#3085

[sleepsucks]

[harveyphotography]

Roma è quello stato d’animo indescrivibile che si ripete ogni volta che pensi a qualcosa di bello, invincibile ed eterno.

[gattogrigiobjd]

Bonny by Nadine Via Flickr: MaskCat Gladys

[cardismantlers]

Cash for Cars Yallambie 3085 #Yallambie #3085 #Victoria #Australia https://www.cardismantlers.com.au/yallambie/

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #3085 - June 12th

Patreon / Discord Server / Itaku / Bluesky

[generallemarc]

Ever wonder what would happen if the vocals of Year 3000 by the jonas brothers were combined with the instrumentation from the Bowling for Soup version of 1985? Well, wonder no longer!

[wojciech-kac]

NHL 07 - GRA Xbox 360 - Opole 3085

[cuties-in-codices]

I'm a really big fan of the way demons were, for some time, depicted as being covered in beastly faces. Especially on their torso. Thinking up a tattoo in that style. Would you know of a collection of examples? Or some particularly interesting sources? Trying to collect them for inspiration.

gastrocephalic demons my beloved! idk of any collections but here are of some of my favs, all from 15th or 16th c. manuscripts 😌

signatures & links to the digitized manuscripts (in order): Hannover, GWLB, Ms I 57, fol. 27v // Solothurn, ZB, Cod. S II 43, fol. 367v // Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 99r // Paris, BnF, Latin 1171, fol. 71r // Munich, BSB, Cgm 48, fol. 95r // Luzern, ZHB, Msc. 39. fol., fol. 71v // Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 95v // Paris, BnF, Français 1537, fol. 54r // Gotha, Forschungsbibl., Cod. Chart. A 594, fol. 73v // Vienna, ÖNB, Cod. 3085, fol. 196r // Berlin, SBB, Ms. germ. fol. 245, fol. 56v // Paris, BnF, Latin 1171, fol. 56r // Munich, BSB, Clm 28345, fol. 109r // Paris, BnF, Français 166, fol. 139r // Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 67v // Augsburg, UB, Cod. I.3.8º 1, fol. 150v // LA, Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig XV 9, fol. 280r // Valenciennes, Médiathèque Simone Veil, 244 (234), fol. 27r // Paris, BnF, Français 166, fol. 79v //Nürnberg, STN, Cent. V, App. 34a, fol. 114r // Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 83r

[wasteddays]

THE BEACH BOYS LIVE COLBY COLLEGE WATERFORD,ME MAY 13th, 1973 2019 2CD NSU RECORDS NSU RECORDS #3085/86 PLEASE SEE BACK COVER FOR DETAILS IF YOU'RE A GREAT FAN OF THE BEACH BOYS YOU WILL WANT TO GET THIS ONE FOR YOUR PRIVATE COLLECTION. IT'S REALLY...

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A sign has gone up in front of the most expensive home in B.C. – the waterfront mansion owned by Lululemon founder Chip Wilson – calling the provincial NDP "communist." The property at 3085 Point Grey Rd., which is in NDP Leader David Eby's riding, was most recently assessed at $81,765,200. "Eby will tell you the Conservatives are 'far right,' but neglects saying that the NDP is ‘communist," the sign says.  The New Democrat government brought increased taxes on homes assessed at over $3 million in 2018 and has also increased income tax on the top two per cent of earners, moves Eby defended when asked about the sign Thursday.

Continue Reading

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[thebirdandthebee]

Aw Honey Honey (18+)

A Jake “Hangman” Seresin one-shot based on the above prompt + “Does he not know that we’re together?” This is unedited and a little corny, but I think it turned out cute! Smut and fluff ahead! 18+ only. If you enjoyed it, please don't keep it to yourself :)

Title: Aw Honey Honey Jake Seresin isn’t sharing his Sugar. WC: 3085

To some people you were the cute girl who worked in the corporate office of community engagement on base at Miramar. To others, you were Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin’s very serious, long-term girlfriend.

While you weren’t enlisted, you felt spoiled that you had an office on base, but weren’t tethered to quite the same rules and restrictions that your boyfriend, or his group of friends were obligated to abide by. Sure, you didn’t have free reign, but you often used your office as a hideout for your friends and colleagues during the day when they needed a place to relax for a few minutes.

Of course, there was work to do as well. You were in the thick of scheduling sailors and aviators alike to visit classrooms at elementary schools next week for Read Across America Day. Everyone got a class to visit from kindergarten through fifth grade, would read a Dr. Seuss book out loud, and then left a copy for each child to take home. It was one of your favorite days of the year.

“Knock, knock,” looking up from your computer, you saw Dean ‘Hooper’ Lennox, one of the newest aviators to join the elite fighter weapons school – or Top Gun.

���Hi Dean,” you smiled warmly, gesturing to the open seat across from you desk. “How ya doin’?”

“I’m good, how are you?” He asked, forgoing the chair and leaning against your desk.

“Happy it’s Friday,” you replied, leaning back in your chair and crossing one leg over the other, missing the way he glanced at your bare legs.

“Big plans this weekend?” he asked, reaching over flicking this finger across the top of your pen cup.

“I think some friends and I will hit The Hard Deck tonight,” you replied, opening up a desk drawer to pull out a Milky Way, breaking it in half and handing the other over to him. He grinned as he dropped it into his mouth as you enjoyed your treat as well.

“I’m sure we’ll end up there, too,” he added, eyes zeroing in on a thread of caramel on the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I can buy you a drink,” he reached down, running his thumb over your soft skin. You blushed with embarrassment; you must have looked ridiculous with candy on your face.

“Never say no to a free drink,” you laughed.

“Hey there,” you looked around Dean’s body to see Natasha’s head in your doorway.

“Hi Phee,” you grinned, “we’re having a candy break,” you explained.

“Love some sugar, huh Hooper?” Phoenix asked, “I think Rooster’s looking for you,” she added.

“See ya tonight,” Dean smiled, giving you a wink before disappearing from your office. Phoenix dropped into the chair opposite your desk.

“Milky Way or 100 Grand?” You asked, opening up your drawer.

“You know I want the Milky Way,” Phoenix replied with a flat look, opening her hand palm-up. You tossed one her way and she easily caught it, tearing it open. “Hooper visit you often?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah once and a while,” you shrugged.

“He always get right in your space like that?” She followed up.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“I miss candy hour?” Jake asked, standing in the open door way.

“Hi babe,” you greeted, “candy hour is just starting,” you insisted, opening your drawer once again and fishing out a Baby Ruth bar.

“Thanks Sugar,” Jake said, walking over and kissing your cheek gently as he took the treat from you.

“You just missed Hooper,” Phoenix announced, giving her teammate a pointed look.

“Big loss,” Jake commented, not having a particular taste for the newbie.

“Yeah, he was getting some sugar from your Sugar,” Natasha added. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. Jake whipped around to look back at you, taking a bite out of his candy bar.

“Does he not know that we’re together?” He asked, his green eyes looking rather focused.

“Well it’s not like I introduce myself as Jake Seresin’s girlfriend,” you laughed, flipping your laptop back open.

“Well you could,” Jake said as if it was the obvious thing in the world.

“Phee, back me up here,” you said, looking for some female solidarity. Phoenix shrugged, planting her feet back on the ground and standing up.

“I don’t know, I think he wants to fuck you,” Phoenix said, “but I’ve got reports to file, so that’s my cue – see you all tonight.”

“Bye Phee,” you sighed, looking back up at Jake whose gaze had really focused back on you.

“Why does Phoenix think Hooper wants to fuck you?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Baby, he came in here to get some candy and asked me if I had any weekend plans,” you said plainly, standing up from your desk, “Phoenix is being ridiculous – besides, what do I care what Dean thinks?” You wound your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest. “I’ve got you,” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Jake gave in, draping his arms down over your shoulders and hugging you against him.

“Is it the weekend yet?” He asked, lacing his hand up into your hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“Tonight will be fun,” you insisted. “But for now, back to work, Hangman,” you laughed, landing an open palm on his ass.

“I’m reporting you,” Jake frowned, leaning down to press a hot kiss to your mouth, “see you at home.” He gave your hair one more little tug before disappearing. Dropping back down to your desk, you glanced at the clock. The workday couldn’t end soon enough.

You beat Jake home that afternoon, immediately changing out of your work clothes and into a pair of Jake’s shorts and a tank top. You were throwing together a cheese quesadilla in the kitchen when you heard the front door open again.

“Sugar?” He called out, “where ya hidin’ baby?” he wandered into the kitchen, already unbuttoning his khaki shirt.

“Hi handsome,” you grinned, greeting him with a kiss. “Want a lil snack?” you asked, brandishing your spatula in the air.

“I got a lil snack right here,” he said, chasing your lips with a kiss.

“What time are we meeting everyone?” You asked, “do we have time for a quick shower?”

“Sugar, you know we always have time for a shower,” Jake grinned.

“Split this with me,” you commanded, transferring the quesadilla to a plate, the cheese gooey and hot. Carefully cutting it in half, Jake gladly let you feed him bite by bite.

“How about we go away next weekend?” Jake said, gladly chowing down on the snack you made.

“Where do you want to go, babe?” You reached up, swiping at the corner of Jake’s mouth with a napkin.

“Go up the coast, stay in Malibu for a couple days,” he said, “get a little tan.”

“I’m in,” you nodded. “Love seeing you in those little euro swim trunks,” you winked. Jake scoffed with a shake of his head, tossing his plate in the sink and taking your last bite.

“You have ten seconds to strip and get in the shower,” he pointed to the bathroom down the hall. When Jake meant business, he meant business, so you skedaddled through the house, losing your shorts and top along the way. He’d grab them anyway, Jake Seresin was an unbearable clean freak.

You’d just stepped into the stream of water when you felt Jake’s hands on your waist, shortly followed by his breath in our ear.

“Hi Sugar,” he whispered, holding back the shower curtain as he stepped in.

“Hi Jake,” you grinned, turning to face him, the hot water beating down on your back.

“You been a good girl today?” He asked, pushing your hair back from your face.

“Always are,” you insisted, giving him those big doe eyes he always loved.

“Don’t like you being sweet to Hooper,” He said, walking you back to press you against the shower wall. The tile was cold and he welcomed your arched gasp, pressing your body against his hips-first.

“Can’t help being nice, babe, it’s my nature,” you reminded, “seem to recall when you enjoyed me being so sweet to you.” You’d met Jake two years ago around this time, when he came barreling into your office about a community event, asking a favor for support, when he stuck around for some homemade caramels.

“Your sugar is just for me,” he said, fingers trailing down your stomach to your sex, swiping two fingers through your wet folds before bringing them up to his mouth. “My favorite,” he complimented. “Let’s see if you’re sweet everywhere.”

Your hands found purchase in his blonde hair as his lips traveled from your lips to your jaw to your neck. Sucking gently, you gasped as his teeth grazed your delicate skin.

It was all you could do to run your hands up and down his sculpted back, water cascascading across his muscles as he traveled around your neck and collarbone.

“Jake,” you whined gently, impatience thick in your throat.

“Come on, honey girl,” he hoisted you up, hands planted firmly on your ass as he forced your legs around his waist. When he slid his cock home, you sighed with relief. “There you are,” he huffed into your ear, “there’s my sweet girl,” he could feel his lungs expand in his chest.

“I gotta shampoo,” you reminded, eyes going cross for a moment as he stroked up into you. “Are you seriously thinking about shampoo right now?” Jake asked.

“No, baby,” you giggled at his affronted tone, but gasped as he doubled his efforts, hitting just the right spot inside of you relentlessly. “Jake,” you moaned.

“That’s better,” he grit out, legs shaking beneath him. He liked to think he was in fairly good shape, but the way your sex clenched around him had Jake second-guessing himself. “God you feel incredible, Sugar,” his brows knit in concentration.

Acclimated to the temperature of the tile against your back, you returned your hands to his hair, soothing the lines of his forehead from pure concentration.

“Fucking me so good,” you encouraged, head tilting back against the wall. “Always fuck me so good,” your hand gripped the back of Jake’s neck, fingertips stroking the fine hair there.

“Come on baby, give me that sugar,” he grunted, fingers returning to your clit, making you jump. Jake knew your body better than you, and he could tell, as your right heel dug into his lower back, that you were close. He pressed his forehead into your neck as he came, hips stuttering erratically, mindful to fuck you through his orgasm. With shaking hands, he swirled around your clit just right, shouting as you came, squeezing him in a way that caused black spots in his vision.

Jake, on unsteady legs, gently set you down, the shower filled with billows of steam.

Lazily looping your arms around his neck, he kissed you slowly, savoring the taste of your mouth.

“Lemme shampoo you,” you whispered, making him honk out a loud laugh.

“I swear you love your shampoo more than me,” He said, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.

“Baby, not more than you,” you murmured, “just as much.” A loud squeal ripped from your mouth as he slapped your ass.

Twenty minutes later, you were throwing a summery strapless maxi dress on, tying your hair back into a low bun.

“Babe?” You called for Jake, who was grabbing fresh clothes from the laundry room. He dutifully stepped into the bedroom, taking your necklace and clasping it around your neck wordlessly – a habit he was all too accustomed to. Appearing in the bathroom mirror, you frowned as you saw how red and splotchy your skin was from Jake’s ministrations, but applied minimal makeup nonetheless.

“Your boobs look good,” he commented, stepping behind you, hands cupping your breasts over your dress.

“Jake,” you laughed, “get out of the way or I’m going to get perfume on you,” you warned. He gave your breasts a quick squeeze before heading down the hall.

You still had twenty minutes or so until you needed to leave, so you’d grabbed the mail and sorted through a few items before picking up the living room and packing your purse for the night.

Jake busied himself in the office before Coyote text him that they were leaving quarters to hit the bar.

“Sugar, time to leave,” he instructed, pulling you from your pile of newspaper coupons. He held your hand as you stepped into your shoes, bringing you a little closer to his height.

You rode alongside him in he car, leaning into his side with an arm over your shoulder. You were grateful for the weekend and the chance to unwind. Planning for the reading event had taken a lot out of you this week and you were ready for the chance to decompress.

Upon arriving at The Hard Deck, Jake grasped your hand, leading you inside. It was already packed for the night, Fridays being the most popular time, and Jake spotted Coyote over near one end of the bar with Harvard and Fritz.

“Oh, there’s Tasha – I’ll meet you,” you assured, rocking up to your toes to peck Jake’s lips. ���Buy me a beer?” You asked, already crossing the bar. Jake shook his head with a smile, knowing he’d get you anything you asked for.

“What the hell happened to you?” Natasha asked as a greeting. You looked back over you shoulder, wondering if she was talking to you.

“What?” You asked, brows furrowed, “me?”

“You look like you got fucking mauled,” she laughed sardonically, eyeing you up. Looking down, you could see the faintest yellow mark just below your collarbone. Grabbing Natasha’s phone, you flipped the camera to selfie-mode. Over the last half an hour, your red splotches had developed into yellow-green bruises all of your neck and collarbone. “What the fuck?” you laughed, rolling your eyes, “Jake.” You supplied as an answer. “It’s your fault actually,” you said pointedly, angling your body away from the bar.

“My fault?” Natasha asked, eyes wide.

“Yes! Jake got all in my business after you told him Hooper wants to fuck me,” you gave her a meaningful look.

“Well Hooper does want to fuck you,” she said plainly. “Here,” she grabbed her jean jacket off the high top next to her. “This will piss Jake off,” she grinned.

“I don’t really care what he thinks, I just look ridiculous,” you shrugged it on – letting it rest on your shoulders without looping your arms through the sleeves.

You and Natasha caught up for a bit longer, you leaning an elbow against the countertop.

After a good fifteen minutes, you noticed Hooper approaching from over Natasha’s shoulder, and you stood a little straighter.

“No drink in your hand?” He asked with a wide smile.

“Oh, her friend is getting her one,” Natasha smiled knowingly.

“Sure I can’t buy you one? I did offer,” he said, giving her a smile like butter wouldn’t melt. Maybe he was flirting with her after all.

“You’re sweet, but I’m all set,” you reassured.

“Can’t wait for the Read Across America event next week,” he said excitedly, a genuine smile reflecting in those blue eyes. You weren’t blind – Hooper was an attractive man - ocean eyes, fluffy dark brown hair and a chin cleft that harkened back to old Hollywood. He just wasn’t your Jake.

“Yeah, you been practicing your ABCs?” Natasha asked snarkily. You tossed her a look that screamed be nice!

“I’m glad! Not everyone jumps at the chance to entertain a class of 20 six-year olds,” you smiled.

“I’ve got a big family, lots of siblings – I also volunteer as Big Brother out of the San Diego chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters,” he elaborated, watching the smile on your face grow.

“Yeah, you read to orphans, too?” Natasha asked, sipping her beer. You caught her eye, just to see her expression change and a feline grin take over her face.

“Hi there,” you could spot Jake’s voice anywhere. “Brought your favorite,” he said, setting a summer shandy down on the counter next to your elbow.

“Thanks Jake,” you smiled. “Dean was just telling us about how he volunteers at Big Brothers Big Sisters, isn’t that just the sweetest?” You asked, looking up and over your shoulder at him.

“The sweetest,” Jake grinned that cocky smirk that made you wonder what he was going to do next. “Sugar are you not sweatin’ in here with that jacket on?” He asked, gingerly taking the shoulder seams in his hands and dragging it off of your body, folding it in half and tossing it over the same chair it originally laid across.

There was no missing Hooper’s expression as he eyed up the gallery of color across your neck and décolletage.  

“Yeah, I um –” He watched, clearing his throat as Jake snaked his arms around your waist from behind, dropping a kiss down on your bare shoulder. “Started back at my old chapter in Kansas City, but transferred here… when I moved.” He finished lamely.

“That’s so kind of you, I wish I could do more philanthropically, but I get to fill that cup through work, so it’s a big bonus,” you smiled, Jake’s body pressed so tightly up against your back, there wasn’t room for even a piece of paper to slip between you. Natasha’s grin was downright wicked from behind the rim of her glass, the glint in her eyes absolutely entertained.

“She’s a real sweet girl,” Jake commented. “Sugar sweet,” he finished, squeezing your waist in hand.

“I think Tanker and Mad Dog are starting up a game of pool,” he said, eyes darting all around – “I’ll see you guys later, have a great night.” He practically left a cloud of smoke in his wake.

“Jacob Seresin,” you scolded, turning in your boyfriend’s grip. Natasha burst into laughter.

“Yes?” He asked, tipping his chin up to look down at you, that same cocky smirk on his face.

“You’re unbelievable you know that?” You asked.

“Better believe it,” he grinned.

“And what is all this?” You gestured to your colorful skin.

“I think it turned out quite well, wouldn’t you agree, Phoenix?” He asked.

“You’re a real piece of work, Bagman,” she shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” You asked, leaning forward.

“You can start by giving me some sugar.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Aw Honey Honey, you might also like Mighty Fine!

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 25.

Summary: Oliver, Farleigh, and matters of pride.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: non-graphic smut, implied noncon (the Oliver/Farleigh scene), manipulation.

A/N: 3085 words. i really didn't mean for this to be ANOTHER chapter about the henrys dinner however i thought it was important to get an Oliver POV regarding everything that happens between him and farleigh. this was meant to be longer and extend over several more days but i think i'd rather we follow reader for the fallout.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

You've been off all night. Oliver can tell you're trying to hide it, trying to mask your feelings with drinks and the company of the Catton siblings, but he's not blind to you, he never has been. Occasionally, from where he'd been observing the three of you, he sees your gaze land on Farleigh, sees the barest crease of your brow that everyone else seems to miss, and the way you always looked away. Never more than a moment spent on the likes of Farleigh Start.

The same man you seemed to otherwise have all the time in the world for.

Something had happened, something he wasn't privy to, something that occurred in the time you and Farleigh were outside, and Oliver was otherwise occupied with Felix's kindness and attention.

While Oliver never wanted to see you upset, there was a quiet triumph in his chest upon witnessing the disconnect between yourself and Farleigh. Farleigh had tried to drive a wedge in your relationship with Oliver, but it seems as though it had backfired, despite you still believing him over Oliver's attempt at manipulating the truth. Small victories, Oliver thinks to himself.

Perhaps it was overconfidence that lead him to his seat beside Farleigh later that evening. Feeling tipsy and vindictive with his own conversation with you still playing on repeat in his mind, he humours Farleigh's game of 'Fuck, Chuck, or Marry' with the portraits, lets him press against Oliver's side as he murmurs almost knowingly about Richard III's insecurities would lead him to work harder in bed. Every word Farleigh has ever spoken to him after their very first meeting has always been so clearly deliberate and insidious; Oliver's wondering if he's projecting here, while trying once more to psych Oliver out.

But if Farleigh wants to play games, Oliver wants to win.

"Or you could just fuck me?" He offers, voice low, turning from the stern-faced portraits to Farleigh himself after a moment. Farleigh is rather beautiful when drunk in his own right and caught off-guard. There's something so deliciously tempting in his big, brown eyes, something suddenly dangerous about how close this beautiful boy was sitting in this moment. But he could never trust Farleigh's intentions, especially not now.

And clearly Farleigh didn't trust his either. Clever boy. Too clever for his own good.

"Why'd you tell Y/N about me and Venetia?" He asks plainly. Watching Farleigh's mind try to come up with a justification was fascinating; it seems even he knows that Oliver won't believe whatever lie he comes up with.

"Well, I didn't think they'd react that badly -"

"Yes, you did," Oliver cuts him off without a second of hesitation, and already Farleigh's lips are twisting into an amused smile, but Oliver's not done, "you knew they'd run right to Felix about it too, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," the look in Farleigh's eyes is far meaner than his sly smile, something unexpectedly sharp there. A nerve struck; what had you and he said to each other earlier? But Oliver keeps his façade up, lets his face drop; if Farleigh reads guilt in his disappointment, that's on him. For a moment, just a single moment, he thinks he can see a flicker of apology cross Farleigh's delicate features as Oliver sighs softly. His gaze drops.

"You know, if you ever wanna talk to anyone, you can talk to me, Farleigh," he offers softly, expression open and honest as he once more meets Farleigh's gaze. An imitation of an olive branch.

"What do you mean?" There it is, that distrustful look that Oliver had expected. Farleigh's well aware of how observant Oliver is, it wouldn't be a stretch for him to figure out he'd picked up on the tension between you and him, the wedge between supposed best friends. Oliver lets the unspoken implications alone apply pressure to that wedge for just a moment before he changes tact in his continued effort to disarm this man.

"Well, I know you're going through a hard time at home, I know how that feels," Oliver allows himself to be read as vulnerable in this moment, "when things are so precarious," he sighs deeply, gaze wandering as if lost in thought, and not carefully catalogues each minute change in Farleigh's expression, "it's terrifying... and lonely," and he meets Farleigh's almost disbelieving gaze. Farleigh was not so easily lead, it seemed, but the challenge of him is almost thrilling, "and it must be so fucking weird feeling like you have to ask them for everything," and your words about Farleigh's pride echo through Oliver's mind as he drops his gaze, "I know how demeaning it can feel."

A spark of recognition in Farleigh's eyes, something surprised and just a little pained for reasons even beyond Oliver, before they settle into something that almost looks like regret.

"And I know you fuckin' hate me -" Oliver starts, but suddenly the regret is no longer just in Farleigh's eyes, his whole expression softening for just a moment as he tries to deny it.

"I... I don't hate you," his voice is uncharacteristically sincere, as is the look in his eyes. Perfect. This is exactly where Oliver wants him. Despite his better instincts, Oliver wants to forge this connection, wants this common ground, needs Farleigh on side. Both of them love you and Felix; they're going to be in each other's lives whether they like it or not, and Oliver's fucking sick of fighting Farleigh on that at every turn.

"But," Oliver lets his tone soften to something sincere, as if to appreciate the admission before attempting to double down on this fragile moment of connection, "if you ever wanted me to talk to them to see if there's..." he sighs, searching for the right words to appear as earnest as he's able, "if I can help in any way..." Farleigh's too proud to ever ask, so Oliver knows he can't do any more than imply he should do as much. Instead, he adds, "even Y/N," for good measure.

Something shifts in Farleigh's expression, a hint of skepticism.

"Even Y/N?" But his tone is strange, unreadable, gaze still boring into Oliver's.

"I know they're too proud to offer," Oliver tells him with the faintest notes of sadness, "too afraid of sounding like their mum, but they love you," he watches the way pain momentarily flickers in Farleigh's eyes, "I can talk to them too."

He hopes Farleigh can hear the intention in his words; they all love you, so I'm willing to do right by you.

After a beat, Farleigh laughs softly, finally tearing his gaze from Oliver, the movement of his head too quick for Oliver to read his reaction properly. Alas, the moment is broken, Farleigh is standing, and Oliver just hopes his words have had their intended effect. At the very least, he's sure he's subtly needled Farleigh's insecurities enough for him to reconsider his ongoing cruelty towards Oliver.

Except in the next few moments, it's made clear that he'd pushed him too far. He doesn't trust the look in Farleigh's eyes as he's pulling Oliver up to sing whatever song he's chosen, but Oliver reluctantly goes along with it. There's alarm bells in the back of his head as he plays along, wanting to believe that this isn't some kind of trap, that this is really Farleigh trying to connect with him in some way.

Nervous with microphone in hand, he scans the room as the song's opening plays. The tightness in his chest eases when he spots Felix in the corner of the room by the bar cart with you and Venetia, smiling at him warmly, encouragingly. But only after he begins to sing does his gaze focus upon you, and his blood runs cold. Amid the cheering of the Catton siblings beside you, and the others around the room, you're not looking at Oliver, you're looking at Farleigh, and you're fucking furious.

But the song's begun now, even if he's not entirely listening to the lyrics, he can't stop in front of all these people, can he? But his attention turns back to the little screen and he reads the words as he sings, voice faltering -

"I love you-" oh. Farleigh really fucking hated him, "you pay my rent."

Farleigh cheers obnoxiously from the side of the room, and Oliver actually sees you make a start to move towards him, but Felix holds you back. The sight of your furious indignation on his behalf does little to ease the shame and embarrassment that flares up in him in this moment. All he can think to do is spitefully insist that Farleigh finish the song, that it's his song too after all, but Farleigh's high on the victory and completely without shame as he accepts his place in the spotlight.

All Oliver wants to do is just disappear, hot, angry tears pricking his eyes as he absconds through the nearest door. He needs to get out of this suffocating house, away from these entitled assholes, he needs fresh air -

"Ollie, mate -" he couldn't even hear Felix's footsteps running to catch up with him, only hearing him when his hand is on Oliver's shoulder, "that was fucked -"

"It's fine, Felix," Oliver tries to insist, even as Felix turns him around to face him.

"It's not fine, it was fucking cruel is what it was," Felix holds him steady by the shoulders, but Oliver just hangs his head. There's no way he's letting Felix see him cry over this, especially after he'd just bore witness to Farleigh's thorough public humiliation of him.

"I'll be fine, really, I just need some air and some space," Oliver reiterates, trying to step back. Felix lets him go; Oliver can almost picture his crestfallen look, but still doesn't have the nerve to look up.

"Ollie," Felix's voice is so soft, so apologetic. Oliver wants nothing more than to hold him tightly, hear him reassure that Farleigh was being a cunt and that no-one thinks of him like that, even if Oliver knows that it's not true, that you and Felix are the only ones that see him as anything more than just a pretty, little charity case. Felix would believe himself, though; he was far too earnest for the rest of his family half the time. It's one of the countless things he's come to love about Felix.

He takes another step back.

"I just need to be alone for a bit," Oliver's voice softens, fighting back the urge to sniffle, "I'll be fine, Felix, I promise."

"Will you come find me later? Please?"

Oliver has no idea what he's going to do in the next five minutes let alone beyond that. But he nods.

"Maybe," is what he says, "I promise I'll be okay; if I don't see you tonight, we'll still hang out tomorrow."

"Okay," Felix sounds almost disappointed, before he sighs deeply. His concern is quickly turning back to irritation as his thoughts seem to be returning to his cousin, "you know I love you, mate."

"I know," Oliver agrees, "love you too, Felix," and he walks away, because he knows Felix would wait in this moment forever if Oliver let him, unable to properly leave his clearly upset friend even if dismissed. A loyal dog in his own right when he wanted to be.

Sitting in the garden, Oliver's sense of shame crystalises into fury with each deep breath he takes. The absolute audacity of Farleigh to do that to him, and after all the trouble he's been causing you and Felix lately! Prideful prick.

So certain of his place in their lives, Oliver knew the only thing that would ever really matter to Farleigh is losing it. The cruelty was almost predictable at this point, Oliver's actually foolish to have not seen it coming. Oliver feels as though he should never have believed you for the supposed kindness you saw in Farleigh; like Felix you were too loving, too permissive for your own good sometimes. Honestly, Farleigh didn't even deserve your kindness, he thought ruefully.

Oliver couldn't say he hadn't at least tried diplomacy.

After the house had grown quiet and he was sure he wouldn't run into anyone, aside from that uncanny butler, though he seemed incredibly adept at ignoring the strangeness of Saltburn's youth, Oliver heads back to his room. The sound of Felix's door opening makes him start, and he ducks in quickly, closing the door over to avoid whoever it was who was leaving. He knew he was too full of rage to face yours or Felix's kindness in this moment. However, he's surprised to hear Venetia humming to herself, and to see her wearing your navy robe as she trots down the hall towards her own room. Not a second later, Oliver hears the shower on in the adjoining bathroom, and he closes the door, confused, wondering where Felix could have gotten to at the end of the night.

But considering Venetia only made his rage and guilt grow stronger in his gut. Another person who took you for granted, another person who felt entitled to your affection. As much as he tried, he couldn't get to sleep, and his eyes land on the dark shape of the book by his bedside. Saltburn: The Art of Saltburn House, The Catton Collection. It had been left undoubtably by you near the beginning of his stay, and had helped him ingratiate himself to Felix's father as he took an interest in the antiquities Farleigh had simply sneered at. The antiquities Oliver knew the exorbitant value of, and how much that money could theoretically mean to Farleigh, and a plan began to form.

Farleigh would never let him live this night down, Farleigh would never let him live this life with you both that Oliver craved so desperately. Farleigh would never let him live in peace, if he could help it. So Farleigh couldn't be allowed to live here.

Oliver is quick to find his way to Farleigh's room, stalking as quietly as he's able through the grand halls with furious intent. Each time he'd sought it out, you'd always been with Farleigh on the other side, lavishing the bastard with undeserved attention and pleasure. Sinking down, Oliver peers through the keyhole as he'd done time and again, but there's no silhouette of you against the night sky beyond Farleigh's window, just the man himself sleeping soundly.

Unlike you, Oliver does not know Saltburn well enough to slip through it silently, but Farleigh doesn't stir when the door creaks. Farleigh is beautiful and terrible, even as he sleeps.

Oliver had tried to play nice, Farleigh had left him no choice. He would take Farleigh's pride, and his precious place in this house whether he liked it or not.

It's almost disappointing how little of a challenge Farleigh poses. It's almost too easy to break him, to make him submit, to make him obedient. Despite the fact that he'd watched you do it, he hadn't realised how desperate Farleigh was to be under someone's thumb in moments like this, how quickly his resolve would crumble. Oh there's anger, there's push back, but it's a token effort at best. He snarls as Oliver rides him, digging his nails into Oliver's thighs hard enough to draw blood, but he still cums.

"You're fucking sick," he spits breathlessly, but he still has a hand on Oliver's cock, still let's Oliver's cum splatter across his chest without complaint before he shoves him off to clean himself off.

Are you going to behave? He must have Oliver's soft orders playing on repeat in his mind, because he doesn't even complain when he sees Oliver sitting on his bed when he gets back. His scowl is to be expected, but Oliver knows this is his victory, and that it won't be the last for tonight, as he'd already found Farleigh's phone on the windowsill. Opening the curtains, Farleigh cracks open the window before he lights a cigarette.

"You don't fucking love them," Farleigh doesn't even look at him, barking a soft, humourless laugh. Oliver freezes, his expression hard as he looks to Farleigh; his victory feels short-lived as the anger quickly returns at the accusation, "I told them you were just going to use them, and break their fucking hearts, and I was right."

"Watch yourself, Farleigh," Oliver warns sharply, voice low and dangerous.

"And the fucked up part is that if you were honest, they would have let you," Farleigh continues, sounding almost disgusted; with himself, with you and Felix, with Oliver, with the whole situation, "but now they think they're in love, and I just have to watch them crash and burn because of you," taking a long draft of his cigarette, he holds the smoke in his lungs before it spills out around his words, lip curling in derision, "you're a fucking black hole, Oliver."

Oliver watches him finish his smoke and close the window, drawing the blinds once again. He doesn't look at Oliver. He doesn't ask him to leave. He doesn't get it, so he's done with you all; he's broken, he behaves.

"Good night, Farleigh," Oliver says flatly as Farleigh stretches out on the bed beside him, on his side, back to Oliver.

"For the record," Farleigh bites out quietly, "I do hate you." As if it wasn't abundantly clear already. But Oliver remains quiet, despite the absolute outrage Farleigh's words had sparked inside him.

Everything he was doing, he did because he loved you and Felix. Everything.

Laying still and quiet beside Farleigh, he gazes up at the roof, trying to keep his breathing even, listening to Farleigh's own as it grew slow and deep, and Oliver was sure he was asleep. Giving it just a bit more time to make sure, he sits up carefully, making sure not to jostle Farleigh in the slightest, before he reaches for the phone on the windowsill.

Farleigh didn't understand you and Felix, and he certainly didn't deserve any ounce of your attention. Farleigh was a self-serving, entitled creature fuelled by spite and pride; he'd set this house on fire if it would keep him warm, Oliver's sure. So he enacts his plan, sends the email that would spell Farleigh's ruin, and deletes all trace of it from the man's phone before he puts it back where he found it.

And he leaves as quietly as he'd arrived.

[cardismantlers]

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[haifaiftikhar]

«поистине, вас ожидают такие дни, терпение в которых будет подобно тому, как держать в руке раскаленные угли. награда того, кто совершал благие поступки в те дни, будет равна награде пятидесяти человек из вас, которые совершили такие же поступки.»

🪶 ��т-тирмизи 3085.

[viktoriaashleyyx]

The High Lord and the Selkie

"Lord long have I loved you, as a selkie on the foam, I would gladly go and wed thee and be lady of your home, but to stay on land past midnight, it would surely be my death."

Tarquin Bonus chapter, can stand alone. Influenced heavily by The Maiden and the Selkie by Heather Dale.

I've been in my Tarquin feels recently, he needs some love. Bonus chapter for A Court Reborn. Also this is Pro Tamlin, he doesn't have a large part, but does show up towards the end.

Word Count: 3085

Tarquin art // Ocean Art // Selkie Art

One cool Summer morning, before the Sun rose fully to heat the land, Tarquin sat out on the private fishing pier at the edge of his estate, pants rolled up to his knees, legs dangling above the clean Sea water. This was his favorite place, he would come here every chance he could get to just sit and watch the Sea. More than half of his life was spent trapped under the mountain, facing disgusting cruelties daily, never able to feel the Sun on his skin, he would not take the sight of the waves rolling in and the smells of the salty air for granted.

As a small child, his mother would take him to this very spot and teach him how to swim. He would run full speed into the water forcing his mother to dive in after him. His heart ached, now all he had left of her were his memories. Her sweet smile, the way her voice always softened when speaking to him, how he never had any doubt that she would protect him, and she did. Until her dying breath. Until Amarantha waved that ugly wrist of hers and stole her from him. Such a small gesture, movement, and his entire world was ripped out from under him.

No. He had to stop himself. The dark thoughts of those days always found a way to creep back in. “Remember your mother as she lived, don't let Amarantha continue to steal your light.” he would tell himself in times like this. He wanted nothing more than to forget that horrid witch.

He continued watching the waves crash into the pier, it was high tide so every now and then the Sea water would splash and kiss his feet gently. He liked to believe that was his mother, reaching out to him to remind him that she will always be with him. As the sun rose above the horizon, the sky was painted in the most beautiful shades of oranges and yellows. Sometimes, he felt like the sea was staring back at him. He felt a strong pull towards the sea, he considered it a side effect of his High Lord powers.

Just below the surface of the water, a selkie watched him longingly. Her seal eyes allowed her to see through the waves, and for months now she would leave the safety of her underwater town and travel close to the surface, just to get a glimpse of the most beautiful male she had ever seen.

Her name was Maive and she was the daughter of a decently well off Seal Lord. Well, would be well off if she wasn’t one of eight girls. She was the fourth born, middle child that no one paid too much attention to. She had grown to cherish the freedom that came with it. She could shed her seal coat and join her friends at parties in Adriata without anyone noticing she was gone. But, if she ever allowed herself to think too hard about it, she would long for someone who would care. Someone to notice when she's had a rough day, or even remember that her favorite color was teal, not pink.

She watched the male intensely, hoping that one day he would shed his clothes and jump in the water, or that she would be able to muster the courage to crawl on land and say something to him, anything. His white loc’d hair hung down to his mid chest and contrasted his dark brown skin beautifully. She dreamed of his gorgeous face, his light blue eyes, wide nose and could only imagine what a smile would look like on those lovely full lips. It was obvious he was a “High Fae” as they called themselves, and she was a “lesser fae.” Lesser. That’s what his people thought of her. Lesser. Even if she ever did get a chance to hear his voice, he would never think of her as more than just a subject. That's what her sisters told her. That's why we stay in the ocean and rarely go ashore.

She had heard different sentiments though. When the Red haired witch's curse was broken, a new High Lord of Summer returned, one who dreamed of bridging the divide between High and Lesser fae. The rumors were spotty and she picked up what she could during her trips, but she was barely 70 years of age, most of her friends didn’t like discussing politics. She had heard enough to scrounge up a little bit of childish hope. Even if that's all it ever became, she would allow herself this fantasy, happiness was happiness, even if it was fleeting.

Maive felt a twinge of sadness as Tarquin rose to leave. She knew he wouldn’t stay out here all day, and she cursed herself for, once again, not having the gall to speak to him. She knew her Fae form was beautiful to the people of Adriata. Her seal coat looked more or less like her sisters, black beady eyes that helped her see through the waves, soft gray skin and a cute belly that kept her warm in the ocean depths. But when she shed her coat and joined her friends on shore, the hair on her head was long, to the backs of her knees, a pale greenish color, her skin a darker shade of green with near black freckles lining her cheeks and nose. She doubted it was enough to win the heart of a High Fae male.

♥♥♥♥♥

A few days later, Maive had snuck off to visit her friend, Marielle, and plan their outfits for the upcoming ball at the Summer castle. High Lord Tarquin had sent out flyers inviting everyone in Adriata to the large party he was throwing at his seaside estate. A celebration for winning the war, and the breaking of the curse. The repairs in the city were finally coming to completion. Maive’s knowledge of Prythian current events was lacking considering she would die if she even tried to stay on land past midnight.

“We have to find the perfect dresses,” Marielle gushed excitedly to Maive, “this party will be High Fae and Lesser Fae, do you understand how big this is? We’ve never been welcome at the castle! Maybe this new High Lord is true to his word.” Marielle was a urisk and always kept Maive informed of everything happening on land. “Your mystery man could be there” She teased with a knowing smile.

“Will you stop it!” Maive giggled, “I’m already nervous enough as it is!” Marielle would tease Maive for her crushes and Maive would tease Marielle for her lack of crushes. Marielle, while she loved the parties and dancing, she had never shown much interest in romance for herself. She was content and happy, living in her little apartment in the city square, all her own. She could do as she pleased, stay up as late as she wanted, and invite over whoever she wanted. She had a healthy amount of platonic friends and that filled her heart.

♥♥♥♥♥

The day of the ball, the girls along with a few more friends, gathered back at Marielles apartment to get ready. Her house was the closest, so it required the least amount of walking to the castle. Maive had picked out a shimmery blue gown that made her dark green skin glow. It had skinny straps and a flowing neckline, just enough to showcase her favorite part of her body, her shoulders and neck, and flared out into a mermaid cut at the knees. Marielle curled her hair and added bright green shimmery eyeshadow to Maive’s eyelids. She felt like royalty.

As the girls entered the castle, excited and giggly, it took mere seconds for Maive to spot him. It's like she was pulled towards him. The entire world stopped and she froze as his eyes shifted towards, and caught on her. He was the High Lord Tarquin.

As Tarquin was entertaining the courtiers and citizens in the ballroom, his attention was abruptly pulled toward the door and whatever he was saying left his mind completely. He saw a beautiful young fae, with dark emerald skin and a cute round face. Her big black eyes shimmered in the lights of the ballroom. “Excuse me,” he said, barely looking back to the people he was just speaking to. He was in a trance, he had to talk to her.

Maive shifted her eyes to Marielle, the anticipation looked like fear at first thought, she expected she would have a bit more time, as the nerves grew she reached out for Marielles hand. “Do you see him?” Marielle knew what was going on, she had assumed Maive would be overwhelmed and chose to stay near. “Him? That's Tarquin.” Marielle exclaimed in an excited whisper, noticing Tarquin making his way toward her she added, “no backing out now, just be yourself, I will be close by. You got this.”

“Excuse me, Lady, may I have this dance?” Tarquin tried to hide his shaking, he felt just as nervous as Maive did. All she could manage was a nod as she carefully took his hand. A lump in her throat, led her to believe her voice would crack if she tried to speak. Their eyes had not left each other. She allowed him to lead her to the middle of the ballroom. All eyes fell to them, but neither noticed. As they began to dance, their nerves melted away.

Maive had never learned how to ballroom dance, but following Tarquins lead was easy. It came naturally to her. Chrisseada saw what was happening and took over Tarquins entertaining duties. Her cousin deserved this, and it made her heart happy seeing him happy.

As the music slowed, Tarquin pulled Maive into his chest, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She smiled and rested her head on his chest.

They danced through the night, neither wanting to let go of the other, even for a moment. Until, that is, Marielle cut in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it is 11:30,” Marielle whispered to Maive, “you need to be heading out now if you are to make it to the sea in time.”

For the first time in her life, Maive resented her binds to the ocean. She looked at Tarquin with sadness in those big dark eyes, “I’m sorry, I have to go.” The words were hard to speak, but she trusted Marielle was looking out for her. Letting go of his hand was harder.

Tarquin pulled her in close, one last time and whispered in her ear “Do you trust me?” She shook her head ‘yes’ and he winnowed them to the shoreline.

Her head spun as she took in her surroundings and noted the feel of the sand seeping into her sandals. Tarquins arms felt like home to her, not her city underwater. She wanted nothing more than to stay. “I am sorry, I just needed a few more minutes with you.” His voice was like a beautiful melody in her ear, now that she could hear it clearly. “What is your name?” He needed to hear her voice again, too.

“Maive,” she whispered, looking up at him, trying to process the absolute perfection of this evening, not wanting it to end, ever.

“Maive,” He repeated, she had never loved her name more than hearing it on his lips. It dripped graciously from them like honey. He leaned in to kiss her, and her heart began to beat faster, until she had a thought that cut it off before it even happened.

“My coat!!” She cried. You would think she knew to keep better track of it, given it is her life on the line, but she can’t help being aloof at times. She began searching for it frantically, she usually left it under the pier by Marielles apartment, but Tarquin hadn’t winnowed them to the same spot she entered from. Tarquin understood and immediately began helping her look for it.

“Is this what you are looking for?” Tarquin asked innocently, holding up the soft, but heavy, gray coat.

“Put that down. You don’t know what this would mean.” Maive reluctantly cried. For another Fae to return her seal coat to her, they would be wed. It couldn’t happen this way. She wanted him to choose her, not be bound to her by tradition.

He listened and set it on the ground, and took a few steps back. She ran to slip it on, halfway, and Tarquin led her into the water.

Tarquin held her close to his chest, forehead pressed to hers as the moon rose directly above them. “I will find a way. I promise,” he breathed as a tear escaped, running down her cheek. She kissed him deeply, there were no fireworks, no butterflies, she felt safe, calm. It was better than she had ever fantasized.

“Goodbye, Tarquin,” she gave him a soft smile as she dipped under the waves and returned to her seal family.

♥♥♥♥♥

Tarquin had called to meet with the three people whom he trusted and would know the best. He winnowed to the front door of the Spring Court manor just as Sky had done a month prior upon their first meeting. The trellises scaled the building and were covered in red roses, Spring was healing. That sentiment made him happy. During the reign of Amarantha, Tamlin had taken Summer court citizens in, even celebrated the Solstice to provide them some form of comfort in the times Tarquin was trapped under the mountain. Tarquin always believed that Tamlin had a good heart under all of that stone.

“I have a meeting with the High Lord, Tamlin” Tarquin held his head high and spoke confidently, as Crisseada commanded him to. The guards led him through the halls of the manor and he noted how much repair has been done in such a short time. It was only a few months ago that Tarquin had seen the Manor in complete ruin following Hyberns attack. At the time he hadn’t fully understood why Tamlin chose to side with Hybern, but when Tarquin saw him show up to the battlefield, hand around Barons throat to turn the tide, and ultimately win the war for Prythia, he knew Tamlin was smarter than he was given credit for.

He entered the large meeting room with a circular table in the middle. Tamlin, Sky and Lucien were already there waiting on him. Sky gave him a big smile and a tight hug. “Welcome to Spring, High Lord Tarquin,”

Tamlin and Lucien shook his hand and Tarquin was nervous as he sat down. “You seem to be more.. cheerful than the last time we saw you, Tarquin, what’s going on?” Tamlin asked lightly, noticing Tarquins nerves.

Tarquin wasn’t sure how to begin. He suspected Maive to be his mate, but a High Lord mated to a – he stopped himself even in his thoughts, we won't use those terms anymore. She is a Selkie, nothing about her is Lesser. “I have a bit of a predicament, and I thought who better to ask than the three of you. With Skys otherworldly wisdom, Lucien’s knowledge of Prythia due to being a well traveled emissary, and Tamlins.. Shapeshifting, I was hoping the four of us could come up with a way for me… to wed my mate.” The last few words came out cautiously.

Sky gasped and smiled wide, “What is her name? Where did yall meet?? What's keeping you apart?” Her excitement steadily decreased.

“Her name is Maive and she is a Selkie.” Tarquin announced proudly. All three of them immediately understood the predicament, but Lucien flinched. Memories of Jesminda, of when he tried to wed a lower class fae, flooded in. Tarquin wasn't much older than Lucien was when he lost Jesminda. He reassured himself that Tarquins situation is different, for starters, Tarquin doesn’t have Baron breathing down his neck.

“I have never heard of a selkie remaining on land and living to dawning, have you, Sky?” Lucien thought aloud.

“Never,” Sky responded and Tarquin shrank in disappointment. “We could ask Helion? I’m sure there is something in his lib–”

“No.” Lucien snapped, but softened quickly. “If word gets out, the older High Lords will seek to kill her. They do not like those they view as lesser than them marrying into power.”

“I would never let anything happen to her.” Tarquin assumed Lucien was insinuating he was too weak to protect his own people. To protect her. He still held shame for allowing the Night Court to steal from him.

“You might not have the chance, if we erupt into civil war.” Lucien warned. Two completely different wounds clashing. Neither meant harm or disrespect.

“What if you resided in the sea? Instead of her leaving her home behind, you join her?” Tamlin diverted the subject back to the reason for the meeting, noticing the tension. Tamlin knew both Tarquin and Lucien's reasons, but that can be clarified at a different time.

“My powers revolve more around bringing the sea to land, I cannot breathe underwater if that's what you are asking. My beast form can. But I need rage to shift into beast form and when I am around her, all I feel is calm. I have tried all I can think of.” Tarquin clarified.

“What if you could shift without the rage?” Tarquin was confused at Tamlins question, he just told him he couldn’t. Tamlin stretched out his hand to Tarquin and in it, a kernel of his power. Lucien, Sky and Tarquins eyes all widened in shock. “When we revived Feyre, she was able to retain a small amount of each of our powers, who is to say you wouldn't? I’ve done this twice before, I doubt you would need to be dead to accept it. And you are far more deserving than the last prick I gave one to.” Tarquin accepted the kernel and took it in his hand. “You, hopefully, will be able to at least shift yourself some gills. I can help teach you, and I’m sure Sky and Lucien will continue searching for a way for her to stay on land.”

“Are you sure?” Tarquin whispered. Was it really that easy? Just one small kindness from the neighboring High Lord to ease the biggest burden plaguing Tarquin these days. Tarquin pressed the kernel into his chest.

Tag list for main fic: @ladythornofrivia @rcarbo1 @rin-u-pos @knoxic @lilah-asteria @littlefantasylover @julesvanslutta

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