful, haughty voice answered, full of music so lovely it broke her heart to hear it. I do not appreciate your tone.

With that the Harp pushed into her harder, and Nesta roared silently. Her nail scraped over the string again. Let me go!

Gone was Cassian’s voice. He was kept out by the wards, witnessing it all.

Shall I open a door for you, then?

Yes! Damn you, yes!

It has been a long while, sister, since I played. I shall need time to remember the right combinations…

Don’t play games. Nesta chilled at the word it had used. Sister. Like she and this thing were one and the same.

The small strings are for games—light movement and leaping—but the longer, the final ones … Such deep wonders and horrors we could strum into being. Such great and monstrous magic I wrought with my last minstrel. Shall I show you?

No. Just let me out.

As you wish. Pluck the first string, then.

Nesta didn’t hesitate as her fingertip curled over the first string, grasping and then releasing it. A musical laugh filled her mind, but the weight lifted. Vanished.

And then everything swirled around her like she was being sucked down a plughole into a vast emptiness. The stars on the floor span, turning white with their speed.

Nesta clung to the Harp as wind whipped her face. She was falling – but into what, she didn’t know. It reminded her of the Cauldon, that endless dark, the never-ending cold. Nesta drifted through space and time until she plummeted downwards.

Her body hit stone, taking the wind out of her.

Nesta blinked, trying to right herself. The lights around her were blurred but there was noise – chatter and distant music.

A bright light came towards her. A long, blaring sound pierced her ears. There was a screech and the light stopped feet from her body curled on the stone.

‘What the fuck,’ came a female voice.

Something slammed and footsteps sounded. ‘Are you alright? I nearly hit you. You landed in the middle of the road.’

‘Move back. Official 33rd business,’ a male voice said.  

Nesta was shaking. The bright lights were still in her eyes. Her hip and leg throbbed from the landing.

‘She’s armed, Hunt,’ somebody said.

The male who’d spoken gave a wearied sigh. ‘Ten minutes left of our shift and a fae has to leap in front of a car.’ He stepped closer to her. ‘Hands up. Don’t reach for the sword.’

Something silver and metallic was pointed at her by his hands. The male was fae. Or, looked it. He had wings similar to the Peregryn that she’d met in the Dawn Court with beautiful, grey feathers. Across his brow was a tattoo. Sable hair hung to his shoulders. The other male was slightly shorter with white feathers and fair hair.

Neither was dressed like anybody she’d seen before. Their clothes reminded her slightly of Illyrian leathers but the materials were different.

Nesta looked around, now that her eyes had adjusted to the light. Nobody was dressed in familiar clothing. People had small rectangles in their hands bearing lights and sounds. The fair haired male tutted and started moving them off, saying she was not a spectacle.

‘I’m going to need you to slide that sword over to me in its sheath. Do you understand?’

Where was she? This wasn’t Prythian.

Where are we?

The Harp refused to respond to her, going mute in this strange, new world.

‘Hey,’ the male with grey wings said, not unkindly. ‘Slide it over now.’

Slowly, Nesta reached for Ataraxia and pushed it across the smooth stone towards him. He kept his metal object pointed at her as he bent down and slung her sword over a shoulder.

‘Now your instrument.’

The other male had returned and collected that. He turned it from side to side, examining it. The first handed the sword to him. ‘Fly those to Vik. Get her to run her tests on them. I’ll bring her in.’

***

Ten minutes. That was all they had left after seven days straight. Hunt was looking forward to a glorious day off but Logan had said they should walk back to the 33rd rather than fly. If they flew, they still likely would have seen a female fall from the sky, but they could have pretended it didn’t happen and finished their shift on time. Now, it meant hours of questioning plus paperwork for what he guessed was an undocumented fae who’d rocked up in Lunathion.

The female in question seemed compliant thus far. Hunt hadn’t cuffed her. She was a skinny thing that couldn’t overpower him. From the spike of her ears, she was fae, not human. After basic questioning, they’d likely call in the captain of the aux from the fae side – and Hunt planned to be in his bed by then. Technically, this female had done nothing wrong except fall from the sky with a sword and nearly be hit by a car. It was strange enough though that Micah would demand their heads if they hadn’t brought her in. He was off in the north, summoned by the Asteri. Peace for once.

‘Where are you taking me?’

He kept his hand clasped around her upper arm as they walked. ‘To the 33rd.’

She frowned. ‘The 33rd what?’

Hunt glanced at her. ‘Legion.’

How had she never heard of the 33rd? Who the hell was this?

‘Are you fae?’

She must have hit her head hard. Hunt ushered her along, surveying her for obvious injuries as they went. ‘No. Malakim. Definitely not fae.’

Her silver eyes stared at him then at the ground, processing something. A med-witch would need to see her to remove her concussion.

Hunt led her to one of their interrogation rooms. The white walls looked yellow beneath the lights and she shielded her eyes from it. It was protocol to at least chain her to the table to prevent her from running, but from the bewildered expression on her face, Hunt couldn’t do it.

‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Coffee?’

‘I’ll get you a coffee,’ he said, offering a tight smile as he backed out of the room.

He met Isaiah in the corridor.

‘Viktoria’s already working on the items. Both are definitely imbued with magic,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Logan’s filled me in. Fell from the sky?’

‘Yup. Literally.’ Hunt pressed the coffee cup into his hand. ‘I don’t think she knows what coffee is so good luck.’

Isaiah gave a short laugh. ‘Do you think she’s one of the Avallen Fae?’

‘I have no fucking clue where she is from. Another planet by the looks of things.’  

Naomi was waiting behind the interrogation room, computer at the ready. Hunt waited behind the screen of glass too as Isaiah introduced himself and put the cup of coffee in front of her. From the thin frame, Hunt should have grabbed her a snack too. She wore leathers like she was about to do battle. The sword would explain that too – but not the instrument. It seemed to be a common theme that swords were toted by pricks in Lunathion, however this female seemed not too bad so far.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nesta.’

‘A last name?’

‘Archeron.’

Naomi’s fingers flew over the keyboard. ‘Not a single Archeron in history. Or a Nesta.’

‘I don’t think she’s lying,’ Hunt murmured. It would be a strange name to make up. Better if she gave a common one.

Isaiah spoke gently. ‘What house are you aligned with, Nesta?’

Nesta blinked a few times then, ‘Uh. The House of Wind.’

There was another click of keys beside him then Naomi drew a blank again.

‘What can your magic do?’

‘I don’t have magic.’

‘Why do you have a magical Harp?’

‘I’m a bard.’

The delivery was so flat from Nesta that Hunt couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

Isaiah’s wings flexed at the table. ‘Will you play for me?’

Nesta inspected her nails. ‘I don’t play for free.’

‘What’s the sword for?’

‘When people don’t pay me,’ she quipped.

This female had woken up and found her dry sense of humour then. Hunt examined her through the glass. She didn’t look like the fae of Lunathion. The majority had the same colouring as the king – red hair, tanned skin. Others were brown-haired. The prince was a rarity with black hair, but not unheard of. It tended to be the Avallen fae who were blonde. She certainly fitted the description for now with a limited knowledge of technology; she’d stared at everybody’s cell-phones with utmost confusion. But even Avallen fae knew how to use technology when they left their misty isles.

‘Which king did you pledge allegiance to?’

At that, Nesta gave a harsh laugh. ‘None of them and I never will.’

‘Who is the king of Avallen?’

‘Fionn,’ she said, brandishing her hands in the air with disinterest.

‘Danaan is here,’ a voice said over the intercom. ‘Sending him down.’

Ruhn Danaan was captain of the fae auxiliary unit and exemplified what it meant to be a fae prick. One day, he’d also be their king. And Hunt could not stand him.

He swaggered in, tongue flicking against his lip-ring. ‘This better be good, Athalar.’

Hunt gestured to Nesta Archeron currently stonewalling Isaiah as he attempted to interrogate her on her origins.

‘Don’t know her,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Wish I did.’

‘Is she one of the Avallen fae?’

‘No idea,’ replied Ruhn in a blasé tone. Hunt could stink alcohol on him. Likely the prince had been with his little pals doing what they did best and partying until dawn.

Sensing his frustrations, Naomi stepped in. ‘She fell from the sky. There’s no record of her family name in the history of Midgard. Nesta isn’t aligned to any house, seemingly has no knowledge of Lunathion. She cannot name either fae king – but did mention Fionn. She came with a sword imbued with magic – and a Harp.’

Ruhn finally took notice. He leaned closer to the glass, nose almost touching it. ‘Her eyes are silver.’

‘A fascinating conclusion, Danaan.’

‘Let me talk to her.’  

It was Isaiah’s call so he allowed the prince into the interrogation room, claiming that not only was he fae royalty which gave Ruhn a pass to do what he liked in the city, but also a member of the aux. When he entered, Nesta knew him. Her eyes went wide then she stared down at her lap, murmuring something to herself.

‘Hi,’ said Ruhn who turned the chair around and leant his chest against the back. ‘Your coffee’s going cold.’

Nesta raised the cup to her mouth to take a sip then promptly spat it back out. ‘That’s vile.’

‘Need sugar?’

She folded her arms across her body. Anybody else would have called for their lawyer now or asked what they were being charged with. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Nesta seemed more interested in the security camera and even the lights above her head.

‘Are you high fae?’ she asked Ruhn.

‘I’m fae,’ he said. ‘Vanir. What other Vanir do you know?’

Nesta swallowed. Eventually, she suggested, ‘Illyrians?’

Ruhn gave an encouraging nod and lied that he knew them. Beside Hunt, Naomi was doing her best to search for the term.

‘Who else?’

‘Peregryns.’

‘Yeah. Peregryns.’ Ruhn gave another nod. ‘Those big birds that brought you to the 33rd. What are they?’

‘Malakim.’

Which she only knew because Hunt had told her.

‘What’s Sabine?’

‘I don’t know her,’ she replied.

Well, shit. She definitely was not from Lunathion because everybody knew Sabine, unfortunately. Naomi’s laptop made a pinging sound. ‘Toxicology report. Nothing in her system. Not even a drop of alcohol. Definitely no drugs.’

On arrival, the on-duty med-witch had given her a once over but had not found any major injuries beyond a few bruises from her heavy landing.

Isaiah drummed his fingers on his watch face. ‘We can’t hold her for anything. By rights, we’ve held her longer than necessary with nothing to charge her for.’

‘She’s clearly not from here.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I’m reluctant to call Micah back until we have full specs on the items that she brought with her.’

‘We can keep those for a week,’ said Naomi.

Ruhn emerged from the room, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his long, black hair. ‘She’s fae. Definitely. No idea where she’s from though.’ Ruhn pulled out his cell.

‘Calling daddy?’

He threw Hunt a grin. ‘Not a chance. I’ll keep her at mine.’

‘No,’ said Hunt with a snort. ‘Do you think we’ll hand over a disorientated female to you and your little pals?’

‘Careful with what you’re insinuating, angel.’

Isaiah cleared his throat. ‘Until we know more, Nesta Archeron is a free citizen of Lunathion, not under anyone’s jurisdiction.’

‘She’s fae,’ Ruhn insisted. ‘She answers to my father.’

‘You didn’t hear her, Danaan,’ Hunt said, fighting the grin from his face. ‘She’s pledged allegiance to no king and never will.’

‘Hunt, discharge her. Ruhn, I wonder if you could take a look at the sword,’ asked Isaiah, guiding the prince out of the room.

Hunt cared little for the fae but he wasn’t going to send a lone female who had no clue where she was to the Ruhn Danaan home for parties and orgies. He took up Ruhn’s vacated seat, also sitting backwards on it at the table. Nesta watched him closely.

‘How do you know Ruhn?’

‘I don’t,’ she replied, voice clipped.

‘You looked like you did.’

Nesta furrowed her brow. ‘I thought he was somebody else.’

Hunt nodded his head towards the cup. ‘You didn’t like my coffee?’

‘It was foul.’

‘Oof. No offence taken.’ He began writing out her discharge forms, explaining them to her as he wrote. It would go under a section two; the 33rd reserved the right to question any citizen at any time without reason or without consequence. Anybody from Lunathion would have kicked up a fuss over how long they’d been held for. This one had no cell, no purse, no identification, literally nothing on her person so she likely didn’t know her rights. ‘You can collect your items in a week.’

That was if they found nothing they could charge her for.

‘A week? I need the Harp.’

‘Playing in a tavern?’

Hunt glanced up at her then jerked back. Her eyes were swirling. They looked as if silver flames were trapped within, writhing to get to the surface.  

‘You’re free to go, Nesta. I’ll see you out.’

The walk out of the Comitium was just as interesting. The most inane technology snagged her attention. At the coffee machine, she came to a halt to stare at it in wonder then in the waiting room, her eyes catalogued the television screens, jaw hanging open.

‘Don’t worry. You won’t miss Fangs and Bangs.’

Nesta opened her mouth to say something then the phone rang in the office. That also hooked her attention. She was child-like in her wonder as a malakh answered the phone.

‘That device allows you to communicate?’

Hunt touched two fingers to her forehead. The temperature seemed fine. ‘Try and see a med-witch. Have them check you over for concussion.’

He held the door open for her as she stumbled off into the blackness, just as perplexed as she’d been when they’d found her in the road.

Nesta wasn’t Hunt’s duty. His shift should have ended two hours ago. He was a slave, but a slave who could be off-duty – especially when Micah was out of town. Yet, he couldn’t stop the sense of dread from clawing in his chest as he watched Nesta amble aimlessly into the night.

This female would cause him a headache.

 ***

Seven days.

Nesta needed to survive seven days with only the clothes on her back in this strange city. There were worse places that she could have arrived to. The dungeon had not truly been a dungeon. It lacked the prowling beasts of the Hewn City. The only issue had been how bright the lights were. They hadn’t been the faelights that Rhysand conjured.

There were more lights hanging from towering metal poles on the smooth roads. There were still many out in the darkness but not all of them were fae. Some were like animals with cloven hooves instead of feet or caprine horns that jutted out from their hair.

Nesta didn’t know what to make of it.

She’d left Cassian calling her name in the Prison. Now she was in Lunathion. Wherever that was.

The city was so noisy.

Nesta needed space to think and to breathe so she fought her way out of the densest areas of the city towards a massive river. The sounds of it calmed her. She crossed over it, into the darker area where it felt more peaceful. Nesta sucked in breaths, thinking of Gwyn and her teachings to focus on the inhales and exhales and nothing else. That was easier said than done in a foreign land with no allies, no weapons, and no way back to Velaris.

Something was moving across the bridge towards her.

It made her skin prickle.

It wasn’t walking. It was gliding.

Her hand reached over her shoulder for the pommel of her sword and remembered it had been taken.

The creature made a low, gurling sound from the back of its throat then reached out a grey hand stripped of flesh in places.

Nesta backed up a step, but more were behind her, moving in that same eerie way without a sound.

The air went static.

A bolt of lightning hit the ground which forced one of the creatures to retreat.

The male who’d chaperoned her to the Comitium landed between her and the bulk of the creatures. Lightning wreathed his hands. His hair rose from the static.

‘You will not feast this night.’

Hunt jerked his chin at her, summoning Nesta to him. An arm clamped around her shoulders then he pushed off from the floor. As they lifted off, his other arm swooped beneath the back of her knees.

The motion was surprisingly fluid. Nesta did what she always did if Cassian flew her and put her arms around his neck for support.

‘What were they?’

‘Reapers,’ he replied. ‘I’m guessing you don’t have them where you come from.’

‘We have creatures just as foul.’

‘Yeah. Well, maybe don’t go for a midnight meeting with the Under-king if you want to see the dawn, Nesta.’ Hunt flew them a short distance then landed back amongst the lights on poles. He kept one hand clasped around her wrist like she might run while pulling one of the metal rectangles from his pocket. It displayed numbers that he tapped. His thumb moved down the screen, the words it showed flew by too quick for Nesta to read. ‘It’s Athalar. As you said, she’s one of your kind. She needs to be put up in a hotel.’ A pause. ‘Near the Dead Gate. I’ve flown her near Jesiba Roga’s house of horrors, but she’ll end up wandering through the meat market if I leave her.’ Hunt gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Either a hotel or the barracks with me, but not a chance I’m leaving her in your custody.’

Hunt slid the device into his back pocket. ‘The prince of pricks is booking you a hotel for the night. You hungry?’

The malakh lifted her into the air again to cross the city. They returned to the huge building where he had first taken her but did not stay long. Nesta was told to wait in the corridor outside a room while Hunt retrieved a bag of items. They stopped off at a restaurant along the way while he waited for news from the prince of pricks, whoever that was.

‘Noodles,’ he said, gesturing to the flimsy packaging.

Nesta stared down at them. They reminded her of yellow strings but there were chunks of meat and vegetables amongst them and a sweet-smelling sauce that made her ravenous. Hunt paid for it all, including the drink that was filled with bubbles.

‘Not a fan of coffee, but you like soda,’ he said between mouthfuls.

‘It is so sweet.’

‘Yeah because it’s all sugar.’

Nesta slurped it down, not caring if the ice hurt her teeth.

Hunt pulled the device – a cell phone – from his pocket. ‘Danaan came through. Let’s go.’

The lodgings were nice. One of those moving portrait boxes was hung on the wall and Hunt pressed a button on another rectangle to make it work. He pressed a few more buttons, the portraits changing rapidly.

‘Here we go. Fangs and Bangs, as promised.’

There was a half-naked female on the screen lounging on a long chair near a body of water. A male, equally as bare and bronze, was discussing their relationship beside her.

‘What do all of those buttons do?’

Hunt shrugged one shoulder. ‘Nobody knows. That’s volume. Channel up and down. On and off.’

‘It controls it?’

‘Yes. A remote. Where the hell did you come from Nesta?’

Nesta said nothing. She couldn’t bear to think of the people she had left behind. There was no guarantee that the Harp would be returned to her or it would even let her pluck a string to return to Velaris.

‘Bathroom’s through there. This is a key card. You press it to that black panel on the door handle to get in but try not to leave tonight, alright. I don’t want to retrieve your body from the Istros in the morning.’ Hunt blew out a breath. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be by in the morning.’

Despite the day she had endured, the sight of the bed with tightly-pulled white sheets was calling to her. As soon as she hit that pillow, Nesta would be out.

Hunt rummaged in the bag that he’d collected from the Comitium. There were soft, grey pants and a white top. ‘For you to sleep in. There are slits on the back for my wings, but it will be comfier than those,’ he said, pointing to her leathers. ‘I don’t know how you breathe in that.’

‘Thank you, Hunt,’ replied Nesta, clutching the clothes to her body.

‘Tomorrow, we will talk. Off the record. About you.’ He swept his hair from his face. ‘I want to help but I can’t if you’re not honest with me. Sleep well.’   

[engie-ivy]

(I wrote a 'day-after-Sirius'-birthday' fic! Totally not just me being late for Sirius' birthday. Nope, not at all. This was planned. With a very Fluffy ending, because Sirius deserves happiness for his day-after-his-birthday!)

@wolfstarmicrofic 3rd: gather

862 words

Remus is doing his semester abroad, and Sirius goes to surprise him with a visit and a confession.

At Your Doorstep

Sirius tries to gather his courage. Not for the first time, he curses James Potter's name, while simultaneously thanking his lucky stars to have someone like James Potter in his life.

Yesterday was Sirius' birthday.

His birthday plans consisted of sitting at home playing sad songs on his guitar while wallowing in self-pity. James came to visit anyway. Sirius wouldn't have blamed him if he hadn't, as Sirius hasn't exactly been fun to be around lately.

Remus left two months ago to do his semester abroad. Of course, Sirius knew he was going to miss him, but god, he hadn't expected it to be this bad! He's been a shell of his normal self, acting cranky, short-tempered and withdrawn.

James did, however, manage to pique his interest with his birthday gift: plane tickets to go see Remus.

When Sirius immediately wanted to grab the tickets, James had quickly pulled them out of reach. "Uh-uh, if you want them, you must first accept the terms and conditions."

"And what are those?"

"You can only go if you promise that when you're there, you're going to tell Remus how you feel."

The prospect of seeing Remus again was too much for Sirius to resist, so he had accepted James' terms. He had promised, solemnly sworn even, something they do not take lightly, to confess his feelings for Remus.

Sirius got on a plane yesterday, flew all night, took a cab giving the driver Remus' address, and now here he is, standing on the doorstep of some student housing appartement getting ready to put it all out there for the person he can't deny anymore he's terribly in love with.

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

The door is thrown open and a lanky guy with bouncing red curls appears.

Sirius realizes this must be Fabian, Remus' roommate. Despite never having spoken with Fabian, or even having seen Fabian before, Sirius does not like Fabian. Remus talks about his new roommate just a tad too much for Sirius’ liking. 'I was having dinner with Fabian yesterday… Fabian took me to this coffeeshop the other day… Fabian and I are going to watch this movie…'

Fabian looks Sirius up and down, and then a flirtatious smile appears on his face as he leans against the doorpost. "Why, hi there. How may I help you this evening?"

"I… uhm, I'm looking for Remus?"

"Oh." Fabian visibly deflates and he straightens. "I'm sorry, Remus is unavailable today, I'm afraid."

"Unavailable?" Sirius repeats.

"Yes, he made it clear he is not to be disturbed from his utmost important task of feeling sorry for himself," Fabian says. "Apparently, his guy back home had his birthday yesterday, and when Remus didn't hear from him, he spent the day convincing himself that his crush has forgotten all about him and must have been out partying with other boys all night." Fabian rolls his eyes. "I've tried to get him out of his room, but he has opted to wallow in his misery about his unrequited crush instead."

"His…crush?" Sirius manages to say, his brain still trying to catch up.

Fabian squints his eyes and looks at him more closely. "Wait… 'tall and broad-shouldered', 'Hair the colour of the night sky falling in soft waves over his shoulders', 'bright eyes with an ever-present sparkle'..." He gasps and clasps his hand over his mouth. "Oh my god, it's you! You're Sirius Black!"

Sirius nods dumbly.

"Oh, no, no, no." Fabian hides his face in his hands and groans. Then he looks at Sirius again, pleadingly. "Please, please tell me you're here to confess your undying love for Remus, so that he isn't gonna murder me for spilling the beans?"

"Uhm, yes?"

Fabian's mood changes instantly, and a relieved grin spreads over his face. "Excellent!" He exclaims, and before Sirius can say another word he turns around and shouts "Remus! There's someone here to see you!"

Sirius hears a door open and close, some shuffling, and a moment later, Remus appears in the hallway. He's wearing pyjama pants that are too big and his most worn-out jumper with both old and new food stains, he has chocolate smears around his mouth and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

He looks perfect.

"Fab, I told you, I don't want to see anyone today. I'm-" His eyes fall upon Sirius and he immediately goes quiet, his mouth falling open.

Sirius has spent his whole flight thinking about what to say, rehearsing the words in his head, but now that Remus is looking at him, and he's looking at Remus, he's overcome with just how much he missed him. Words suddenly don't seem necessary. He rushes towards Remus, and Remus snaps out of his daze just in time to take a step towards him, before Sirius gathers him in his arms.

"What are you… How are you… Is this real?" Remus stammers, clinging to Sirius' shoulders.

"I missed you," Sirius whispers into Remus' hair. "I missed you so much. I just had to see you."

Remus lifts his head and searches Sirius' eyes, and what he finds there is really all he needs to know.

[charliemwrites]

how would the keepers react to their pets saying things like "you dont actually love me" (all the things you shouldnt say to an obsessive kidnapper basically) to them?

Hey, bean! I’m just gonna go with that specific line of “you don’t actually love me, you just think you do” since I wrote a bunch of those prompts lol. If people want me to do their reactions with other lines I can do that though!

Feral says it in when Simon first calls her “love” in a fit of frustration and anger. She’s not sure if she’s on the verge of a panic attack or genuinely trying to murder him. And he’s giving her that Look again, like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. It’s almost enough to make her believe he means it. But she knows better, she’s seen dateline - he only thinks he’s does because he’s built an idea of her in his mind.

“No, love,” he soothes, chuckling. “I love you. Everything about you. You think I didn’t do my research? I know you better than you think I do, I promise. But it’s okay, little one, I’ll show you eventually.”

He ducks out of the way as she throws something at him. She hates that his soft eyes only support his ridiculous claim.

—

Shy Thing is trying to reason with him. Trying really hard to just… logic her way out of this. If she just makes him see good sense, surely he’ll let her go right?

“Johnny… you don’t actually love me, you just think you do.”

He chuckles, drops a kiss on her head. “‘Course I do, doll.”

“No…” she sighs, “you can’t.”

He tilts his head, an indulgent little smile on his face. Like she’s being cute and silly and entertaining. “Oh, and why not?”

She huffs. Not for the first time, it feels like talking to a brick wall. “You don’t… you don’t know me. We’d hardly spoken before you - before I came here. How could possibly love me? It doesn’t make any sense, John.”

He shakes his head. “Love doesn’t always make sense, baby. ‘S not supposed to. It just is.”

She can sense she’s starting to tread close to wear his patience starts to wear. Sighing, she drops it and tries not to blush too hard when he cuddles her in closer.

—

“Is that so?”

John’s arms are crossed, eyebrows arched. He’s leaning back against the kitchen counter, looking just… unimpressed. He always does when she tries to keep her cool, tries to just… talk to him.

“Of course it is John,” she sighs, frustrated. “Just because you watched me for months doesn’t mean you love me or actually know me.”

He scratches at the corner of his jaw with him thumb, seems to ponder that.

“Alright, then,” he says. “What does, huh?”

She frowns. “…what?”

“Well the way I see it, I did the falling in love part right. I got to know you in public, in private, talking to all sorts of people. I know what you watch when you’re sad, I know what upsets your tummy, how you like your steak and that you don’t care for soup.” He shrugs. “Only difference from a traditional relationship is that you didn’t know it. And by your logic, maybe I know you better then. You didn’t have a chance to put on a pretty face and hide the parts you didn’t think I would like.”

She… she doesn’t know what to say to that. Feels like her brain has just taken a roller coaster ride with no harness - doesn’t know up from down anymore, left from right. Like she’s missed a step going downstairs and is tumbling into the unknown.

“Now all that’s left is your turn, isn’t it?”

[tokidokitokyo]

My Favourite Japanese Children's Shows

My son is 3 and I have watched a lot of Japanese children's shows with him (screen time is family time!). Here are some of my faves and why. These shows are all from NHK E-TV. Would I recommend to use these for personal study? I am using them to help teach my son Japanese, and for this it works doubly well as I learn how children's society operates in Japan and how Japanese people learn Japanese as well as social etiquette. If you don't have a child, you might get bored easily from these as they are not designed with an adult audience in mind, and you can find much better resources online. You also need a subscription to NHK somehow to watch them, which could be difficult or costly to obtain overseas. However, I like the stories and the characters, as well as the little things I learn from watching them. If you are thinking of teaching your child Japanese this might be a useful resource.

いないいないばあっ！ Inai inai baa! (Peek-a-boo!) This show is designed for very young children and features the beloved dog Wan Wan, played by the same actor since it first started airing in 1996. Wan Wan is accompanied by a young girl, played by various actresses in a succession over the year, and other fun characters. There is singing and make-believe and crafts, as well as short segments featuring nature (animals, plants) or short animations. It's very slow as it is made for infants and toddlers, but that makes it very cute. A group of specially selected young toddlers appears for the dances and songs. Why I Like It: The animation is fun and visually appealing, the activities are play based and you can do them at home, and you learn some new vocabulary. Age: Infants to young Toddlers Clip: DVD Advertisement

おかあさんといっしょ Okaasan to issho (With Mother) This show is designed to be watched with mom (it comes on in the mornings and evenings on NHK E-TV). There are a male and female singing talent, and a male and female athletic talent, who participate in singing and acting clips. There are also a group of costumed characters that have a short story that is continued each week. It has a variety of songs, short skits, a collection of human and costumed actors, and a predictable flow that changes slightly based on the day of the week (e.g. teeth brushing days, story days, etc.). It also shows real kids doing real activities, which kids like to watch. Why I Like It: The songs are easy and catchy, the stories are easy to follow and the words are spoken clearly and precisely. Age: Infants to Toddlers/Preschoolers Clip: DVD Advertisement

アンパンマン Anpanman (Anpanman) This cartoon is a long running cartoon for children (since 1988!) with an incredible line of every toy imaginable to supplement your love for the red-bean bun man (anpan = red bean bun pastry). The story lines are simple and predictable, there are a variety of "fairy" characters that are composed of different Japanese food items, plants, utensils, and animals; and in the end the villains are just really hungry. Anpanman works to help people who are in trouble or hungry (sometimes even the villains), or being bullied by the hungry villains and the story always ends well. Why I Like It: The plot is easy to follow and you can learn about Japanese food and drink specialties via the endless supply of characters, and the songs are catchy. Age: Infants to Toddlers/Preschoolers Clip: Ending TV Theme Song

ピタゴラスイッチ Pitagora Suicchi (Pythagora Switch) Pythagora Switch is a 15-minute long show involving devices (Pythagora Switch) that are equivalent to the American Rube Goldberg machine and the British Heath Robinson contraption - basically, a sequence of events made from household objects that end with (usually) the words ピタゴラスイッチ being revealed. The idea is to encourage children to augment their way of thinking and to solve or understand what the machine will do before they see the movements happen. There are also other segments in which mechanisms are explained and shown visually. And usually there is rock-paper-scissors via a Pythagora Switch where you work out what the device will throw and try to beat it! The language in this show is more complicated because it is geared to a wider, older audience. Why I Like It: It helps me to think and enthralls my son with the moving parts. It's puzzle solving and sparks interest in the way the world works. Age: Toddlers to Elementary School Students Clip: 4 3 2 1 2 1 そうち

[hoppinkiss]

I was given starburst jelly beans and I am very grateful for them they're tasty but Also I just really want jelly belly I want the POPCORN FLAVOR

[luveline]

ok but now i need eddie to propose to reader with roan holding flowers and being in her best dress

you don't have to read the ficlets before this one but can if you want to! eddie asks roan about proposing to you | roan calls you mom | eddie and roan move in | eddie and roan masterlist ♡ fem!reader

You've been expecting it for a while now. You'd thought for sure that eventually Roan would spill the beans, or that Eddie himself might reveal the surprise, but neither father nor daughter have spoken about anything even slightly wedding related in weeks.

You seem to have done things in a backwards order. Roan had called you mom before they even moved in, and now you're living together, you, your boyfriend and his kid, and there's no ring on your finger. Your coworkers think you're crazy, you can see it in their high and mighty eyebrow raises and wrinkled noses. You almost wish you could bring yourself to care about what they think, but you can't.

This morning, you'd woken up to a small hand stroking your hair, and when you'd opened your eyes you'd found Roan in her frilly nightgown kneeling on the floor by your bedside table, smiling at you sheepishly.

"What's up, babygirl?" you'd murmured, still half asleep.

"Can I hug with you?" she'd asked.

Eddie had been still sleeping, your alarm an hour from ringing. You'd scooted back into his chest and thrown back your sheets, and Roan had climbed in and fallen asleep again rather quickly. It had been a simple, perfect moment, better when her father had woken you up doing exactly the same thing.

It's unconventional, but it isn't wrong. You have a life together and you know it's for a good long time with or without a ring. Still, you'd sort of been expecting with the ring.

It kind of feels like the most important thing you've ever done. That, and falling in love with her dad twice over again. Something about living with Eddie has made him all the more golden. He'd remarked only a few days ago that you'd become clingier.

Roan had only slipped up once, the very first time she'd called you mom. She'd been excited about something clearly, excited enough to start calling you her mommy, and under investigation had admitted to a 'pu-postal'. Slowly, you'd come to realise what that meant. Eddie must have broached the subject with her, must have explained what your getting married would mean; you're gonna be Roan's mom (step-mom, officially).

You kind of feel like you already are now they've moved in. You're doing more for her than you ever had before, helping her with the bathroom and getting her dressed, hours of movies and cuddling and playing and singing and dancing. You're earning the title, slowly but surely.

"Sorry," you'd apologised, abashed at his having noticed but not offended.

"Are you fucking kidding? Don't be." You'd been laid out in his lap, arms around his waist. "This is exactly where I want you."

You smile at the memory, hands tap-tapping a rhythm into your steering wheel. You're on your way home, excited to see your boy, excited to see your baby, excited to make a home cooked dinner and stay up late watching movies. Friday nights have become your favourite time of the week. You, Eddie, and Roan eat, shower, and get into your best pajamas to make stove top popcorn fit for a family of ten and lie on the couch until you pass out on top of each other. It's perfect.

You pull up and Eddie's car is already in the drive, as it usually is. He'd confided in you once, when he was a little younger, that he'd rode around in a big rusty van. You can't imagine it now, his car all but screams family man.

You think the same of your front door, pausing to grin at the plaque by the front door, a slab of wood etched with a stick figure family. You'd deliberated getting it inscribed with 'The Munson's' but, as you've lamented, you don't have a ring.

Yet.

You bump into the house and drop your heavy bag, shoes off quick and into the living room quicker. You're expecting Roan to be laid out on the couch watching Friday cartoons, a bowl of chips in her lap to keep her occupied while Eddie makes dinner. It's a ritual at this point for you to swing open the door and reach over the back of the sofa for her. She indulges you without question, every single time. You cuddle, and you ask her for a kiss that she graciously gives, and so begins a perfect Friday evening.

Only Roan's not on the couch. Your living room is alarmingly clean. The TV is dark.

"Roan?" you call. Then, at the pervasive silence, "Guys?"

You swear you hear a giggle. Grinning, you creep back out of the living room and go the opposite way toward the kitchen. You know exactly what you'll see when you open the door; Eddie, in his work clothes, arms washed off oil upto the elbows and a wooden spoon in hand, stirring away at something warm and fragrant on the stove. Or maybe Eddie at the kitchen table, Roan perched on his thigh, the two of them talking as a part bake browns in the oven. Best, Roan upto her elbows in flour, fresh made pasta an hour away.

You open the door with a smile, already anticipating the firm hug that awaits you from your lovely boyfriend. The tightness of his arms over your shoulders, his hair tickling your cheek.

But again, there's nobody there. Nothing bubbling on the stove, no Eddie to demand a hug from. You pout dramatically and spin, looking for evidence of your small family and finding none.

"Guys?"

"Up here, Y/N!" Roan calls, followed by more raucous giggling.

Your confusion wanes. "What are you doing up there, princess?" you call from the bottom of the stairs. You take them two at a time and almost trip up the last one, carpet soft and freshly vacuumed under your socks. "And why is the house so clean? Is it my birthday?"

You stop dead at the sight before you. Red rose petals are scattered sparsely in a line from the top of the stairs to your bedroom. You follow them with your eyes swiftly, gaze catching on your open bedroom door.

You've watched Eddie do her hair hundreds of times now. You can see it clearly, her damp curls brushed and twined around the handle. How he drops each curl into his hand and pushes it upward toward her head to hold its shape.

Eddie stands in the middle of the bedroom, a dark figure in an otherwise white room. White sheets — your 'girly' ones that you'd swapped out when Eddie moved in — dotted in red petals. White balloons all stuck to the ceiling, ribbons curled and falling from them in spirals.

Roan, in her nicest white dress, her 'best dress', the one you always take extra care to be gentle with on wash day. Her curls are perfect, dark and silky and defined.

He's even let her wear her sparkly lip gloss.

Eddie, for once, seems to have taken care of his own hair. His frizz (which you love, because it's his look) has been tamped down into more gentle curls, ringlets weighed by their impressive length.

"You guys look nice," you say softly, not sure where to look.

Roan fumbles with the bouquet in her hands, white frosted cellophane surrounding a bundle of deep red roses.

Is it my birthday? you think. But no, it's not your birthday, which means...

"You wanna give her your flowers?" Eddie asks, voice a steady, quiet murmur. He takes her shoulder into his ring-clad hand and encourages her toward you.

Roan was waiting for the command. She rushes forward, realises she's rushing and takes the last two or three steps at a slower pace. You meet her at the threshold, petals crushed under your feet.

You take the bouquet, bent at the waist, from her outstretched hands.

"Thanks, baby," you say, swallowing around a heavy lump in your throat.

She beams at you. Her pert features, so much like Eddie's, look especially cute right now. Maybe because you know what's happening, maybe because she's the loveliest kid you've ever met, your eyes sting with tears.

You look away from her before you can crack. The flowers shake minutely in your hand, the smallest tremble. You stroke a thin petal with your forefinger and find a white note attached within.

It's Eddie's slanting handwriting.

For my mommy. I love you. Love and kisses,

Roan.

Roan is written in her own handwriting, big clumsy letters.

She doesn't call you mom all the time and that's okay, you'll take whatever she wants to give, and even when she calls you by your name she says it with love. But when she does call you mom? It makes you wanna blubber uncontrollably.

"She told me what to write," Eddie says.

"Yeah?" you ask. You square away tears. It's alarming to be loved so much, but it's also amazing. Happiness overwhelms everything else.

He nods. Your mind isn't sure what to focus on, how handsome he looks in his black button down, sleeves pushed up, hands hidden inside his pockets, or how precious his baby girl is.

You squat down and open your arms. Roan jumps into them and wraps her own around your neck, face squished roughly to your cheek. Your bouquet crinkles as you hug back, and her hair falls into the flowers.

"I love you, macaroni," you tell her, eyes closing as you push your face into the top of her head. "So much."

"I know it hasn't even been two years yet," Eddie says.

You pry your eyes open and stand.

He's taken a step forward.

"Almost," you say gently.

"But it has been the best 'almost' two years of my life." You tighten your hold on Roan as she pulls her face from your neck to watch Eddie speak. "It's been hard. Uh..." He wipes his hands on his thighs and chuckles nervously. "I didn't realise this part was going to be so hard. But it's all been worth it, every part, and you've made it-" It melts your heart how scared he looks. "I wouldn't change anything. It's perfect. You're perfect."

His voice grows increasingly softer as he goes, his last admission a whisper.

"I'm trying not to be theatrical," he says. "But I'm thinking maybe you deserve someone to sing your praises."

"Eds..."

He puts his arm out. You don't know if he's asking for you or Roan, but you fall into him anyways. If he wasn't trying to get a hug from you that's just too bad. He tries not to crush your flowers.

"I love you," he says, arm sliding over your shoulder. "You're a bombshell, and you're," — his hand curls to cover the side of your neck, "the most loving person I've ever met. I know how lucky I am to be with you. How lucky I am that you love me."

Eddie isn't insincere. He's said a thousand nice things to you, he'll say another thousand before the year's out. But his voice is rough with an emotion you're not sure you've ever heard from him, a blazing earnestness, a reverential sort of love.

You want to say, I'm lucky. Are you kidding? I'm the lucky one. You want to burst into tears, and you want to kiss him stupid.

You don't do any of those things, because Eddie has a question to ask you.

He tries to back away from you and you cling, worried you're gonna fall over.

"I'm trying to get down on one knee," he says, bemused.

You shake your head voraciously, speechless.

"Marry me," he says. "I don't care how you want to do it. A church with all the trimmings or we can go down to the courthouse tonight. Just marry me, please."

"Alright." He laughs and digs through his pocket for the box, propping it open on his thigh to grab the ring before tossing the empty box onto the bed. It's clumsy, and it's bold. It suits him.

He proffers the ring between you.

Roan reaches for his neck. Not amazing timing, Eddie lets her climb onto his chest and wraps her up, and when the ring dissapears behind her back you realise how badly you want it.

"Yes," you say, because there isn't a reality where you could ever say no. It hangs in the air. "Yes, please, I'll marry you. I don't care how."

Roan giggles excitedly but still doesn't crack.

You look at the ring he's chosen for the first time in awe. It's exactly what you would've picked for yourself. You've no clue how he guessed.

Eddie lifts his chin, eyes on your hand. You can tell from the way he's lit up that he's biting backna sticky sweet smile as he takes his arm away from your shoulder and swaps it with the arm behind Roan's back to brandish the ring. Your ring.

You hold out your hand. He neatly slides it over your knuckle.

"Is that okay?" he asks.

You tilt your head back towards it and the three of you look at your hand. You've never liked your hands before this moment.

"Who am I kissing first?" you ask grandly.

Really, you want to kiss Eddie. He just proposed. But Roan's been holding in all her excitement and she's an ill-contained vestibule of emotion too big for her body, and you're startled when she bursts into tears.

"Baby," you say, at the same time as Eddie says, "Aw, bubby."

"I'm the one that supposed to be crying," you coo, searching for her hand. You rub over her knuckles. "What's the matter, princess?"

"I'm so happy 'cos now you're my mom," she says, all at once, words glued together by a continuous sob.

"Babe, we didn't get married," Eddie says, his sympathetic parentese robbed of any sincerity by a poorly hidden laugh.

"I was..." You look at Eddie and talk slowly, in case you're mispeaking. "I was kind of your mom already, wasn't I?"

Roan doesn't even answer, she just cries and cries. It gets you pretty quickly, eyes swimming with tears. You drop your head against Eddie's collar and stroke her hand, giggling wetly as a first tear bumps down your cheek.

"Not both of you," Eddie frets.

"If you loved us, you'd be crying too."

"I do love you." He kisses your temple, an expert in juggling his girls. "Happiest day of my life, as long as Ro stops crying."

"You gotta stop crying, princess," you implore, poking her soft cheek. "I need a sticky lip gloss kiss, please. I want a kiss print right here." You poke at your own cheek enticingly.

Her crying lessens. Eddie couldn't sound anymore content than he does when he says, "Go on. Give her a kiss, baby."

Roan gives you a sticky kiss as you knew it would be, the second best kiss of your entire life. Then Eddie drops her fast but not meanly into the bed, flower petals jumping up around her, and gives you the first. Both hands on your face, a tenacity behind him that makes you squeal with laughter, Eddie kisses and kisses and doesn't stop until you've run out of breath.

"Ow, watch it," you chide, lips tingling. "I need these, you know? How'm I gonna kiss you at the altar if you break my mouth?"

Your mentioning of an altar gets him bad. He kisses you again, again, the two of you giggling like fools with your hands pressed tight to each others faces.

Roan slides off of the bed and grabs at both of your thighs with an adorably cross look on her face.

"Oh no," Eddie says.

"Poor girl," you agree.

"We've left you out, hm?"

Like he's read your mind and you his, you bend in sync and kiss her damp cheeks.

"Thanks for keeping it together so long," Eddie says against her cheek, sealing it with another adoring kiss.

"I'm impressed," you say. She'd shown an amazing level of self control.

"Hours of coaching. Isn't that right?"

Roan nods primly, eyes widening as she emphasises. "He talked for ages and ages."

You're smiling so hard you think your cheeks might bruise. "He's a blabber mouth, huh? Nothing like you, angel."

Eddie snorts. You give him a little shove and he nudges you back, sharing a private look over Roan's head. I love you, he mouths.

Roan snuggles into your legs as you mouth it back.

-

more eddie and roan

[thunderfrommyheart]

breaking down the misinformation in @afronerdism post about me.

Debunked by Stuart Semple himself. 

I’ve taken the time to do this because nobody wants mis-information bouncing around the internet. 

The key thing to know - in the artworld rich people have access to processes and companies that most artists don’t. That’s how they get to create giant beans which cost $20million. At the top the rich get richer, and at the bottom artists struggle to make their mark with what they’ve got. 

Vantablack is an example of a group of rich, entitled people getting together to pat themselves on the back, whilst the rest of the world watched horrified at the tone-deafness of the whole thing.

it's also worth noting whilst OP is clearly educated and understands politics they are not in any way an expert in the artworld, art discourse. I however have been in the artworld for 25 years, have written for the guardian, art of england and vogue. I have presented art programs for the BBC and have a properly published book on art history - it's out in June called 'Make Art or Die Trying'. I have studied art and art history and spoken at Oxford University, The ICA, Denver Art Msueum, Dublin Art Museum and at Frieze. I have lectured at the Royal College of Art in London. I have curated over 20 contemporary art exhibitions internationally, I have directed two galleries. I am by definition an expert.

MY BREAKDOWN: OP is @afronerdism - I've gone below them point by point

A: What Vantablack is not: a pigment. A paint. Vantablack is not something that you were supposed to use to paint with. 

SS: CORRECT - However nor is glass, chrome, powder coating, sandblasting, booze casting, tar, concrete or steel yet they are used by artists everyday. 

Whether the material/process is a paint or pigment or not doesn’t matter. 

A: Who creates and distributes Vantablack: an engineering company named Surrey NanoSystems.

SS: True. And many artists work with engineering companies every day, notable examples are Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst. Lots of artists collaborate with industry to get their work made, that is what fabrication is.  You go to Surrey NanoSystems - not to buy paint but for them to coat your work in Vantablack. 

A: Who does not do those things: an art house. A distribution company. Any kind of company that creates and distributes pigments on a massive, artistic scale. 

SS: Which is totally true and fine. However they do coat things in Vantablack for a series of clients in many different industries including fashion designers, jewelers, brands, car companies, and watch companies. They will coat anything for anyone who has the money unless they are an artist. They only accept work from Anish Kapoor as he has an exclusive license with them for art. 

A: Who was Vantablack made for: Vanta Black was made by aerospace engineers for aerospace engineers, looking for something to coat the insides of massive NASA telescopes. 

SS: Initially, but quickly was used by a lot of other industries including architects, fashion designers, bands, brands, car companies and even a deodorant. 

They are able to make it in quantities large enough to coat whole buildings as we saw when architect Asif Khan used it to coat a whole pavilion during the Pyeongchang Winter Olympic Games. 

(If had told Surrey nanoSytems he was an artist - not an architect, this would never have happened)

A: Who it was not made for: artists.

SS: Except the one with the license. (Anish Kapoor)

———————————-——————————————

A: Hopefully already just by understanding what Vantablack is, what it was made for, and who it’s made by you and other people are beginning to see what the problem is with Stuart simples narrative around Vanta black. 

SS: It’s Semple not simple. 

SS: The narrative was not created by Semple as for a few months before he shared his pink the world media was criticizing Kapoor for his Monopoly with major articles in the Guardian, Daily Mail, and BBC news. Each featured reactions from a broad spectrum of artists who spoke about the unnecessary license and the elitism in the artworld. 

A:  But you may be wondering if Vanta black is a highly toxic unstable substance made out of carbon nano tubes by aerospace engineers for aerospace engineers, working in space, then how did we get here? well, Vanta, black 2.0, if you will was created in such a way that it could be sprayed onto substances in a certain way meaning that theoretically it could be used artistically.

SS: Yes VBX2 can be sprayed, and Surrey Nanosystems have training days where they teach in-house teams how to do that. The VBX2, however, arrived quite late in the story and Kapoor’s rights started with the first version. 

A: Surround nanosystems held an exhibition where they displayed Vanta black and when artist saw this, they were inundated with calls from artist, wanting to use it in their work. 

SS:

Surrey nano systems (not surround)

They actually debut it at an airshow in England, it was all over the world media, many artists saw it. They then went on a massive PR mission and the material was seen on CNN etc. 

Kapoor became aware of it and approached them to see if he could use it in his work. 

Together they struck up an exclusive deal which would mean if any artist asked them to coat a piece of work with the stuff they would be turned away. 

That deal was something Surrey and Kapoor were initially proud of. They couldn’t see the inherent elitism in the exclusivity so they went on another PR pr to tell he world Kapoor was signed up to use it. 

It was then the artists of the world really became aware of it, and sure enough, when any of them wrote to Surrey - even really huge ones with plenty of money, they were turned away. These artists including Christian Furr and Ron Arad, amongst others were all featured across the media. =

A: But as we’ve already established surrey nanosystems is not a distribution company. They’re an engineering company. And they made the decision that they could only work with one artist, because they simply did not have the physical ability to produce Vantablack at a scale that allowed them to work with more than one person. 

SS: They did say that, but a lot later. They were always a fabrication / engineering place and there was never an idea that they would distribute the material. That’s not the problem any artists ever had with it, they all fully understood what the material was. The issue was that even if the artist had the money and could ship their work to Surrey, they would not coat the object with it, but they would serve other industries. This is seen as deeply prejudicial towards artists. 

A: (To this day, vanta Black has to be distributed by a specialized robotic arm that creates it in painfully small amounts in an enclosed box that can then be given to someone in a lab. ) 

SS: This is untrue - the arm is used to spray the objects that Surrey have agreed to coat. 

It does not make the material. The material is made by growing carbon nano tubes on a surface. 

And the spray version contains nano particles. The robot arm is used for precision when coating. 

You often see a robot arm spray cars for example. The arm is used like this. 

A: Enter Anish Kapoor: Anish Kapoor, at this time was already a world, renowned artist, and the creator of many public facing pieces, such as cloud gate, a.k.a. the Chicago Bean. His entire life‘s work was dedicated to how light is refracted and interplays with the void, making him not only the perfect person to be chosen because of prestige but also because his life‘s work spoke to the engineers who created Vanta black.

SS: Whist as an artist he has dealt with reflection and the void at length, it’s a stretch to claim his entire life’s work is dedicated to it. 

SS: It is true that as a figurehead for Vantablack he is a good choice, he’s very rich, extremely famous, he’s a Sir (i.e knighted by the queen and a turner prize winner). Plus he makes work that would look good in Vantablack. 

SS: None of this means that he needed exclusivity to do it, the company could simply have collaborated with him and if any other artist asked to have something coated, they could have easily said they were too busy or didn’t have enough of the material. 

SS: The issue is the way they couldn’t see the prejudice, elitism and lack of access in the exclusivity. 

A: Now this should’ve been seen as an incredible accomplishment and honor for this Indian artist to be chosen as the soul licensor of Vantablack as this company was only able to choose one person and people were really excited about this for him and that’s where the story ends, right? Right? Right? 

SS: It’s unclear why his race matters. He is one of the richest, most well known, most famous artists in the world. The fact he has exclusive access to a material/process like this is not a reason for people to be excited for him, people are free to be excited or not. This is purely your opinion not a fact. 

A: Enter Stuart Semple: Stuart simple was a 25-year-old man in the UK living with his mother when she came into his room and told him about Vantablack. 

SS: Stuart was born in 1980, which would make him 36 at the time. 

SS: He was not living with his mother, in fact he was living in London with his own family. 

SS: His mother did not come into his room however on a phone call she spoke to him about an article she had read in the guardian about how artists were upset by Kapoor having Vantablack. 

SS: Stuart was (and is) a well-known contemporary artist, very embedded int hat world. He has had over 20 solo exhibitions dedicated to his work all over the world and his pieces are in major collections and museums. He’s not in the league of Kapoor but in the artworld is well known as an artist. 

A: As an artist himself, Stewart simple wanted to try Vanta Black, and was told by the company that he could not.

SS: This is untrue - Stuart did not want to use the colour, nor did he approach the company. 

A:  It was then that he discovered the only person on earth licensed to use Vantablack was Anish Kapoor. 

SS: This is untrue, he was aware of this when his mother told him what she had read in the newspaper. 

A: Please keep in mind that Vantablack is not a paint, and it is so difficult to work with that Anish Kapoor has only ever produced one singular piece of art with Vantablack. 

SS: This is untrue. Tens of thousands of items have now been coated in VantaBlack, from soda cans to watches. Initially, Kapoor used his rights to create a series of limited edition wrist watches that sold for $100,000 each, and then went on to create a whole series of large sculptures that were initially shown at a huge palazzo in Venice that Kapoor bought, during the Venice Biennale, and then at an exhibition at the Lisson in NYC where there works were for sale with an average price of $500,000USD.

A: So like a child who has just been told by their mom that they can’t use something, Stewart simple decided to throw a hissy fit. 

SS: It’s Stuart Semple (not stewart simple) - and there is no evidence of any kind of Hissy Fit. However he did create a piece of internet performance art, where he put a jar of pinkest pink paint on the internet, humorously, and asked anyone who bought the paint to sign an agreement that they ‘weren’t Anish Kapoor and Associate of Kapoor and that to the best of their knowledge information and belief, the material would not make its way into the hands of Anish Kapoor’. Semple has always explained it was a tongue-in-cheek piece of performance art, and that he was never expecting anyone would actually buy any pink. The best source for this is an article in Wired in which the journalist concludes with the piece being a powerful piece of online performance art. Bearing in mind Semple is an artist who works with performance, that is extremely likely. 

A: He created a pink pigment that he conditionally said everyone could use except Anish Kapoor and then launch this pigment with the hashtag #ShareTheBlack. 

SS: He created the pink pigment in 2010 - and has made his own paints to use in his own work since he was a child. It was not made in response to Kapoor. However he did not make them public they were for his own use, and the Kapoor situation made him question his own exclusivity in keeping the materials he was making for himself. He decided to share his pink as a gesture and a piece of art in it's own right.

A: This caught the attention of the news media, and when asked about this situation, that was previously relatively unheard of, Stuart simple,

SS: Neither Stuart nor the Vantablack situation were unheard of. The media was already reporting on the controversy around vantablack long before Stuart put the pink up. Stuart was also well known which is why the media wanted to talk to him about it. 

When GQ came to do a 5 page feature on him they were clear it was because he was an established and well-known artist in his own right. 

He had already been hosting art shows for the BBC, had written for the guardian and Huffington post and had collaborated with major musicians. 

A: went onto describe Anish Kapoor as this tyrannical elitist who “banned“ the use of Vantablack to keep other artists from using it. 

SS: There’s no evidence that Semple said that, however, he was critical of the exclusive license and did feel the story opened up a well-needed discussion about access to art and the trend in which those with the money could afford to have works fabricated when others couldn’t. He is at heart an egalitarian and has made free art studios, his Designs for humanity charity, his creative therapies fund at Mind (a mental health charity) etc.. and a major free art gallery in his hometown that shows some of the biggest living artists. So Semple’s opinion is allowed, to him Kapoor epitomizes an elitism that is dominated by the super-rich, after all, Kapoor is getting close to being a billionaire. 

A: But hopefully you can already see how that is Literally not true. Anish Kapoor does not make Vanta black. Anish Kapoor cannot sell Vanta black. Anish Kapoor cannot give you permission to use Vanta black. And Vanta black is not even a paint. 

SS: He does not make it, but he does hold the exclusive right to use it in art. 

SS: No other material or process has been exclusively licensed by one artist in the history of the world. 

SS: Jeff Koons does not make his own giant steel sculptures, a factory does. Jeff can’t book your work into the factory, and steel is not a paint either. He doesn't have an exclusive agreement with the steel fabricators. If they aren't too busy with Jeff, and you've got the cash, they'll make something for you too. This is standard with art fabrication.

SS: I didn't physically make the giant steel and foam smiley sculpture of mine for the city of Denver, fabricators helped with that, and engineers. They work with several artists.

SS: This makes no sense given it is understood vantablack is a material and a process of application. 

SS: However Kapoor could surrender his exclusive right and Surrey would then be able to take bookings from artists. 

A: meanwhile Stuart has launched an entire very lucrative career around slandering and smearing Anish Kapoor 

SS: Untrue, Semple had a very successful career and his day job is as a contemporary artist. Actually speaking up about elitism in the artworld is a risky move for someone who relies on that artworld to pay his bills. 

A: when Anish Kapoor literally never did anything but be qualified enough to be the one person chosen by a company that is literally only able to work with one person at a time. 

SS: He did do something, he signed an exclusive agreement and he felt he was entirely justified in doing so. He also went out in the media and with surrey nono systems and gloated about it.

SS: They can’t only work with one person at a time, we have seen whole buildings covered in vantback, jewellery, cars and soda cans and many sculptures by Kapoor. Surrey have collaborated with thousands of brands, designers, architects and companies. 

A: The fact remains Stewart simple, very intentionally allows this narrative to continue because it makes him money. 

SS: It is unclear how it makes him money as the pink was sold for $3 which was what it cost to make, and his website which researches and distributes cutting edge materials is a non profit that collaborates with artists. They even did a crowd funder to make Black 3.0 - a super black acrylic that any artist can use. It's also unclear how he is perpetuating this narrative, when he's clearly moved on to other projects many years ago and rarely mentions it. In Semple's world it's a very small thing.

A: He has made a ton of money off of slandering Anish Kapoor as if Anish Kapoor is the reason he can’t use Vanta black when the reason he can’t use Vanta black is because no one can use Vanta black, and the only person who might be able to use it is Anish Kapoor and that is not Anish Kapoor‘s fault. 

SS: There’s no evidence at all that he’s slandered Kapoor. Kapoor being extremely wealthy, and the level of media that covered the story back in 2016 would never have allowed it. It would have been a legal nightmare. All the publications who write about the story GQ, BBC, The Guardian, Wired, have journalistic laws and it would not have happened. 

SS: There’s no evidence that Semple has made a ton of money. 

A: It is not lost on me that there are racial connotations to the story as well. There are actual companies and artists in the world who have trademarks around certain colors that they do not allow other people to use in public showcases. 

SS: There are colour marks or if you like 'trademarked colours'. The public showcases point doesn't make sense in this context - colours are protected in classes i.e certain uses on Serbian products are prohibited. EG - Tiffany blue cannot be used on jewellery boxes. 

A: But we really as a community allowed this white man to smear and slander an Indian artist,

SS: Again it’s unclear what the ethnicity of the artists has to do with the core issue. 

SS: It’s a little bit of a leap given Semple has also liberated Klein Blue (made by a white French man), Barbie Pink (owned by Mattel a corporation), and created the Brightest White. 

 A: based entirely off of misinformation, and to this day people jump on the Internet, saying fuck Anish Kapoor because of it. 

SS: Kapoor secured the rights to the blackest material ever made. Everyone else who can afford to, can use it, unless they identify as an artist. 

SS: Many people feel like that is wrong. 

A: Now, Anish Kapoor is not some struggling person. He is probably a multibajillionaire 

SS: He’s worth about 800 million according to Forbes, he’s within the top 5 most wealthy living artists.

A: And doesn’t necessarily need our sympathy. But I think the story of Vantablack is a really good case study of how misinformation spreads, and how people never bother to question the framework of a story. 

SS: In my opinion, your post is misinformation, that has been spread unquestioningly. 

[love-toxin]

“Don’t even look at me, I’m already thinking about Leon getting in on the process-“ BITCH SPILL

NOW

ok but......hear me out <33

(cws: fem!reader, established marriage + friendship, m/m/f threeway, friends to lovers, cuckholdry(?), pregnancy sex, breeding kink, teasing, facesitting, spit + cum = lube, leon's a boob guy, this is just filth trust me)

So maybe Leon doesn't realize it until after Luis spills the beans that you're expecting. It's not until he sees you with that little curve of a bump in your belly that he thinks "How cute.....I kind of want that, too." and starts guiltily fantasizing about your baby being his. About you having a bump that he can fawn over and coo at, instead of having to watch Luis kiss your belly and touch it and manhandle you into his arms as he praises your newfound motherhood. It gets him so hard and he feels so ashamed of it he starts to distance himself from you, because far be it from him to ruin two friendships with people who actually like him.

And maybe you two notice this. You realize Leon's a lot clingier but he's also stepping away more often, and you clue in to what might be happening when Luis playfully teases bits of information out of him, like "So how do you feel about babies now, Leon? You gonna hurry it up so our kid has someone to play with?" spoken just sweetly enough that it has Leon struggling for an answer.

So you do the only rational thing in that situation: you invite him for an evening of board games and drinks (non-alcoholic for you of course) and when he sleeps over in your guest room as per usual, you and your sweetheart make things just a touch louder than usual when you fuck each other to sleep. The pillow gets taken out from behind the headboard so Leon can hear it squeak, can feel it thudding against the wall as Luis rails you like he hasn't already knocked you up good. You honestly get so lost in making a big show of it all that you genuinely lose your sense a little, and Luis gets a few deliciously sore scratches down his back as you grip him tight and beg him not to stop.

Leon's so observant, you knew he'd show up soon--just not so quietly, he would've scared the pants off Luis if he had any when he glanced over his shoulder and saw your friend standing in the room. Arms crossed over his buff chest, stare cold and stoic like you're in trouble, he's kind of scary....but that obvious bulge straining at his sleep pants proves that it's not annoyance but jealousy.

It's all kind of a blur when Luis acknowledges his presence, but doesn't even stop thrusting into you slowly--Leon's climbing into your bed in one moment and in the next he's been stripped bare, Luis' hand guiding his to rub your bump and an endless string of teasing spilling off his lips at how hot in the face he is. His palms are so warm and sweaty when he finally graces your belly, his touch almost possessive as he gets used to the feeling and sucks in a breath when he grazes the spot just below your breast.

"Maybe you can get the next one, eh?" Luis whispers into his ear, and Leon shudders both at the implication and the sight of you easing his hand higher to grope your tits properly. And he obeys like the good boy he is, using both hands to massage your chest and kneading the soft flesh like dough in a way that he doesn't even realize is so relaxing--having your boobs gain mass even so early in your pregnancy is pretty painful, and he seems to rub the right spots without even trying that makes that aching soreness a thing of the past.

And while he's distracted, Luis pulls himself away from that deliciously wet heat, and slides his fingers through your folds like a professional to get them as slick as he can--just so he can reach over and grab Leon's cock in his hand, your American hero grunting in response but not daring to let go of your tits once he's got them in his grasp. In fact, he latches his mouth on to one of them and gets in a taste while he can, all while your darling strokes him off with your own arousal and coats him from shaft to tip...with a little extra fondling involved, because c'mon, you can't blame him for getting in his licks where he can. Leon is gorgeous, and he's big enough that Luis feels the need to spit into his palm and add a little extra elbow grease to really make sure he's lubed up. All that twitching he gets out of it too definitely makes the kiss they share even hotter when Leon finally breaks his spit-slick mouth off of your boobs.

It's so cute when he finally shifts around to enter you, his thighs trembling the second Luis guides the tip towards your folds and pushes on him to part you around his swollen cock. Only now is he babbling those questions of "I-Is this okay?" and "I don't want to hurt you-" but they all get kissed off his mouth or straight up ignored, because both you and Luis moan much too loudly when Leon's sliding deeper and deeper into your guts. Earlier today you and your closest friend were exchanging jokes over a deck of cards, and mere hours later he's sweating and panting over your body as he fucks you with your husband watching. Not at all where you thought your friendship would go, but you're happy to see that you're not the only one satisfied with it.

"Luis," Leon moans in such a gentle way, yet grabs for your lover hard while he's sitting back to watch the show. Clearly he's not intent on letting him be a voyeur--he pulls the Spaniard close until he's practically pressed up against his back, and drags you down further on his cock until you're bucking and whining and leaking Luis' cum all over his thick shaft. "Watch me. Stop me if it hurts her."

He says as much, and Luis chuckles at his over-enthusiastic concern, but you can see from here that it's not the only reason he wanted him closer. With every tight thrust of his own hips, Leon rocks back to meet Luis'--and you can feel him getting even harder with your husband prodding him from behind, knocking up his pace even faster right up until Luis shifts forward with a groan and Leon halts, suddenly frozen and trembling with his eyes screwed shut.

"Oops," He chuckles into your friends ear, blowing on it softly to ease that tightness in his chest as he heaves for breath, slowly trying to relax himself enough to take it. "Just slipped in. You're a little too wet for me to resist, amor." He croons so mockingly, yet it only seems to turn Leon on more as he grinds those shaky hips into short, sharp thrusts inside you, each one propelled forward harder when Luis deigns to give him a buck that drags a pathetically high moan out of the agent's throat.

"Imagine a baby with his eyes, mija. Wouldn't that just be so cute?" He murmurs over Leon's shoulder, hands sliding up from their place on his hips to grope at his chest, darkly-coloured nipples lazily tweaked between his callused fingers like it's something he does every day. Neither man can take his eyes off your bump for too long though, Leon's literally drooling over it as saliva dribbles down his chin and splatters all over your soft, cute little belly.

"P-Promise me you'll give me a baby, Lee? After this one?" You mewl, holding up your pinky finger as an offering despite his hands being occupied with fondling your tits once again. "Hafta promise me. Say 'I wanna give you my baby', say it for me."

"I'm gonna breed you," He groans, eyes dark and lustful as he squeezes you hard enough for you to squeal. "You're gonna be a mom for me the second you pop."

"You're wild, Leon." Luis purrs over his shoulder, pecking a kiss to his neck that swiftly turns into a love bite suckled into the skin. "You can fuck my wife anytime. Right, sweetheart?"

"And my husband. Anytime." You giggle, though your adorable jubilance is soon cut off by a deeper moan as you start to hit your stride, fingers digging into the sheets below you before moving to brace against Leon's forearms. This time, when he spits, he dips his head to dribble it right on your clit and spares the thumb from his left hand to rub it right in, watching for the way your hips swivel in response so he knows just how to work his fingers into it.

"Princess likes her pussy eaten, too. Loves it. Let's try it when we're done, hm?" Luis' encouraging tone smoothes the thoughts away from your head, his voice blanketing your mind in nothing but a fuzzy haze that has you mindlessly humping every pair of hands and hips in your vicinity--you're just barely on the cusp of cumming, and a loopy grin splits your lips at the idea that Leon still doesn't know how hard you're gonna do it.

"Get on top of me, and I'll do it all damn night. Both of you."

"I-I'm heavy, Lee-"

"Don't care. I'll do it when you're full-term. You're never too heavy to sit this gorgeous pussy on my fucking face."

At that low, lusty growl of a compliment, Luis has finally met his match--you look on in awe as your husband cries out and frantically speeds up his pace, locks of dark hair sticking to his face with sweat as he pumps his last few ounces of energy into several deep, hard thrusts against Leon's backside that rock him into you and have you both crying out his name in a fit of pleasure that completely dominates your senses. Your hips jerk suddenly and he moans from his chest at how hard you're clamping down on him, but it doesn't stop his own thrusts until you're leaking and splashing him with jets of liquidy cum that totally soak him right down to his thighs. And from behind, Luis has his waist in a death grip as he spurts ropes upon ropes inside your friend, making him so slick he slides out with ease yet whines softly as his thoughts fizzle out and he mindlessly tries to push his sloppy cock back inside.

Stuck firmly in the middle, Leon's got nowhere else to go--when he cums, he drags you all the way down by the hips and forces his cock deep, pushing it snug and warm against your womb so he can spill into you relentlessly. It's as if Luis is cumming through him to add to the thick, creamy mess he leaves dripping out of your pussy, but pulling back and seeing that it's all him switches something in his brain that he had been desperate to keep locked away. Now that you've invited him into your marriage bed, however, it seems there's no better time to exercise it.

Before you can leak too much, Leon's sliding his hands under your hips and lifting you off the bed, shuffling back to lay down and incidentally splattering himself from thigh to chest with the cum he's left spilling out of you. But once he's lowered you quickly and comfortably on his face, mouth instantly sealed around the puffy lips of your cunt, there's no hurry at all and Leon blindly sucks away at the mess you three have made. And having been nudged aside, Luis clambers over Leon's body to reach his lap, eyes gentle and adoring as he watches your pretty, pregnant body writhe on the tip of his closest friend's skilled tongue.

"Oye--I don't think you can fit, caballero." He grins, reaching back to swipe up the cum between Leon's own thighs and rubbing his soaked fingers carefully inside himself. And just when he's managed to stretch himself open the smallest bit, one of those massive hands comes blindly groping down his chest, and upon reaching his hip Leon yanks it down and bucks his hips at the same time, spearing your husband so swiftly and suddenly that he braces himself against his chest in a fit of hot, stuttered gasps.

"A-And you thought it would be easy," You tease, taking hold of your husband's hands to lift him back up and kiss that dazed expression off his face.

"I think he's in my guts, mi amor--is he part horse? Dios mio-" Leon responds with another buck, this one harder and punctuated with a deep jab of his tongue into your spongy, gummy walls, and both of you are left whinging and moaning at his teasing but never quit riding him on either end. It's a different experience to rub your husband's sticky, half-soft cock while he grinds that impossibly tight ass against someone else--but with it being Leon, it feels as normal and safe as when you're doing it together. It feels right.

And as you clutch at your bump with one hand while the other clings tightly to your husband's, you let the rest of your weight sink down slowly to finally, completely relax, and both he and Leon look and feel so grateful for the gift. They both look at you like it's a blessing just to be in your presence, and to have that from two of your closest friends is just an indescribable feeling--maybe it's part of what makes this kind of intimacy feel so damn good, even while you're going through the early stages of what will certainly be a long pregnancy.

"You're going to be such a good papi," You whisper with a smile, nuzzling your nose into your husband's. "Both of you will, I know it." And from below, Leon pauses his fervent assault to lift you up and lave his tongue slowly over your clit--just enough that the warm, wet kiss he places on it lets you feel the curve of his grin against your skin before he goes right back to urging you into another hot, deep, spine-tingling orgasm.

[dotster001]

May I request Savanaclaw and Octotrio in Twisted Earth?

I can request a part of Twisted Earth but with the octotrio (u know Octavinelle dorm)? Please. I really love your work!! 😩

Twisted Earth Part Three

Summary: Octavinelle/Savannaclaw x gn!reader. They're real, you're the game.

A/N:The people have spoken! I'm so happy you guys like these 🥺 I got these two requests, plus one other that included Savannaclaw all within the course of three hours of eachother. Also! Thank you guys for 800 followers!

Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Part Six

He downloaded the game after it started to gain popularity. He was doing research, because as it was making its rounds around NRC, he realized he could have a themed night in the lounge, and make the big bucks.

He plays it between clients in the VIP room. Once the room is empty, he'll subtly pull out his phone under his desk. If Jade or Floyd come back in unexpectedly, he'll be like, "What?!? I'm not doing anything!" And throw his phone. ( The twins do it on purpose now, they think it's hysterical)

He corners the market on merch. The devs don't really release their own merch, so he's making the big money! But it's all under the table. No one but the twins know that Octavinelle is the leading producer of Twisted Earth Merch. (They have Tshirt making parties when stock is low. It's so wholesome)

He likes you a lot. He likes that you're a flawed character. You're not perfect. And because of this, he thinks you'd help heal his broken parts. For now, he'll live vicariously through the game…but if a certain horned fae were to request a contract that would help bring you to life, he'd be hard pressed to refuse.

He has terrible luck. He has put real money in the game and still never gotten any of your cards. It's infuriating. 

He downloaded it because it looked fun. But he gets bored quickly, so he only plays every couple of months. (This is usually when he over hears someone talking about how they love you, and he gets angry that someone would try to steal his shrimpy, so he rage plays for a week)

Has incredible luck. He'll do a single pull, and get the card he wants. Then he won't even take care of it. It just sits in his collection. Again, infuriating.

Has a t-shirt of you, but it's literally just a meme about you that someone put on a Tshirt. It's so cursed, but he loves it.

You look so squishy! And he bets you'd be so short compared to him if you were real! And if not, he could climb you like a bean pole! He wants to squeeze you so bad! You'd let him if you were real, right? And you wouldn't let anyone else squeeze you? Cause that would be very mean. 

Destroyed his phone when that one character admitted they were in love with you…. He's only allowed to play under supervision now.

He's a scientist, first and foremost. If all the school is interested in something, it's his job to play it, and find out why. Honestly, he's probably the one who suggested a themed night to Azul.

He finds you fascinating. If you were real, he'd probably just watch you. He doesn't need to interact, he just wants to see what you're doing. Rewards you for good choices with a custom made terrarium.

He named one of his mushrooms after you, which is the highest honor he can bestow. (You can't tell me he doesn't name his mushrooms) One time, Floyd was ready to throw all the terrariums out in a rage, but finding out one was named after you (but not being told which one) he left them alone.

He has decent luck. But he doesn't have to focus super hard on his collection, since he can just use Floyd's.

(He believes he'd just watch you if you were real, but after that character admitted they loved you, he went on a six hour rage hike.)

He got tired of getting ads for it, so he downloaded it to make fun of it. Then his eyes met yours and…..well, you get it.

He won't ever admit how much light the game brings to him. But sometimes when Ruggie wakes him up, and he logs into the game, he can make out the softest smile on Leona's face when you greet him.

He very heavily debated getting a body pillow. He knew he'd use it too, because of how often he cuddles his pillows at nap time. But he could never pull the trigger. He thought it would be too far.

He likes to think that you would care about him, not his title or his magic, him. And in turn, he would spoil you like you deserve to be. You'd want for nothing, just be his cuddle buddy for a few minutes longer.

He has the SSR basic card for every character except you. He has all your regular cards, sure. But no matter how many hundreds and thousands of pulls he does, you just won't come home. Not that he cares. Gacha is a stupid system anyway.

He rarely has the time to play. Honestly, he doesn't even really play at all. It sits on his phone, and is never opened. But he makes up for it by watching videos online, checking out fan forums, and reading fan fictions and theories.

He didn't even get to meet your character in the game before he got too busy to play. But he read a fanfic called y/n x workaholic reader, where you helped the reader with their work, and then pampered them afterwards. He loved you ever since.

He doesn't think merch is a good use of his hard earned money. But should he ever strike gold, there is one plushie he has his eyes on that he would love to just squish all day.

At this point, he's read so many fanfics, that he's pretty sure he wouldn't actually enjoy the canon story. But he'll leave it on his phone for now. He can't bring himself to delete it.

Downloaded it when he heard all the Savannahlaw guys going on and on about their favorite characters. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Surely, every character couldn't possibly be…oh. Oh yeah every one of them is very pretty.

But he finds you the prettiest. He isn't sure why. Maybe it's that glint in your eyes, or the way your hair sits just the way he likes it, or the jacket your character wears. He doesn't know what it is. But you're the prettiest to him.

He won't spend money on this. He thinks it would be a waste. So he's lucky that he has two of your SSR cards. And both of them have stories where you persevere and show everyone you are stronger than you look, physically and emotionally. It just proves that he was right to pick you.

For some reason, he always imagines how things would be if you were real. He'd want to have soft domestic moments with you. Maybe you'd both brush each other's hair. Maybe you'd cook together. Maybe you'd do chores in the same room. He imagines you two could say very little, and be happy that you are both just in each other's company. 

[cupids-scream-queen]

House of wax request

Vincent Sinclair x fem reader

What if reader and vin have a kid together and she’s def a daddy’s girl and loves Vincent’s face they just a chill day them playing outside daughter hugging vin just super cute and fluffy

-> Vincent Sinclair x f!reader

-> Warnings: none! just fluff.

-> Summary: It's been years since you first moved to Ambrose. You adjusted to life pretty easily, and now that you had your first daughter with Vincent, life was pretty much perfect.

A/N: Thanks for this request! It was a really nice break in between Smutmas, and it's honestly probably one of the cutest things I've written recently!! It's kind of short, so feel free to send another ask if you'd like a longer version or HC's :)

Vincent hadn't spoken a word in all the years you knew him, yet the way he played with your daughter let you know that he loved her with every fiber of his being.

Vincenza--everyone called her Vinny--was a beautiful, ebony-haired child, just like her father. She had vivid blue eyes, a knack for getting into all sorts of trouble, and just enough awareness to gaslight her Uncle Bo into believing she was the most perfect girl to exist.

Vinny was in the garden, her little six-year-old hands on her father's face, his mask discarded to reveal his real face. You hadn't even seen it when he first got you pregnant--he took it off only in the presence of his daughter, once she was born. You weren't entirely sure why, perhaps it had something to do with the fact he wanted his daughter to see her father's face, but it was a sediment that you knew proved that he would never, ever, harm her.

Vinny was into flowers, her gardening skills allowing for a large variety of vegetables now grown fresh, including tomatoes, green beans, peppers, and a variety of squash that you really didn't want to ask Lester how he got his hands on. You also never asked Lester why he always seemed to have really, really good fertilizer, or where he got the squirrel he gave Vinny when she was born.

"Vin? Vinny?" You made your way to the two of them, your skin sunkissed in the Ambrose summer.

"Yes Mommy?" Your daughter held sunflowers in her hand, she was tucking them in braids she made in Vincent's long hair. "Look, daddy's pretty!" She giggled, and Vincent smiled, genuinely. You'd never seen him happier than when he was with Vinny.

"How's the flowers?" Vincenza pointed to the other end of the field, where a huge patch of yellow, red, and orange flowers lay.

"They grew! Mommy, I think Uncle Lester has magic dirt," She said the last part quietly, as if a secret between the three of you. Vincent had a playful glint in his eye when Vinny began to theorize why her plants grew better when Uncle Lester brought her bags of dirt.

"Maybe, or perhaps you're just very good at taking care of your plants," You sat on the grass, next to your husband. Vincent looked at you and smiled, the corners of his mouth playful as he pointed to his daughter. "She's adorable--just like you."

He blushed, his good half of his face a cherry color. You kissed his cheek, and your daughter followed suit, kissing the scarred side. Vincent smiled, and Vinny climbed into her father's lap, enveloped in him.

It was perfect, really. A happy family, a beautiful daughter, and a wonderful husband. Vincenza was your pride and joy, and Vincent was mutual in the feeling. The two of you were there to stay, your daughter growing up in a household of love and affection, her gardening habit growing to one day surpass the majority of flower beds at the house.

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