#first time drawing the badger hair

[measlyscrapofseafood]

tron/yori doodle as this

[starryjake]

watch, don’t touch | s.j & p.s

in which jake finally lets sunghoon watch him and his girlfriend have sex.

pairing: jake x fem!reader, sunghoon x fem!reader (barely sorry)

includes: oral sex, sunghoon watching, threesome but not really, nipple play, cumming untouched, making out, unprotected sex. (lmk if i missed anything).

wc: 3.4k

"god, this is so weird," you whined, curling your knees into your chest.

"it's not weird," sunghoon defended. "i'm not even doing anything."

"you're sitting there and you're gonna be watching me and jake have sex," you explained bluntly.

the three of you were gathered in yours and jake’s room, all sat together on the bed. it was dark outside with it being nearly midnight, but what better time was there to do what you were about to do?

"it's only weird if you make it weird," sunghoon replied matter-of-factly.

jake watched his girlfriend and his best friend bicker without adding a comment of his own. after months and months of begging from sunghoon, jake finally agreed to allow him to watch. at first, jake immediately said no. he had no interest displaying what he and his girlfriend did to his best friend, but sunghoon just kept badgering.

he insisted he wouldn't do anything except sit there and watch. he wouldn't even touch himself. so, then jake figured it wouldn't be all that bad.

"we don't have to if you don't want to, baby," jake assured, gently rubbing your back.

you guys had already talked about it. you’d already agreed, but now that it was really happening, the nerves were kicking in. you’d never done anything like this before.

"it's okay," you whispered, feeling calmer just by jake's warm presence.

you knew you were okay as long as he was there. however, you were shocked when he brought it up to you the first time. you never imagined your somewhat private boyfriend would be interested in exposing your guys’ sex life to his best friend.

sunghoon sat in the corner of the bed, about a foot of space between him and you guys. he sat with his long legs extended and watched you two closely, hoping silently that they wouldn't back out at the last second. he'd been wanting this for a long time. he’d been wanting to see his best friend fuck you dumb since the moment he first laid eyes on you.

it’s not like he would say he had a crush on you. he knew that jake would go feral if sunghoon had feelings for you, but he couldn’t deny the draw he had towards you. you were stunning with such an innocent, pretty aura, and he was dying to know what you looked like with jake’s cock drilling you into the mattress.

"do you wanna start?" jake asked softly, dragging his slender fingertips through your soft hair.

you turned your head slightly to face his face. you nodded softly and leaned in to meet his lips halfway. sunghoon’s heart rate started to fasten, knowing that it was starting.

he adjusted himself on the bed and focused his attention on the way yours and jake’s lips melded together and the quiet sounds of your lips smacking together. he watched closely, not wanting to miss a thing since he wasn't sure if this opportunity would ever present itself again.

jake caressed your smooth cheek, slowly introducing the tip of his tongue past your lips. you accepted the intrusion happily and rubbed your own tongue against his, lapping at his saliva like it was water. you had your arms wrapped around his neck and dug your fingernails into the skin on the back of his neck.

sunghoon already felt himself twitch in his pants just from watching you two make out. he knew it was going to be a problem. there was no way he was going to sit there, watch his best friend and his girlfriend have sex, and not get a boner. but, the rules were that he couldn't touch himself. that would be too weird, too far.

he would've thought that you guys forgot he was even sitting there, but then jake pulled away from you for a moment and glanced over at him as if to make sure he was just watching and not doing anything else.

jake then reattached his lips to yours and slid his hands up and down your clothed waist. sunghoon watched your tongues rub together, massaging each other with the slippery muscles. what he wouldn’t give to take jake’s spot, to have his tongue inside your mouth instead.

jake slid his hands beneath your t-shirt and you shivered at his cold hands on your supple warm skin. he glided his large hands up your torso and to your covered breasts, which he squeezed and sighed in relief at how good they felt and how perfectly they fit in his hands.

"do you wanna take it off, baby?" he wondered, pinching the bottom of your shirt with his thumb and index finger.

you glanced over at sunghoon for the first time since starting. his gaze was so severe and intimidating, it made you nervous to take your shirt off in front of him, but a part of you wanted to. you wondered what sunghoon would think seeing you without a shirt.

"okay," you whispered.

with your consent, jake slipped your shirt up and over your head, tossing it at the end of the bed. you were left in a mesh pastel pink bra, and both boys nearly collapsed at the sight.

seeing you without a shirt on, sunghoon gulped. your breasts sat perfectly on your chest, nestled neatly in the pretty bra you chose carefully to wear in front of them.

"awh," jake cooed, a smile adorning his blushing face. "you wore my favorite bra."

you looked down shyly. jake was quick to tilt your head back up. he attached himself to your neck and started sucking, kissing, and nibbling on the sensitive skin there. you gasped, holding the back of his head against your body so he couldn’t stop his attack on your neck.

his kisses moved downwards from your neck to your pronounced collarbones, to your chest, and to the areas on your breasts that he could reach without your bra getting in the way. he brought his hands up to your breast and slid the pads of his thumbs over your erect nipples, earning a pleasured gasp from you.

he went back up to your lips and kneaded your breasts in his large hands while kissing you again. sunghoon watched carefully as jake’s fingertips dug into the supple, sensitive skin of your breasts. he watched his thumbs circle your covered nipples which had you humping yourself against his thigh in pathetic desperation.

the sounds you made while jake touched you were so out of the ordinary than the way you normally talked. they were sweet little whimpers that slowly began turning into louder, desperate moans. sunghoon found these sounds heavenly. he twitched each time one quietly escaped your lips.

wordlessly, you placed your hands on top of jake's and guided them to the clasp of your bra behind your back. without you having to tell him, he understood that you were ready for him to take it off.

the longer you were in front of sunghoon, the more comfortable you felt. you were ready to have your tits on display for both men to see.

jake unhooked the clasps and let the flimsy pink bra slide down your arms. you tossed the bra carelessly onto the floor and for whatever reason, looked over at sunghoon, curious to see his expression now that your upper half was bare.

he was staring so hard, so shamelessly. your nipples were pretty and hard, appetizing even, and it took all his strength not to move in closer, not to attach his lips to the erect buds and suck on your tits for hours, until you’d have to practically pry him off.

suddenly, jake did just that, and sunghoon writhed. jake grabbed one of your breasts and latched onto your nipple, using his hand to squeeze and massage the other one, refusing to let one go without his attention.

he sucked on your nipple, swirled his tongue around it, flicked the tip of his tongue up and down on it, then moved onto the next nipple and repeated the process until they were both covered in his saliva. you kept your hand at the back of his head, keeping his head pushed against your breast.

you looked over at sunghoon again while jake was dazed out sucking on your tits. you smiled ever so slightly at the sight of sunghoon looking as fucked out as he did without having done a single thing. your gaze travelled downwards until you were met with a quite obvious erection straining against his gray sweatpants.

he spread his legs slightly, biting his lower lip, showing off more of his painful looking erection.

jake suddenly detached from your breast and planted his hands on your shoulders to lay you down against the pillows. you watched without so much as a blink as jake grabbed your thighs and spread them open, creating enough room for him to lay between.

he laid on his stomach and peeled the waistband of your shorts down, leaving them dangling at your ankle. sunghoon’s breath hitched in his throat, knowing what was to come. he didn't dare spare a blink either.

clad in nothing but a thin pair of white, lacy underwear, you feared that jake and sunghoon could see the wet patch that had formed on the front from being so aroused. if they could, they didn't say anything about it.

jake kissed your clit over your underwear. the action alone had you jutting your hips up into his face, asking for more without actually saying the words. you dug your fingers into his fluffy head of dark hair, whimpering pathetically with need.

he rubbed his thumb over your clothed clit, feeling the wetness seep through the fabric onto his finger. he dragged his thumb down the length of your pussy, pushing the fabric in to emphasize how wet you were.

"c'mon, jake," you urged, growing impatient at his teasing.

he listened luckily. sunghoon thought that he wouldn't listen if it were him. he would take his time and tease you whether you liked it or not. he wanted to wreck you. at the same time, he was grateful jake was so quick to listen to you because he was dying to see your pussy.

jake peeled your underwear down and off your slightly shaky legs. he spread your legs even further and nearly drooled at the sight of your twitching, glistening pussy.

meanwhile, sunghoon nearly passed out. his breathing quickened and he just stared at it, wishing it was him between your legs right now. what he wouldn't give for just one taste.

"holy shit," he muttered, not meaning to have said it out loud.

you looked over at him, eying his bulge again. it was the hardest he'd even been in his life, and he was certain about that.

somehow, you weren’t embarrassed for him to be seeing you like this. you weren’t embarrassed to be the only naked one among two fully clothed men. you liked being the center of attention, both their gazes piercing through you. now you wanted to put on a show and make it enjoyable for both of them, even if sunghoon wasn't allowed to touch himself.

jake finally leaned forward and licked a long stripe up your soaking pussy. a long, drawn out moan came from you. you tugged his hair as he started flicking his tongue up and down your slit, gathering the sticky wetness on his tastebuds and moaning himself at the addictive taste.

sunghoon stared intently at his best friend buried between his girlfriend's legs. he watched his tongue scooping up your arousal and watched him swallow it like a drink. jake's eyes were closed, focused on savoring the feeling of your walls wrapped around his tongue and the sweet taste water-falling down his throat.

"fuck, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy.

you smiled to herself proudly as you looked over at sunghoon again to find him harshly biting his bottom lip. he was restraining himself harder than either of you knew. you and jake had no idea how much pre cum was leaking in his boxers and how painfully hard he was, how he was twitching every second. it took all of his self control not to bring his hand down to his cock and jerk himself to relief. he knew it wouldn't take long to finish at all.

jake wrapped his lips around your puffy clit and sucked on the bud, which had you whimpering and pushing your hips up into his mouth. he grabbed your hips and pushed them down, pulling away from your clit with a kiss. he then inserted his tongue into your tight hole, shaking his head back and forth for his nose to stimulate your clit.

you gasped, fingers curling in his hair as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your pussy, lapping up all your arousal. despite how many times jake had eaten you out, and there had been many, many times, it never got old. it always felt other worldly to feel his tongue gliding on your pussy, inhaling your scent and taste like he’d never get to again.

the sound. the fucking sound was driving sunghoon crazy. the sound of your wet pussy against jake's wet tongue, the sound of it as it flicked up and down your slit at a rapid pace. the slurping, the making out with it, the moans, the sound of arousal. it was all so fucking wet. sunghoon was losing his sanity.

he was utterly dying to know what you tasted like. based on the way jake was sucking you up and moaning as he did so, he just knew you had to taste good. jake had said it, but sunghoon wanted to taste it himself. were you sweet? did you taste like honey? like fruit?

"what does she taste like?" he finally blurted out, needing to know.

jake pulled away from your pussy and looked over at his best friend. sunghoon hadn't meant to ask it out loud, but the need to know had taken over. jake laughed to himself.

"she's so sweet," he informed. sunghoon could feel the precum dripping down his cock. "she tastes like strawberries and vanilla. she tastes incredible, don't you, baby?"

you could feel the stickiness between your legs from how wet you were. you were even wetter now knowing that sunghoon wanted to know what you tasted like, and that jake thought you tasted delicious.

jake sat up on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his slim abdomen. you eagerly sat up on your knees and pressed your bare bodies together, exchanging the heat to each other. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in closely. he shoved his tongue in your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself. you moaned into his mouth, feeling completely and utterly aroused and feeling your hole clench around nothing with the need to be filled.

you pulled jake’s sweatpants down and your mouth filled with saliva at the sight of his bulge straining against his boxers. you couldn't resist yourself from reaching your hand out to palm him. he was so hard, pulsating in your grasp. he looked down, sighing at the contact.

you didn't bother to take things slow, not when you were as pent up as you were by that point. you tugged on his boxer's waistband and pulled them down until his erect cock sprung out, hitting the bottom of his stomach. he was outrageously hard. his tip was red and glistening with pre-cum.

you let a wad of spit leak out of your mouth and land on his cock. you wrapped her hand around it, using the spit as lubrication to jerk him off. jake sighed, watching your hand glide up and down his length with ease from the excess amount of wetness. the noise was so lewd, but not as lewd as it was about to be when he finally put his cock in you.

he gently pushed you onto your back and spread your legs, holding your thighs around his hips. you looked up at him with big, excited eyes, a smile adorning your blushing face. jake couldn't help but reach out and caress your soft pink cheek, feeling nothing but love for the girl he was about to pound into the mattress.

he gripped his shaft and lined himself up with your drooling entrance. he pushed himself in inch by inch, biting his lip as your warm walls squeezed him so perfectly, the way they always did.

sunghoon couldn't believe his eyes. the only way he could describe it was that he felt like he was dreaming. he was really watching you and jake fuck. he was watching jake bury himself to the hilt inside of you and then pull himself out before pushing back in. he started feeling dizzy as jake's thrusts sped up, wishing that he could be more apart of it than he was.

the sound of jake's pelvis hitting the top of your pussy was loud. sunghoon closed his eyes for just a moment to listen to it, and he could hear it even louder. that plus the sound of you moaning like a shameless slut and jake's softer sounds. it all meshed and sounded so good together.

sunghoon reopened his eyes, sighing. jake's head was thrown back and his hip movements were constant. you were whining, clawing at his abs as your legs locked around his waist.

he was stretching you out so nicely, making your legs shake as he stuffed his cock deep inside of you as far he possibly could. you gasped, feeling like the wind was being knocked out of your lungs with each deep thrust.

"mmm, fuck, jake," you moaned, feeling the sweat gather at your hairline.

jake was zoned out in concentration, focusing solely on how wet and warm you were, and how perfectly you were wrapped around him. he squeezed your thighs to at least acknowledge he was listening, but he was too far gone to utter out any words.

sunghoon wouldn't even let himself blink. he refused to miss a single thing and made sure to witness every detail, like the wetness coating your thighs and the bead of sweat rolling down jake’s neck and down his abs. sunghoon would do just about anything to involve himself.

"fuck, you're clenching so hard," jake finally spoke, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. "can't move if you're clenching around me like that."

"i'm so close," you cried. "i can't help it."

jake snickered, dragging his hands up your sides and squeezing your breasts. his thumbs caressed your hard nipples, something he knew you loved and which would only push you to your orgasm even quicker.

"already?" he teased. "seems like somebody likes being watched. go ahead, baby. i wanna feel you gushing around me."

you turned her head to the side, making direct eye contact with sunghoon. you raised your hips and your eyes rolled back into your head as you started to cum around your boyfriend's dick.

you nearly screamed from the pleasure, reaching out like you wanted to touch sunghoon. sunghoon throbbed watching you cum and how absolutely breathtaking you looked while you did so.

jake was practically dripping sweat as he focused with all his strength on how your pussy was convulsing around his cock. he had a tight grip on your waist but couldn’t think straight enough to relax. he had to cum. he had to cum, he had to cum, he had to—

“oh fuck,” he groaned as he suddenly pulled out and released a spew of white hot liquid all over your torso.

you watched him stroke his dick, pushing out more and more ropes of cum and drenching you in it. you dragged the tip of your finger through the puddle he’d made on your stomach and brought some of his release to your mouth, smiling at the taste.

jake collapsed next to you, catching his breath. you both looked over to sunghoon at the same time, both curious to see what he’d have to say.

but sunghoon didn’t say anything. he just stared at you guys with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he too had to catch his breath after witnessing what just happened.

you frowned at his silence until your eyes flicker downwards, and there you found a dark stain surrounding his crotch, alerting you that he’d cum untouched in his pants just from watching you and jake fuck.

-

thanks for reading! <3

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 1]

The first time Tim sees him, he is seven, standing by his Father's side, and bored out of his mind.

The 'party' is numbingly dull, full of adults, sparkling flutes of champagne, tiny sandwiches, and fake twinkling laughter. Tim doesn't understand how his parents find any of it interesting; in his opinion, nothing about just talking to people for hours and hours straight sounds as exciting as they make it look.

He wishes he could just go home already. Not that his time in the Drake estate gets any more exciting than bothering house elves or spending his day in the library, but it's still better than this.

Or, Tim thought so until he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering on the floor.

He turns around, and there are yelps and screams of surprise and angry swearing. It takes Tim a few seconds to realize what's going on - a few people are holding their hands to their faces, like trying to hide them, and he gets a glimpse of an elephant trunk peeking through the palms of one old lady.

And then, there's a sound of loud, delighted laughter ringing through the room, and the sound of footsteps, and-

"DANIEL!" Tim hears Mr. Masters, the host of the event, yell at the top of his lungs.

A moment later, Tim sees a boy zooming past him, elbowing the adults on his way to push through the crowd and still cackling like a madman. Tim doesn't get a good look at him, what with the boy running so fast he almost trips, but he does notice the messy black hair and the large, knitted blue sweater that looks too big on the boy's body.

"Daniel Jackson Fenton, come back this instant!" Mr. Masters calls again, his thunderous steps louder than all the yelling around them.

The boy doesn't even deign him with a look over his shoulder. Instead, he darts towards the nearest window, opens it with what seems to be practiced ease, and climbs on the windowsill. Only then does he look back to the chaos he created in the room full of respectable guests, and grins.

Tim blinks. He's never seen anyone smile like this, all teeth and mischief, and cheeky excitement.

"What, too old to catch me, Vlad?" He sticks his tongue at Mr. Masters, and just for a moment, Tim is scared the man is going to lunge at him. Yet, right as Mr. Masters gets close enough, the boy pushes off and jumps out the window, his laughter echoing through the night.

Mr. Masters looks like he is about to follow - and Tim is, for once, curious to see if he would - but stops himself short, only leaning out the window.

"Don't bother coming back, you little badger, you are grounded!" The man yells. The only response he gets is another fit of distant cackling from the gardens.

"That is sure a way to entertain the crowd," Father says quietly, and the tall, dark-skinned woman he's been talking to before the whole mess happened snorts a short laugh.

Tim looks back to the few people who are still sporting elephant trunks for their noses.

It's the first time he thinks a party full of adults in stuffy robes can be more fun than he expected.

—☆—☆—☆—

Some visuals for v i b e s

The room where the scene took place:

Tim's drawing after he was back home from the party (house elves helped):

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

I have the vaguest possible idea of where I'm going, but this is definitely going to be a multichapter thing.

A few notes I've got pinned down so far:

Drakes are a mostly pureblood family, not filthy rich and straight up focused on the whole purity thing, but keeping their reputation clean and nice, and their income stable. Both Jack and Janet have attended Hogwarts, and they were both Ravenclaws while they were at it. Janet might have some relation to Blacks, but it's so distant that she doesn't bother keeping it in mind.

Vladimir Masters is, technically, a pureblood wizard, but his family has been in England for only two or so generations. His grandma (who is still very much alive) came from Russia after falling madly in love with Vlad's grandpa (who is now deceased and, as the rumor goes, his wife had a hand in it). He also attended Hogwarts and has been a Ravenclaw in the same year as Madeline Fenton nee Walker. Hence, Daniel Fenton is his godson and, unofficially, as of right now, heir to Masters family.

[part 2 ->]

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price prepares for his first date with Nik. 141 rib him.

CW: none.

Price stared into the mirror above his sink and wondered when the fuck all those lines on his face had arrived. Last time he’d looked, he could have sworn there were fewer, and there had been no grey either, but now he saw traces of his old man in the reflection and that made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

In all fairness, he didn’t really have much reason to look–really look–at his own face. Even when he was smearing camo around his eyes and down his cheeks, he was only looking for areas of shine that might draw an enemy’s eye. He never really considered why else someone might be lookin’.

Why Nik might be lookin’.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed as he began gathering up his shaving bowl and the badger-fur brush he only got out on special occasions; medal ceremonies, weddings, funerals and now, apparently, bloody dates. Why the fuck he had even agreed to it in the first place he had no idea, but Nik was surprisingly romantic given what Price knew about the rest of his life, and it was difficult to say no when he turned on those eyes. The word ‘no’ felt like booting a Labrador in the face.

Price stashed his shaving kit away and turned back to the mirror to check the rest. He had been pretty sure the shirt he had scrounged from the bottom of his paltry wardrobe hadn’t seen the light of day since the early noughties, and that had been confirmed when he’d pulled it around his shoulders and the buttons had gaped over his chest. Twenty years ago he’d been a lot leaner, but two decades of focused gym sessions, hard graft and being battered in the field had left him with a lot more heft. He’d pulled on a white t-shirt underneath and left it open, hoping he didn't look too much like someone's dad trying to look ten years younger.

Hair waxed into place, beard conditioned, aftershave and cologne–but not enough to register as chemical warfare–and he was as good as he was gonna get. He had never been asked on a date, only ever done the asking, and even then the sum total of his dating efforts as a young man had ended in disaster. Cold fish and chips on the riverfront and getting your leg over in the nearby park, only to fumble that too, wasn’t exactly peak romance, even at fifteen years old, and somehow he didn't think Nik had anything similar in mind.

Fifteen years old. That had been--

Oh, fuck. He was not equipped for this in the slightest.

Price’s phone beeped and a glance at the message confirmed Nik had arrived on base to pick him up. Bang on time too. Price took one final look in the mirror, grimaced, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck it. It would have to do. Nik had seen him looking like the arse end of a donkey, so this… jitter in Price’s chest felt bloody stupid.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he murmured to himself as he snatched his wallet and keys from his bed and shut the door behind him. Unfortunately for Price, the rest of 141 were eagerly awaiting his appearance in the rec room and all looked up when he closed the door. He immediately regretted not exiting through the open window in his room.

“Well, well, cap, don’ ye brush up nice. G’ies a twirl,” Soap said, leaning forward with a wide grin that informed Price he was about to endure a good five to ten minutes of focused ribbing.

“Watch it, MacTavish,” Price replied, but without heat. He felt like a prize twat and this was Soap’s roundabout way of helping.

“Och, c’mon noow,” Soap spread his hands and turned to Garrick for support, “Gaz, back me up…”

Garrick looked up from his phone and tilted his head to the side, clearly evaluating just how much he wanted to chance Price putting him on the worst details for the next week. Apparently, he was feeling pretty fucking lucky that evening. “Pretty sure my dad owns that shirt, Tav. Very… uh, early noughties chic. What d’ya think, Ghost?”

Price could count on Simon to fight his corner against these two reprobates. Or so he thought. Simon leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and examined Price for a beat before choosing violence. “Pretty sure I saw it last about ten years ago,” Simon said, and then shook his head. “Happy to drop a pony on a new striker xt gen 2 so you can have the ranger green as well as the steel grey, but couldn’t cough up a few quid on a new shirt, sir.”

“You’re all bastards, and I you’ll be shovelling the shit next week once I get back to my desk,” Price growled.

A round of groans followed, and Soap rolled up to his feet. “C’mon, sir, we’re just jossin’. As my ol’ nan used tae say: a pritty face suits the dish-cloot.”

“Dish cloth chic,” Gaz said, grinning.

“Ah mean he looks bonnie, right? ‘Side, we need to cut the ol’ man some slack. When was th’ last time ye got tae let yer hair doon, sir?”

“Not long enough,” Price said, pinching the bridge of his nose and planning to beast the trooper delaying Nik at the checkpoint.

“I reckon the last time was when Usher was in the charts. What was the song? Ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, shit, what was it called?”

Price decided that Garrick would be organising a mock dawn raid for the freshest batch of recruits. He would make sure the weather forecast was grim.

“Wait, wait, lemme get it up on Spotify. We c'n get cap in the mood tae drop tha’ thang. Reckon Nik’s an animal on the dancefloor, aye? Ha! Found it. ‘Yeah’ by Usher.”

Soap would be joining Garrick. Full weighted kit.

Price watched as the two sergeants bounced around enthusiastically to a song from 2004 that was, by Price’s estimations, only a year older than the shirt he was currently wearing. Fucking disaster. He looked at Simon, who was watching Johnny with that far away look he always did when he thought no one else would notice.

“You have started the party without me, I see,” said a familiar voice at the door. Price looked over and nearly choked on his own tongue. Nik looked fucking good. White button down open at the collar, black slacks, polished shoes, with his hair freshly cut. Simple, but classy. Price tugged at his sleeve and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the heat he felt under his skin hadn't translated into a flush.

Nik appraised Price with those same soft eyes that had implored him from the cockpit of his damn helicopter for a date. Price cleared his throat. “You scrub up good, Nik.”

“I could say the same. But you are always the prettiest thing in any room to me, captain.”

Price’s face burned to the very tips of his ears.

“Ah, Nik! Watcha mate, how're you doin’?” Garrick bounded over and threw his arm around Nik’s shoulders for a half hug.

“Ye better have him home by ten!” Soap called from where he stayed slouched on the sofa.

“Of course, sergeant.”

“Nik, let's go, and you lot, get an early night. Pay back's a bitch.”

Nik smiled and stepped aside with what was definitely a bloody half bow to let Price out of the rec room first to a chorus of groans and entreaties for mercy from the two sergeants. Price and Nik emerged into the night air and had almost reached the car before Nik took Price's hand and drew him to a stop. “You are nervous.”

Price cleared his throat, sniffed, and did his best to come off as nonchalant. “Nah, I'm grand, just realised I’ve not got the clobber for this kind of thing, or the, uh… expertise. I'm worried you'll be disappointed.”

Nik looked at him blankly.

“Ah, sorry, my… clothes. It's been a long time since–”

Nik took his chin and lifted his eyes from where they had drifted to the ground. The kiss he placed on Price’s lips was tender, fleeting compared to their first shared under the downdraft of spinning helicopter blades, but it made Price's heart stutter just the same.

“You look good…” Nik released his chin to push both hands into Price’s hair, mussing it out of its careful arrangement. Next, he reached around the back of Price’s belt and tugged his t-shirt free. “Hm, now better.” Price swallowed hard, trying not to be too obvious about inhaling Nik’s scent as he pressed in close.

“Scruffy more like.” Price was still getting over the feeling of Nik’s fingers in his hair, brushing the skin on his back. Nerves had been replaced by the soft thrum of something warm in his chest.

“Nyet. English country boy with rough edges and blue eyes. You are honest, John Price. And a good man. It is what I have always loved most.” Nik opened the car door as Price gawped at him with wide eyes. When his senses had returned, Price realised Nik had rented a nondescript BMW for his stay, with leather interior and a fully digital media system. Plush. “After you.”

“Where’re we goin’?” Price asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Is surprise.”

“Bloody hell, and here I was thinkin' we’d go out for a movie and a pint.”

Nik grinned, tapping the beemer into ‘Drive’. “I will have the captain back before he turns into pumpkin, or the lieutenant mounts a rescue mission.”

Price chuckled as Nik pulled away into the night. Thankfully, Usher didn't feature in the evening‘s itinerary.

[brummiereader]

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Hopelessly Devoted (PART FOUR)

Summary: After spending the remainder of the day at your mother's house restlessly trying to keep you worries at bay, Finn, the youngest member of the Shelby family accompanies you to the Garrison after telling you the news of Tommy's victory. Taking your mother's advice you enter the pub in hopes that you and Tommy will finally be able to talk and clear the air. But with the betrayal Tommy believes you made still firmly at the forefront of his mind, the nights events threaten to take a different turn.

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, mentions of blood

"Y/N are you listening to me?" your mother asked as you sat at the table beside the window in her kitchen, pulling back the embroidered netted curtains as you peered out onto the empty streets of Watery Lane.

" Yes I'm listening" you huffed back as you let go of the fabric, your hands coming down to rest on your lap as you nervously pulled at your fingers, wishing your thoughts would settle. After leaving Tommy in the cemetery you had the stupid idea to visit your mother, clearly you hadn't had enough gloom for one day. You had been told that morning by Polly to stay home until Tommy and his men had returned. So, ever the sucker for punishment you decided to forgo the cramped bedsit you called home and come here to your childhood home, to your mother who was currently sat across from you, her brows knitted together in frustration at your lack of response to her relentless rambling. She had taken this rare opportunity in which you visited to badger you with endless questions as to what it was you was actually doing with your life. Admittedly, It had been a good distraction from Tommy and the anger still churning in your stomach after your heated row in the cemetery. But what you couldn't seem to distract yourself from was the real reason as to why he followed you there. His ridiculous excuse as to why was exactly that, ridiculous. Just as Tommy had picked up over the years as to when you was lying, you too had picked up on when he was holding back, unable or unwilling to express what was really bothering him. Closed off and straight face was a demeanor he had adopted for many years. The only difference now was he wouldn't let you in when you had once been his first port of call. You thought to yourself as you stood up, aimlessly walking around the kitchen as you opened various draws and pots to further distract yourself whilst your mother watched on, the crease in her brow deepening.

" You need to get your life together Y/N" she said as she walked over to you, nudging you out the way with her hip as she shut one of the cupboard doors you had carelessly left open, her orderly home disrupted by your inability to stop fiddling with things." Find a man, and stop wallowing in self-pity over that Shelby boy" Boy...Jesus, did she still see you as the unruly teens that used to wreck havoc on the streets of Small Heath? " He was trouble then, and he's trouble now" she added as you rolled your eyes feeling the lecture that was coming your way.

" I'm not wallowing" you said crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall, squinting at the window to see if there was any movement outside. The street was quiet, eerily quiet. Was something wrong, had word come back that Tommy's plan had fallen apart?

" Off" she replied, ushering you away from her freshly painted kitchen walls.

" He was never trouble, he just got into trouble" you said as you looked down at your feet, tucking your hair behind your ear. " Or trouble finds him" you mumbled under your breath, defending him like you always had as you bit the corner of your bottom lip, looking up to see the picture of your little brother sitting on the shelf across from you.

" He liked him you know, your father too" your mother said with a sigh, her voice softening as she glanced up to your brother's picture whilst she folded the tea towel in her hand for a second time, a flash of sadness spreading across her face.

" He liked him because he wanted a big brother instead of a sister. And dad always did like a rebel" you replied, a small chuckle leaving your mother's lips as you tried to comfort her in the only way you knew how with your strained relationship.

" Georgie liked him because he made you smile. And your father liked him because he reminded him of you. Two peas in a pod he'd always say. He was convinced you'd get married one day" she said as you sat back down next to the window, your hand coming up to brush through your hair.

" Yeh well things changed, he changed" you said as you felt the past few weeks emotions well in your eyes, threatening to escape in front of the last person you would ever want them to. Shaking her head your mother walked over to you, digging in her apron as she pulled out a small white hankey.

" Here" she said as she sat down handing it to you.

" Don't need it" you said defiantly as you turned your head away in attempt to hide the tears now staining your cheeks.

" Take the bloody rag child and wipe those tears away. They'll do no good sitting there, building up. Just let them out...dear" she said as your bottom lip wobbled, your face reddening as you tried to hold back from completely falling apart.

" Mum..." you sobbed as you covered your eyes unable to keep up with the assured image you always tried to portray in front of her. Standing up your mother walked around to sit next to you, bringing you into her arms for what felt like the first time in a very long time, her chin resting on your head as she held you close to her.

" You may be two peas in a pod but shelling the stubbornness out of you both is enough for anyone to toss you in the bin" she chuckled as you smiled, wiping your tears away with the hand stitched cloth. "He's never stopped being trouble dear but his heart has always been in the right place, right here" she said pointing at yours as you looked up at her. " Don't fret child, he will come back. He's just brewing over his thoughts"

" He's been brewing for five years" you said with a huff as you sat up in your seat handing the hankey back to her.

" Yes we'll he's a man, it's what they do. Talk to him, clear the air. No doubt there's been a fair amount of misunderstandings, hm?" she said as she pushed your hair away from your face, pausing before her eyes darted to the window. " Jesus bloody Christ, it's that Finn Shelby again!" she said abruptly standing up, pulling back the curtains as she furiously knocked on the glass. "Putting sticks down my drain, i won't have him clog it up for a second time" she said as she stormed over to the kitchen counter. " He'll feel the back of my tea towel on those scrawny little legs before he has a chance!" she huffed as she picked up the checkered kitchen towel ready to march outside.

" Wait, wait I'll deal with him" you stood up wiping your cheeks as you walked past her to open the front door. " You're about to have holy hell come down on you" you said stepping down onto the porch as the youngest of the Shelby family was about to put a large stick into the drain, mischievously grinning from ear to ear.

" My brothers said if anyone hits me I'm allowed to hit 'em back twice as hard" he said as he stood up straight peering around you to see the scowl on your mother's face, the tea towel grasped tightly in her hand.

"Your brothers says a lot of things, a lot of things that will get you in trouble" you said as you bent down taking the stick from him.

" Tommy says your mum's a witch. Is she?" He asked, watching your mother squint her eyes at him as she turned to walk back into the kitchen.

" What a witch?" You replied biting your bottom lip, trying to hold back your laugh as he nodded his head in reply. Of course Tommy would say that, you thought to yourself. He and everyone else in the neighborhood had felt the back of her tea towel at least once in their lifetime, earning her a formidable and now whole new other reputation thanks to him.

" Yes, and she cooks up naughty little kids in her big cauldron for shoving sticks down her drain. Tommy should know he nearly ended up feet first into the hot bubbling water for doing the very same thing" you winked to him as his sudden wide-eyed expression relaxed into a toothy smile.

" I think you're telling porkies Y/N" he giggled as you stood up smiling to him " You coming" he said grabbing your hand pulling you with him down Watery Lane.

" Finn wait hang on, where are we going? " you said coming to a stop as he tugged at your hand adamant on continuing. "Finn?"

" The Garrison. We won Y/N. Tommy won!" he said as he smiled to you, your own smile unable to hide itself as relief washed over you, his promised good mood the perfect opportunity to take your mother's advice and finally clear the stagnant air that had been looming over you both for the past five years.

As you both approached the Garrison the laughs and chatter of the punters inside radiated from within the small pub out onto the mud and dirt filled streets of Birmingham, a celebration was in tow for yet another step up in Tommy's never ending endeavor for more control, more power. Pushing the large wooden door open you was met with the smell of sweet tobacco filling the air, a wave of beer and whisky engulfing your senses and what you were pretty sure was vomit, this was Small Heath after all. With a quick glance around the room you spotted Tommy with his back to you talking to Polly on the opposite side of the room. Swallowing harshly you walked forward into the middle of the pub, your hands resting on Finn's shoulders as he led the way when you felt a hand grab your arm spinning you around.

" Arthur!" You said turning your head to face him, your eyes lighting up to see the eldest Shelby standing in front of you unscathed and in one piece." Finn just told me, congratulations" you smiled as Arthur's attention quickly darted behind you, a flash of worry washing over his eyes as you furrowed your brow in confusion at his unfamiliar demeanor. "Arthur?"

" Did he now" he replied as he looked down at his younger brother, taking his hat off then ruffling his hair. " Y/N..." Arthur said as he smoothed down his mustache, his arm resting on your upper back as he started walking you away from the middle of the room and back to the Garrison door.

" Arthur what's going on ?" You quietly asked, taking note of the small sigh leaving his lips.

" Nothing love, nothing" he replied sending you a quick smile before his eyes cast down to the floor ahead of him. " It wont be long until it starts getting rowdy in here. There's been too much drinking, brawling will start soon" he said as he cleared his throat, his hand on the door as he glanced behind his shoulder " Be an angel and take Finn home for us, ay? " Arthur asked as you let out a small laugh in response. Finn had seen more than most grown men ever would in his short eleven years of life, a few potential pub fights was a teddy bears picnic in comparison to what his innocent eyes had already endured. You thought to yourself as you looked up at Arthur, his eyes barely able to meet yours. Something was wrong and you wanted to know what.

" Arthur what's goin.."

" Y/N!" Tommy shouted from across the room cutting you off as the pub suddenly went a deathly quiet.

"Tommy" you smiled as you turned around letting go of Finn as you walked towards him. " Congratulati.." you started to say when you noticed the expression on his face, his jaw clenched, his eyes piercing into you as he stood there staring at you without saying another word as you felt Arthur trying to pull you back from what he knew was about to unfold. "Arthur?" You said turning to him, looking for an explanation as to why everyone had their eyes on you when he gave your forearm a gentle squeeze in a small reassuring manner. Reassuring you for what though?

" You dare to fucking show your face after what you did?" Tommy finally spoke as Polly tried to pull him away, her attempts only brushed off as Tommy stalked forward towards you.

" What? " You replied the heat rising in your cheeks as you met his stare. Confusion spread across you face as your eyes darted around the room to everyone nervously diverting their attention else where, namely the bottom of their drinks or the wooden floorboards below them.

" Tommy not here " Polly said trying to stop him for a second time only to be ignored once again.

" How long had you been planning it, hm?" Tommy asked, now only a few feet from you as you tried to step back when he grabbed your wrist, his mounting anger towards you making the uneasy knot in your stomach tighten tenfold.

" Tommy what...what are you talking about?" you replied as you looked down at his strong grip, his fingers inching further into your flesh.

" You hate me that much?" Tommy said through gritted teeth quietly against your ear, his voice laced with hurt and fury. Pulling your head away you was met with his eyes boring into you, glazed over with a film of unspent tears from the rising anger within him. " You betrayed me" he said quieter than a whisper his voice shaking as he let go of you with a push taking a step back, fearing what he would do next.

" Betrayed you?" You questioned, your eyes widening at the mere suggestion you would do such a thing to anyone let alone to him.

" You fucking betrayed me!" Tommy yelled. His contained anger erupting into a loud bellow that boomed from wall to wall within the small room.

" Out! Out, everyone out!" Polly shouted as the whole pub scrambled through the door leaving you, Tommy, Arthur, Polly and John alone in the Garrison." You too" Polly said as her head snapped to Grace standing in the corner by the bar, her eyes briefly meeting yours as she turned around, placing the white rag in her hands on the counter as she casually walked off.

" Will someone please tell me what's going on? " you asked wiping a lone tear as Tommy scoffed in reply, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his suit jacket. His hands shaking from the fury rapidly coursing through his body as he attempted to light the end of one between his fingers.

" Y/N" Polly said as she hurried over to you, her hand resting on your upper arm. " Y/N, someone let slip about Tommy's plan to take Kimber out. You was seen with his men the other day. Tommy, Tommy thinks.."

" That I let slip?" you replied, your own anger at the accusation now building within you as you stormed over to Tommy sitting on the edge of the table, his thumb rubbing across his brow.

" What you think I told Kimber?!" You said standing in front of him." Tommy they pinned me against the wall, threatened my..."

" I don't want to hear your lies, I don't want to fucking hear them. Danny's dead because of you!" Tommy cut you off as he stood up, his intimidating figure looming over you

" That's enough Tommy!" Polly shouted as your eyes widened.

" Danny's dead? Rosie, the boys..." you said as you looked back to Arthur watching him sniff back his emotions as he downed the glass of whisky in his hand.

" Widowed and fatherless, your doing" Tommy pointed at you, staring you down as you blinked away the tears, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. Not only was he accusing you of betrayal but now he was blaming you for the death of Danny Owen, the boy who used to live only three doors down from you when you were kids.

" Tommy you're talking bullshit" John said defending you as he threw his tooth pick on the floor, pushing the chair in his way to the side. Tempers were high, too much liquor had been drunk. Arthur was right, alcohol only added fuel to the flames.

" Just get the fuck out Y/N" Tommy said ignoring John and anybody else's attempts to reason with him.

" No" You said adamantly as you stood in his way, your voice catching in your throat from the tears pouring down your face." Tommy look at me, please..." you pleaded as you held onto the front of his suit jacket. " You know me. You've known me my whole life. I'd never do this to you" you sobbed as you gently placed your palms on either side of his cheeks, his skin scorching hot from the fury bubbling beneath him."Tommy" you said softly, turning his head to face you as he raised his hands, resting them on your arms while you gave him a small smile, gently rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

"You never loved me" Tommy whispered in your ear, pushing past you as you stumbled back, tripping on the leg of the chair behind you as your hand came down onto a broken whisky glass on the floor, missing the table you hoped would steady your fall.

"Fucking hell!" Polly gasped as she rushed over to you, clutching your hand in hers as blood poured down your wrist whilst Tommy looked on, brushing his hand down his face. " Tommy hand me that cloth" Polly said motioning behind him at the towel siting on the bar counter.

" Just get her out of here"

" Tommy..." his Aunt replied, her eyes wide from his lack of response, from his unrelenting hostility.

"Get her fucking out of here! Do you here me? I never want to see her face around here again. You're fired Y/N, get the fuck out of this town!" he shouted as he turned around, his hands resting on the counter of the bar as his jaw clenched at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. Pushing past his brother Arthur picked up the cloth beside him, giving Tommy a sharp elbow to his back.

" Git" Arthur said through gritted teeth as he turned around, walking back to you and Polly.

" Tommy..." you sobbed as you walked to the door wrapping the cloth around your hand. "Tommy! I didn't do anything I swear" You pleaded when he refused to turn around and look at you.

" Don't you worry love we'll get to the bottom of this" Polly said quietly in your ear as she opened the door not wanting the situation to escalate any further, unsure the love she knew her nephew still had for you enough to stop him from doing something he would regret.

" I'll walk you home" Arthur said as he took your arm.

" No" you replied shaking your head as you turned back to Arthur, John and Polly in front of you, your eyes looking past them to see Tommy still looming over the bar. " No" you answered again turning around, suddenly feeling like an outsider as they all watched you leave. Did they believe the same as Tommy, did they believe you betrayed them? As the door to the Garrison shut Polly stormed over to her nephew about to swing at him when Arthur pulled her away.

" You fool, you fucking fool!" Polly hissed, her eyes boring into him as her face trembled with anger. Grabbing her bag Polly stormed out as John followed behind, leaving Tommy with his own choice of insults.

" You're on your own with this one brother" Arthur said picking up his coat as he marched outside, slamming the door behind him.

" Fuck!" Tommy yelled as he threw the glass beside him at his reflection in the mirror, his nostrils flaring as his knuckles turned white from the strain of his clenched fists.

" Tommy?" Grace said as she reappeared from around the corner, slowing approaching him as she gingerly looked around the empty pub. Snaking her hand up his back, she rubbed the side of his neck as she placed the other on his chest, her head resting gently on his shoulder. If her intention from the beginning was to stay back and console him after the bitter row she knew Tommy would have with his family she was in for a rude awakening. It only took a few seconds after feeling the heat of her body pressed against him for Tommy to push her hands away, not entertaining nor giving her an ounce of his attention before he stormed out the Garrison doors leaving her alone and seething for the second time that day. Had Tommy finally realised his mistake?

It's only me" Polly said as she knocked at your front door. It had been a week since that night at the Garrison, the night when Tommy accused you of the unthinkable. Pulling the bed sheets off you walked over to the door opening it then quickly returning to the spot you had barely moved from for the past week, back to staring at the small crack in the wall beside you. Walking in Polly let out a sigh as she looked around the darkened bedsit. Marching over to the opposite side of the room she threw open the curtains, unbolting the window to let in some much needed fresh air. "Tea?" She asked cheerfully as you pulled the covers up to your chin. " You haven't touched any of the food I brought you " she said as she opened the glass bottle of milk in the small basket, its pungent smell making her eyes water as she quickly discarded the contents down the sink. " Y/N?" She said walking over, sitting beside you as she pushed your hair away from your face. You were pale, the colour from you drained. Had you even slept? She thought to herself as she turned your chin to look at her, the wells of your eyes filled with tears. "Oh love, come here" she said as she pulled you up into her arms. The warmth of her embrace comforting you the same as it did when she would cradle you in her arms after your father's death.

"Tell me again love" she said as she collected your hair in her hand, twisting it around her finger into one large curl.

" I've already told you Pol. Kimber's men, they approached me after I left the Garrison. Told me they heard Tommy was up to something and that if he didn't play by the rules both our lives were on the line. Pol, he put my name out there, they knew who I was" you sobbed looking up at her as she wiped the tears from your face with her thumb.

" Fucking idiot" she huffed under her breath thinking about her nephew as her brain ticked over, trying to think of her next plan of action. " When did he tell you he was going to make a move on Kimber?" Polly asked, she was determined to get to the bottom of this mess.

" The day after his birthday. He wanted me to write down the dates John gave when I saw the black star in his diary"

" And you're sure you didn't write that black star down yourself?"

" I'm sure " you sniffed as Polly's head turned to look out the window. " Y/N, does Tommy's diary always stay in the betting shop?"

" No, yes...I don't know, he takes it with him sometimes, to the Garrison" you said as you sat up straight to what you really wanted to say. " Pol I was talking with my cousin who lives in London, her landlord has a new letting advertised " you said as you reached into your bed side table pulling out a piece of paper then handing it to her.

" A train ticket to London King's Cross for today, one minute past noon" she said as her hand dropped into her lap, her eyes widening.

" I can't stay here, you heard him. He never wants to see me again. Small Heath belongs to him, I'm not welcome here anymore" you said as you swallowed back your tears. "I have a few savings I can use while I find work, this place never cost much to rent" you said as you looked around your small bedsit.

" Fuck him and his weak threats. Because that's what they are Y/N, weak. He won't do a thing" Polly said as she folded the ticket back in half throwing it beside her onto the bed as she grabbed your face in her hands." I will sort this out" She said nodding her head in attempts to reassure you.

" Polly I've already packed"

" Wait for me until the last minute, if I'm not on the platform then you go love" she said as she brought you back into her arms, squeezing you tight. You may not be blood but Polly always treated you as one of her own, and the one thing she wasn't willing to do was let you turn your life upside down for the sake of her nephews deluded accusations. Standing up Polly walked over to the door, hooking her handbag on her arm. " Pretty sure I saw a rat lurking around the Garrison. We're long overdue a good culling, don't you think?" She smiled sending you a wink as she fixed her hat on her head, shutting the door behind her. Falling back into bed, you pulled the covers around you, your head turning to face the wall as your eyes fixed on the crack you had been endlessly staring at, wishing you had as much confidence in Polly's abilities to get to the bottom of what felt like a neverending pit of hopelessness and despair.

Leaning against the side of the Garrison bar with a cigarette resting between her lips, Grace lit a match when the sound of the pub's heavy wooden doors swung open and a gust of wind blew out the flame in front of her eyes. "We're not open yet" she huffed in irritation as she looked up to see Polly standing by the doors, removing her hat from her dark brown locks.

" Why don't you pour us both a drink " Polly smiled as she graciously sat down at one of the chairs in the middle of the room, pulling out a long sharp pin from her hair. Polly had never been a gambling woman, but she was willing to take a bet that the ace up her sleeve was worth the risk. Or as they called it in the gambling world, calling someone's bluff.

" Ever heard of knocking?" Tommy said as he sat up in his office chair flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette in the small glass dish beside him as Polly stormed in.

" There he is" she said with a satisfied smirk on her lips as she walked over to his desk " Boss of the Peaky Blinders, King of Small Heath and now the proud owner of Billy Kimber's business. Was is worth losing the only thing that truly matters to you?

" What do you want Polly?" Tommy huffed as he opened his pocket watch. Twenty to twelve, he noted as he snapped it closed, his hand coming up to rub the bar of stress sitting along his forehead.

" I've just been to see Grace" Polly replied as she dropped her bag on his desk. " You're not so clever Tommy" she added as she crossed her arms. "She didn't half scurry out of there when I told her you'd be coming for her, gun loaded after hearing what I just heard. You got played Tommy" she said pulling out his diary in front of him, turning the pages back to the black star noted down a week ago. " Y/N wasn't the only person you told about your plans, was she?" So caught up in your own bitterness and self-pity you overlooked that scheming little wench that's been digging her claws into you for the past few months " Polly said as Tommy's brows furrowed, his throat suddenly going dry as he looked at the small black star in front of him. " Called her bluff... She's been working with Campbell. She's the one that betrayed you, she's the reason your plans fell apart" Polly seethed, slamming the book shut as Tommy's eyes widened at the realisation whilst Polly stepped back watching the wheels turn in her nephew's brain. " Yeh let that sink in. The girl who has been hopelessly devoted to you since you were teens, still is. The love that poor girl bears for you has no match" she added enforcing her point, letting him feel the guilt and pain he had unfairly forced upon you for the past five years.

" Call the train station, tell them to stop all the trains" Tommy panicked, brushing his hands through his hair as he abruptly stood up.

" What?" Polly replied as she moved to the side watching Tommy frantically put his coat on.

" Y/N's getting on the train to London Kings cross in ten minutes" he said feeling a heavy surge of nausea settle in the pit of his stomach.

" You bloody knew? Do you also know every time that girl takes a breath?" Polly sighed as she pinched the middle of her brow." Tommy I was meant to meet her, I won't get there in time and neither will you" she said as she grabbed hold of his arms.

"I'll run. And believe me, if I could know everything she does every minute of the day I would" Tommy replied as he put his peaked cap on opening the door to his office.

" Jesus fucking christ" Polly mumbled under her breath." It's too late, you're five years too late!" She shouted to him as she hurried out his office after him.

"Then I'll spend the next five years making things right " Tommy shouted back as he ran out the betting shop onto Watery Lane.

"London Kings Cross now boarding" the rail dispatcher shouted blowing his whistle as you glanced back behind you.

" Mam, your bags" a young employee said as he approached you, offering you help as your eyes darted around the platform, suddenly realising you was the only passenger left standing there.

" What's the time?" you asked him as you both walked to the the carriage door.

" Twelve mam, the train will be leaving in one minute" he replied opening the door, placing your bag inside as he gave you his hand to help you up the large step. The last minute, you had waited just as Polly said. Turning around you watched as the train door closed, your choice to leave cemented as the sound of the lock closed on the opposite side.

" Hey stop the train. Stop that fucking train!" Tommy shouted as he ran onto the platform, slamming his hands on the side of the carriage as he walked along the side of the train trying to open each door when the whistle blew.

"Sir, Sir! Step away, the train is about to leave" The rail worker instructed as he grabbed Tommy's arm pulling him away as the engine started.

" Here, here take it!" Tommy said holding onto the man's suit jacket as he pulled out a bundle of cash pushing it into his chest as he looked back, his eyes widening in panic." No no no, Y/N!" Tommy shouted letting go of the employees suit jacket as the bank notes he was holding against his chest floated down to the platform floor, the screeching sound of the train wheels turning muffling his desperate calls for you.

Sat in the carriage you clutched onto your bag, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as the train started to leave, feeling as is your heart was parting with everything and everyone you had ever known and loved.

" Probably a late comer" an elderly gentleman chuckled to his wife as them and a few other passengers curiously looked out their window at the commotion outside.

" Y/N!" Tommy shouted desperately as he started to run along the platform, banging his fists on the sides of the train. "Y/N wait!" Tommy yelled stopping in his tracks, unable to keep up as the horn blew and a large cloud of smoke funneled along the top of the train. Sitting back in your chair you turned to face the window, wiping the tears away from you blurry vision, the panel for Small Heath passing you by, the final goodbye.

NEXT PART

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[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

[honeytabbies]

OKAY. HERE WE GO. my black bulls doggies!!!! :D

there's definitely a noticeable difference in style/quality of some of these just due to time between each design and/or how i was feeling at the time of drawing them (these hot and rainy summer months have been super rough on me)

ALSO they were all done symmetrically so that i wouldn't burn out and could actually finish them LOL . OK EVERYBODY BELOW

starting off with asta, a husky/coyote mutt!! :D in my au, devil users end up becoming hybrids of whatever their devil is. so since liebe is a coyote, that's what asta is too!! (also, i haven't drawn him yet, but yuno is a malamute :D similar looking breeds but different since they're not actually related!)

(here's liebe too hehe, scrappy lil coyote!!)

then of course, noelle, who's a saluki!! a very regal breed for a very royal gal!! i thought making her pigtails into her ears was a fun idea HEHEHE

(+ an alternate design version!)

here's finral, he's a shetland sheepdog!! gentle and sweet and always trying to herd his people together :) you might notice that with some of my designs, i end up doing extra scarring; that's usually just personal headcanons, as i think some injuries would be too grievous to fully heal. though some (for instance, gauche) don't have a canon story behind them, i just think they're fitting

vanessa, who's a cavalier king charles spaniel!! her ears sorta blend into her hair lol, i had an alternate version where they were the same darker brown as her fur but i decided that them blending in looked better and fit the breed standard as well.

gauche, the ever wary american akita!! being a fiercely loyal and protective breed, but aloof and suspicious of strangers.

then there's grey, who's a long-haired chihuahua!! sweet and skittish HEHE, also i haven't drawn it yet but i've always imagined her big transformation disguise that she's first introduced as to be a rottweiler LOL

next up is luck, a jack russell terrier!! i've always thought this was a very fitting breed pick, intelligent but highly energetic and a little mischievous !!!

and of course, magna is never far behind luck; he's a dobermann pinscher!! similar to luck in energy and intelligence, but even more fiercely protective of his loved ones.

GORDON!!! actually one of my favourite black clover characters, he's a dalmatian not only because of the fitting aesthetic, but also because of his kind and sensitive personality!

the masked supermage zora, a german shepherd! watchful and sometimes stubborn but loyal nonetheless made this pick fairly easy to come to. though, before getting to see more of him, my initial pick was actually a kai ken!

charmy's design is one that i'm the most proud of for sure; i mentioned in an earlier post that the different peoples are different species of animals. well charmy is a half toy poodle, half american badger!! i thought a badger was a VERY fitting pick, as they are generally unbothered by much unless their food is threatened LOL

and finally, lastly (for now) is nero!! she's a bull terrier, but i really wanted to keep her twin tails from her anti-bird form! her outfit is definitely the one i edited the most, i just wanted to give her something more practical out of personal preference.

additionally, henry is an old english sheepdog, nacht is a black norwegian elkhound/fox, and yami is a wolfdog!

I HAVE SOME OTHER CHARACTERS DOODLED HERE AND THERE but nothing else really finished yet. if there's a specific character anyone would like to see i would be SO happy to draw/doodle them to show off!! i honestly have a huge list of dog/cat breeds picked out for every character i could think of; i just am hellishly indecisive and can never pick who to start on next AHDSJAGDJSDK

THE POSITIVE RECEPTION TO MY ART SO FAR HAS MADE ME SO HAPPY BTW AUAGGHHH i have no idea how/if im able to reply to people directly but just know that i keep reading over everyone's reblog tags and stimming like crazy IM SO HAPPY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH AUHGHFEHGGRH

[archangelarch]

Love Potion

Arthur is depressed and frustrated with yearning and Merlin is fed up with it being taken out on him. So, he decides to use a spell to bring Arthur perfect bliss—which works all too well.

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (& background Gwen/Arthur Pendragon) || Wordcount: 7,034 || Contains: Fluff and Angst, Enchanted Arthur Pendragon, Sexual tension, Unresolved sexual tension, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Pining, Set in series 2

(Part 1 of Tryst)

———

Merlin’s supper was very cold by the time he slugged his way through Gaius’ door. With one look up from his work bench, the physician could guess what had kept him. Merlin was covered head-to-toe in dark soot, his hair sticking up in wild spires and his eyes half-closed. He looked like he might fall dead as he shuffled his way past his cooled stew over to the wash basin. 

“Rough day at work?” Gaius inquired, continuing to pluck dried leaves from a small herb bushel and place them into his mortar. 

Merlin hummed a half-groan in response. He stopped at the basin, and with a beat of pause preceding, he fell forward like a rag-doll into the water with a splash, dunking his entire head. Gaius startled, hopping to his feet with fear he may have to save the boy from drowning, but Merlin quickly shocked and shivered upright, his hair now plastered flat to his head and his top-half dripping wet all over the floor.

“Oh, Merlin, really—” Gaius began to scold, but Merlin barely seemed to notice. He just shook as much water from himself back into the basin with his hands, an ill-achieved target, and huffed in great breaths, no doubt brought a little back to life by the chill. Gaius pursed his lips as Merlin braced himself on the edges of the tub and stared at his own warbling reflection in the now-blackened water. “You look like you’ve had a run in with an angry dragon,” Gaius commented. He set his ingredients down and slowly rounded the table. “Or a forest fire.”

Merlin turned to glance over his shoulder, still not meeting Gaius’ eye, but looking for the first time like he really registered his presence. “I feel it as well,” he croaked.

“Are you alright?”

“Arthur had me sweep out the flue and chimney in his chambers,” Merlin reported sourly instead of answering the question. “He’s never had me do that before, ever. The castle has a chimney sweep.”

“I know, I’ve met him. I had to help unstuck him from one of the flues on his first day.” Gaius leaned to half-sit on the closer edge of the table, watching Merlin's attempts to wash off his face and neck. “Your supper’s on the table.”

“I’m not hungry,” Merlin said in an empty voice, and still leaving a small trail of drips, he sulked off to his room. 

Gaius decided to allow him some space, and with a heave of a sigh, he left his unground herbs as they were and collected up the final medicine deliveries he had for that day, which he had originally intended to have Merlin distribute. Luckily, the walk around the castle and the night air in the courtyard was pleasant and mild, and despite the hour the sun still hadn’t fully nestled below the horizon, its last light drawing tall blue shadows across Camelot. It was then that Gaius realized just how long Merlin had been working that day—dusk til dawn was a lot more substantial in late summer. When Gaius set back to the tower it was with a bit of pity in his heart for his son. 

When he was alone in his room, Merlin kicked out of his boots and shucked off his soot-stained clothes, internally grumbling over how long they would take to clean and how his struggle with his shirt re-smeared his cheeks with ash. Slender as he was, he was far too big and tall to be cleaning a chimney of the size in Arthur’s antechamber, a task made maddeningly more frustrating by constant critique and badgering by the prince, who seemed miraculously to have nothing better to do. He had been buzzing around Merlin like an incessant fly for shy over two weeks by that point, finding plentiful more and worse work to pile onto Merlin’s usual unpleasant load. Worst of all, he never seemed to get any sort of fill from his spectating—normally if Arthur had some particularly unagreeable task for him, whether that simply needed doing or that he had fashioned as some sort of punishment for being annoyed, he would stay by for a round of gloating and then be on his amused way. Merlin hadn’t heard Arthur stifle a chuckle, hadn’t seen his arrogant prattish smile, hadn’t even caught him grinning ever since they’d returned Gwen home safe from Hengist’s capture. Nothing at all seemed to lighten his perpetual rotten mood, and Merlin bore the exhausting, unrelenting brunt of it. 

Giving up with trying to get clean and simply throwing on his nightclothes, Merlin seethed his way over to the loose floorboard by his bedside and pried it violently off, plucking from it the spellbook Gaius had given him. He thumped himself down on the edge of the bed, tempted for only just a second by its soft give to collapse all the way and be done with the day, but fuelled enough by indignance to keep on task. He creaked the heavy cover open and began to leaf through the myriad pages, resolving to hold the book in both hands and magically flip through as with a gust of wind, eyes quickly flitting over each one. He incanted the flutter to a stop when he found the page he was looking for, and began poring over its every detail. 

There were two illustrations on the top of the page: one of a glass vial full of an orangey liquid drawn glowing with gilded radiating lines, and the other of a man dressed in finery carrying a woman in a peasant dress in his arms, both wearing great big smiles and flushed cheeks. The page read: Elixir of bliss. Enchants a subject with feelings of perfect happiness and contentment. It required a few ingredients be distilled in water, most of which he recognized from Gaius’ stores of herbs and medicinal plants, and an enchantment via incantation. Merlin began mumbling the incantation to himself, mouth learning its sounds, as he tried to memorize the list of ingredients. Holy basil, saffron, klamath weed—

Gaius pushed into the room without knocking, making Merlin jump. He was holding the bowl of stew from the table on a tray next to a chunk of bread.

“I know you’re probably tired, Merlin, but you must eat something,” Gaius insisted, pausing once he had steadied himself and the tray enough in the opened door. Merlin had hastily tucked the book behind him on the bed, poorly hidden from Gaius’ keen eye. “What’re you reading?” He noticed the pried up floorboard just after his words left him.

“Nothing,” Merlin replied quickly. “Thank you, Gaius, you can just set the tray there.”

The physician obliged and placed the tray down on the foot of Merlin’s bed as instructed, using the proximity to get an angle on the book. “Learning a spell?”

“No,” Merlin said automatically, then, taking up the book into his lap again in a better attempt to shield it, doubled back. “I mean, yes. Not a particular one, though. Just going through them all, you know, learning in general.”

“That would be awfully studious of you, Merlin,” Gaius offered suspiciously, hovering closer still, and as Merlin tried to discreetly flip to a new page, he quickly shot out a finger to hold the one he’d had open to before, another of his surprising bits of spryness for a man of his age. Gaius shot Merlin a warning look, and defeated, Merlin didn’t fight as Gaius flipped the pages back and scanned the one that he’d been on. 

“A love spell?” Gaius gawked, brows shooting up and then quickly back down into a disappointed furrow. “Oh, Merlin—”

“It isn’t a love spell, it’s a happiness spell,” Merlin countered. “See? ‘Elixir of bliss—’”

“Love spells go by many names, Merlin, and all of them are very bad news. They have nothing to do with real love or genuine emotion—they turn people into pleasant puppets who are too far from their right mind to know better. You have as little right as anybody to use magic to tamper with people’s emotions. Not only is it a completely unnecessary use of magic, it’s entirely inhumane—”

“You have no idea what it’s like with him!” Merlin snapped suddenly, shocked to pause by his own volume and the near sob in his voice. His eyelids fluttered as he gazed into the emptiness of the missing floorboard, and he saw Gaius’ sympathetic exhale in his posture from the corner of his eye more than heard it. The physician clasped his hands in front of him, plucking his words carefully.

“I know your situation with Arthur is difficult in ways I can’t imagine,” Gaius said, a balance of softness and firmness in his tone. “To be underappreciated” —Merlin snorted a bitter laugh at that— “and unseen... it must be torturous at times. But magic is not a tool for moulding others to one’s liking, nor is it fair to Arthur to try and manipulate his feelings. Being his protector comes with—”

“I’m trying to help him!” Merlin insisted, finding his voice again and breaking into a ramble. “He’s been so depressed since he found out about Gwen and Lancelot, and he’s been neglecting himself and his duties and taking out his frustration on everyone else, especially me. He’s been completely ignoring Gwen, which is entirely cruel if you ask me, he nearly got himself killed twice in training with the other knights because he’s been so distracted, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to cover for him to Uther so he can continue moping in his chambers—and despite everything I do for him, the extra lengths I’ve taken to try to cheer him up and be there for him, he’s treated me like a dog! I’m tired of it, Gaius, I’m exhausted, and I’ve tried everything else to lift his spirits. He deserves some relief from his torment as much as I do. I mean—you brew draughts to help Morgana sleep and to help Uther with his shoulder pain, right? How is this really any different?”

Gaius looked very displeased, but he listened patiently before he spoke again. “This is plenty different, and I highly suspect you’re aware of it, despite how you may be trying to convince yourself otherwise. Merlin, I gave you that spell book because I trusted that you would be responsible with it, that you would only use your powers when absolutely necessary and only for the right reasons. Now, while I do trust you have a good heart, you have shown me more than once that you require some guidance, and I am telling you, this is not the way to handle things. I understand you’re feeling frustrated and desperate, but I know how strong you are, and I know you can overcome any challenge without enacting such enchantments on people you care about.” Gaius paused for a few beats, looking down at his feet, before peering up to add, “Have you tried talking with Arthur about his feelings?” 

“Only a thousand times,” Merlin muttered bitterly. “He’s never been exactly forthright with his feelings but now it’s a hundred times worse. Each time I’ve tried he’s shut me down and had me re-wash his laundry or scrub his floors. It seems all he wants is to stare out his bedroom window and think up some new chore for me to do so he can stand by and insult me while I do it.” 

Gaius thought for a moment. “Sounds to me like he’s looking for any excuse to keep your close company.”

Merlin scoffed. “He loathes my company, he tells me that all the time.” 

“If that were really true, Merlin, I think you would have been relieved of your position long ago,” Gaius shifted the supper tray out of the way so he could sit on Merlin’s bed beside him, joining him in staring down into the hole in the floor. “I know Arthur can be prickly with you, but I believe that’s precisely because he feels comfortable with you in a way he feels with no one else. He feels vulnerable with you, and maybe that makes him a bit more hostile on the surface, but he needs someone like that, someone he can be truly emotional with. He needs you, Merlin.”

“He certainly has a funny way of showing it,” Merlin mumbled, setting the spell book aside and pulling his knees up to his chest. Gaius gingerly pushed the book closed and stole a glance at Merlin, seeing plain the great well of jumbled emotions written on his face. In that instant, he perhaps understood why a person would be driven to the use of magic to ease the mental anguish of a loved one in such a way, but still he held fast in his position. 

“If you keep showing Arthur the care you do, one day he will feel secure enough to accept it, and he will be able to see it for what it is,” Gaius said vaguely. Merlin rolled his gaze slowly towards him, brow furrowed, but didn’t say anything. “He’s had his heart broken. Like any injury, it needs time to heal. This irritability of his will pass, and he will be thankful he had a friend at his side as he recovered.” Gaius rested a palm atop the spell book’s cover. “Promise me you won’t use any spell in this book to tamper with anyone’s feelings,” he instructed with a tip of his head and a serious look.

Merlin took a long breath through his nose. “...I promise.” 

“Good.” Gaius patted Merlin affectionately on the shoulder before standing up. “Now eat your supper before it gets cold again.” 

With that, the physician left, and Merlin stayed curled up in a ball of knotted feelings on his bed. When the door was closed between, Merlin incanted to open the book again, directly to the page with the Elixir of Bliss. After a moment of pondering, he went to close the book by hand, only to have his eye caught by his pile of ash-crusted clothes that he would have to wash before he could go to bed. Then, before he closed it, he very swiftly and carefully tore the page out.

“No spell in the book...” he whispered to himself, then returned the volume to its place under the floor, replaced the board, and folded the torn page to tuck it into his sock, once again leaving his food untouched.

The next day was as gruelling as the last. Merlin, despite his bone-tiredness, reported early to Arthur, and even though he was there and already laying out his clothes and re-polishing his chainmail when Arthur woke up, he immediately bit into him about his sword not being sharpened, despite having not used it since Merlin had done so the week prior. He did his best to grin and bear it through two meals, lots of Arthur moping about his chambers with brief breaks to wander the castle halls like a ghost, during one of which he had to lie to Sir Leon when he came to fetch him for training, and countless poison-soaked jabs. 

Merlin had found a spare moment to sneak the last few ingredients for the elixir from the kitchens and waited until suppertime to deploy it, knowing he would need wine to mask the taste and colour of it in order to get Arthur to drink it. He thanked the kitchen maid who came to deliver Arthur’s supper to his chambers, taking it and serving it at Arthur’s dining table by the fire. One glance at the flue had him more decided than ever about his plan as he felt the weight of the vial hidden in his pocket. 

“Oh, surprise surprise, chicken again,” Arthur fussed, peering at the food with narrowed eyes, having roused himself from his window-gazing stupor. “Bet it’s as dry as ever as well.” 

“I can go ask the kitchen for something else, if you like, sire,” Merlin offered, his chipperness coming more easily as his plan came together, standing attentively by. Arthur waved off the suggestion as he trudged over to the table and deposited himself in the chair, head hung. He looked over the contents of the plate, eyes glazed. His cheeks held a bit of golden scruff that shone amber in the candlelight, shaving a neglected one of his daily tasks that Arthur had never allowed Merlin to take up, citing his clumsiness. It was remarkable to Merlin how much older a bit of beard made him look, and how it might’ve even made him look more distinguished, if the rest of him wasn’t so rumpled and miserable. 

“Are you going to pour me a glass of wine, or would you rather have me choke on this brittle excuse for meat?” Arthur asked venomously, glaring up at Merlin without picking up his head.

“Of course, sire,” Merlin chimed, reaching for Arthur’s goblet, only to have it slip from his grasp just when it crossed the boundary of the table, clattering loudly on the floor. “Oops,” Merlin feigned, and stooped down to retrieve it.

“Good Lord, Merlin, I’d say you’d be fit to be a horse for all your frequent dropping, but at least a horse is good for something.” Arthur chided, and as he did, Merlin discreetly took out the vial from his pocket.

“I don’t think I have the legs to be a horse, my lord,” Merlin replied, swirling the vial a little. Then, as discreetly as he could, he whispered the incantation. He had to shield the vial with his hand as it began to glow orange like the setting sun, praying Arthur wouldn’t notice.

“No, you don’t. I’ve seen foals steadier on their feet than you. And what the hell are you doing down there?” 

Quickly Merlin poured the elixir, marvelling a little at how the glow left it and the liquid returned to clear as it filled the bottom of the goblet. He rose hastily back to his feet before Arthur could duck his head below the table, goblet in hand. “Sorry.” 

Arthur grumbled wordlessly and set to squashing his peas and potatoes into a grey-green slurry as Merlin took up the decanter and poured the gobletful of wine. He slid it across the table to Arthur with a little bow of the head, which the prince met with a sneer. Merlin watched intently as he went to take a sip, only to pause with the cup held in mid-air.

“Perhaps I’ll go hunting tomorrow. Bring home something better to eat than chicken.” 

Merlin was genuinely taken aback, lips stuck parted. That was the first bit of motivated talk he had spoken in weeks, and something genuine returned to the fever of despondency that had settled over him like cobwebs. Merlin felt a hopeful chord struck in his heart at that, and right next to it a guilty one. A sinking feeling came over him like the pitch of looking down a great height, and the memory of hedges and a cold beach and Arthur holding a very similar cup squeezed all the air out of him. As Arthur brought the drink to his lips, Merlin began to panic, and nearly lunged across the table to swat the goblet from his hand, but was stopped at a mere flinch when Arthur drew it away again to speak. 

“Then again, perhaps not. Toting a clumsy idiot like you, I doubt we’d catch a thing. Honestly, Merlin, sometimes I believe you’d die if left to your own devices without my help.” 

Your help? Merlin scorned behind pressed lips, wishing by a very quick heel turn for the relief of shouted outrage, but held his tongue. Because of that, the conflict drained from him, and he continued holding it while Arthur drank deep of his wine. After a moment, the prince smacked his lips, narrowing his gaze as he inspected the drink.

“This wine tastes different,” he commented, swirling it around some and giving it a sniff, peering around into nothing as he considered it.

“It’s from a new batch,” Merlin bluffed, barely keeping his temper, but managing in his curiosity as he watched Arthur’s every move carefully. With an exaggerated frown and another deep sniff, Arthur took a very short sip, keeping it in his mouth. Merlin held his breath. Arthur swallowed.

“It’s quite good,” Arthur said, following with another long sip, humming his satisfaction into the cup. 

Merlin blinked. “You think so?” 

Arthur made a loud refreshed gasp. “Very much so.” When he turned his gaze again on his servant, his posture was looser, no longer hunched, facing him fully, and he even smiled at Merlin, pleasant as sunlight. “You should try some,” Arthur encouraged, and then further to Merlin’s surprise, he held his goblet out towards him with a little nod.

Merlin hiccuped a nervous laugh and held up his hands, a little warm in his surprise. “Oh, no, sire, I—I couldn’t. Please, drink up.” 

Arthur gave a small shrug and brought the cup back to drain it, again letting out a little contented moan and grinning. Merlin grinned along with him, relief and pride in himself opening like a flower. It had been so long since he had seen Arthur smile. 

“You know, on second thought, maybe I will go hunting tomorrow,” Arthur said, taking up his fork and digging into his supper, taking a hearty chunk of chicken along with his slurry and stuffing his mouth full. “The knights always love a good hunt. And some of the smaller forest boars are slow and dumb, we should have a decent chance to haul one in.”

Merlin waited for the inevitable comparison as the invocation of dumb, but none came. Arthur continued chewing, digging up another bite, without any complaints about the food or the temperature of the room or Merlin’s idle presence at all. It was a genuine marvel, and Merlin couldn’t help but stare. When Arthur noticed him he slowed his chew, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head a bit to the side. 

“What?” he inquired. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No,” Merlin huffed through a smile. “No, it’s just... well, you seem in better spirits all of a sudden.” 

“I feel in better spirits,” Arthur replied, eyelids fluttering a little with a look as satisfaction passed over his face as savoured another bite. “You’ll have to give my highest compliments to the cooks, because this is just delightful.”

Merlin couldn’t recall Arthur ever enjoying food beyond simple approval, or ever describing something as delightful, but his tone sounded to Merlin’s ear entirely sincere. 

“I’ll be sure to,” Merlin assured. 

The difference was like night and day. To everyone else, it seemed the next day that Arthur had just woken up on the right side of the bed, and they were all too relieved to question his sudden change of heart. Despite Merlin’s valiant attempts to cover for him, Uther had taken notice of Arthur’s gloom, and none were happier than he to see the prince invigorated and back to his usual duties. Merlin even watched Arthur say good morning to Gwen, who looked for a moment like she was seeing a ghost, but managed a pleasant return before they passed each other in the corridor. Catching Gwen’s smile was nearly better than having Arthur perfectly content, and Merlin grinned back at her with a little thumbs up. The only regret he carried was not thinking to use the spell sooner. 

While Merlin still would rather be doing nearly anything but hunting, it was like a vacation compared to the last weeks. Arthur joked with the knights, and while they only managed to snare a few rabbits, the prince’s mood was dampened none. And through it all, not a single insult or bully or tease to amuse himself or the knights. In Merlin’s wildest dreams, he never imagined hunting with Arthur could be pleasant.

He was so caught up in this euphoria that he barely noticed Arthur fall off his horse until one of the knights gave a shout. He hopped off his own with Sir Leon and rushed to his side, immediately dreading he’d been struck by some unseen archer, but when they reached him, Arthur was chuckling, half crushing a shrub. 

“I fell,” he laughed. Leon had reached him first and helped him back to his feet. 

Merlin sighed his relief. “Seems you did. Are you alright?” 

“Right as rain,” chimed Arthur. Before Leon let go of his arm, he frowned and reached up a gloved hand to Arthur’s shoulder, pulling his hand back to inspect it.

“You’re bleeding, sire,” informed Leon. 

“Let me see,” said Merlin, drawing close and all but pushing Leon out of the way. Arthur moved pliantly as Merlin angled him towards the sunlight to inspect his shoulder. There were some thin limbs from the crushed shrub stuck into his chainmail and pauldron, and as Merlin picked them out in search of a wound, one of them offered resistance. Arthur hissed in sharp pain before dissolving back to giggles. 

“I think that one’s in me,” he said, grinning. Merlin frowned, worry chewing on him. 

“I should get him back to Gaius,” insisted Merlin, glancing at Leon. 

“I feel fine,” said Arthur, but there was no argument in his words, just a simple fact.

“He may have hit his head on the way down,” continued Merlin, guiding Arthur back to his horse. Leon nodded and assured he’d finish up with the party and Merlin helped Arthur mount and instructed him to follow back to the citadel, which Arthur did without a word of protest. 

Merlin stood nervously by while Gaius performed some tests on the patched-up prince. The limb that had stabbed into his shoulder luckily hadn’t gone deep, just at a tricky angle, but Gaius warned that it could have just as easily pierced his neck, as Merlin already well knew. Arthur seemed entirely unbothered by the whole ordeal, following instructions and meeting Merlin’s every worried glance with a cheerful grin. 

Though he didn’t show it, Merlin knew Gaius knew practically from the moment they walked in the door. 

Gaius could find no evidence of a head injury, and though he told him to take it easy on the shoulder for a few days while his injury healed, gave him a clean bill of health. Arthur thanked him and hopped up from his stool and made his way towards the door out of Gaius’ chambers. Merlin tried to discreetly follow him, but Gaius stopped him with a look that made Merlin’s heave in a breath. 

“He’s very lucky,” Gaius told Merlin in a low voice. “It’s a small but painful wound, no doubt. And still, he seems rather blissful about the whole ordeal.” 

Merlin shrugged. “Arthur’s a tough guy.” 

“He could have been much more seriously hurt. He’s been riding since he was a child—he isn’t the type to just fall off his horse. There’s nothing medically wrong with him, but—” 

“Guess we’ll have to count our blessings then,” Merlin cut in. Gaius looked utterly disappointed, and his small sigh was like a sack of flour on each of Merlin’s shoulders. Before either of them could say another word, a singsong voice drifted down the corridor. 

“Mer-lin!” called Arthur, filling the syllables with more delight than the warlock had ever heard him put into them. With a sheepish smile, Merlin sidled past Gaius and hurried after the prince. 

Merlin couldn’t help but indulge in Arthur’s good mood, despite his lingering guilt. The next days were like a dream, one that was interrupted by the tension when he came home in the evening. Gaius barely spoke to him, and that alone was enough to keep Merlin awake at night, near sick with doubt. But the time the sun rose and Arthur bid him good morning, though, all of that was washed from him, and he found an unmatched solace basking in Arthur’s happiness. 

When Merlin was drawing a bath, Arthur was lingering by his chamber window, quieter than he had been all day. Merlin spied him curiously.

“Something on your mind, sire?” 

Arthur turned to him, arms crossed and stance wide. “There is, now that you mention it.” 

“Anything you’d like to talk about?” asked Merlin.

“Alright,” said Arthur, without a scrap of hesitation. “I’ve been thinking about Guinevere.” 

Merlin couldn’t suppress his smile. “What about her?” 

“She’s just so dreamy.” Hearing Arthur use the word dreamy was as jarring as hearing him say delightful and sublime , all words Merlin hadn’t known were in Arthur’s vocabulary, but Merlin refused to let that distract him. “She’s sweet, and brilliant, and she smells wonderful, and she might very well be the most gorgeous woman in all of Camelot.” 

Arthur had never been so forthcoming with his feelings about Gwen, and Merlin was nearly beaming with excitement as he finished filling the bath and checked the temperature. “You think so?” he encouraged.

“Indeed I do,” Arthur said, cocking his head to the side. 

Merlin took a bolder step. “Do you think you’ll tell her that?” 

Arthur considered for a short pause. “Yes, I think I will.” 

“Wait, Arthur—” Merlin started, then cleared his throat as Arthur turned back from his path to the door, catching himself and reining in his surprise. “Sire, perhaps you should bathe before going to talk with Gwen.” 

Arthur nodded and smiled. “Good thinking, Merlin,” he said, and Merlin melted at the praise—another of the recent treats Merlin had become a glutton for. 

While he was basking, he hardly noticed Arthur beginning to strip for his bath right where he stood, not bothering with his changing screen, and only just looked away before Arthur pulled his breeches off, sweet warmth boiling to abashed heat. He went so far as to shield his face with a hand to avoid stealing a glance at the prince. Arthur had allowed a lot of little things he wouldn’t have before over the past few days—letting Merlin take breaks throughout the day, carrying his own pack, even giving him an evening off—but Arthur had always been strict with bathing etiquette, and Merlin dared not approach the crossing of that line. 

Merlin kept his gaze on the floor as Arthur strode uncovered over to the bath and settled into it, not a lick of discomfort or shame about him, standing and bowing a little.

“Sire,” he dismissed, then hastily turned to take up his place in Arthur’s antechamber and wait for him to be done washing to dress him and empty the bath, as he always did. 

He froze when Arthur called him back.

“Merlin,” he beckoned, as easy and natural as a scrap of birdsong. As he relaxed in the warm bath waters, his voice was looser, and his name came out almost like a moan on Arthur’s breath. Merlin could feel all the heat in his body rushing to a single point and felt a little dizzy. 

“Yes, my lord?” Merlin asked, suddenly shy, without turning around. He reprimanded himself for the way the grunt of pain he heard accompanying a stir of the bathwater behind him made his heart flutter with something other than concern. “Is it your shoulder?” 

“I’m not sure,” said Arthur, sounding puzzled as he shifted again with a melody of little splashes. “I know this may sound strange, but that part of me feels... not entirely good. Is that mad?” 

Guilt prickled in Merlin’s belly. “You’re injured, sire. It’s normal for it to hurt.” Arthur didn’t respond, and Merlin grew worried. “Can... may I inspect it for you, to ensure it’s healing properly?” 

“Of course, Merlin.” 

Trying not to think about how Arthur had never sounded so compliant and how he was nude in the bath and seemingly unfazed by either thing, Merlin knelt at the side of the bath. He was careful to stay positioned just so at Arthur’s back to keep his eyes and his intimate areas blocked, which was hard with how Arthur was lounging with his arms and knees wide.

“Sit up,” said Merlin, a thoughtless instruction, but was taken aback again by how quickly Arthur followed his order. He looked over the series of small scratches and bruises mottling Arthur’s left shoulder, all scabbed by that point, even the nastier centrepiece where he had been pierced. 

“Nothing looks infected and it’s healing well,” mumbled Merlin, his gaze slipping a little down the hard swells and curves of Arthur’s back, connecting the other marks on his skin, old and fresh scars, like constellations. “You should be back to training in a few more days.” 

“Lovely,” Arthur said happily. “Thank you, Merlin.” 

That turned Merlin to a statue in place. All the confused feelings in him were swirled around as he was flooded with something that made his whole body feel impossibly light and heavy all at once. He swallowed hard.

“You’re welcome, Arthur.”  

When Arthur said nothing further, Merlin got unsteadily to his feet and hurried out of the room with a bow Arthur didn’t see. In the antechamber, he held his burning face in his hands and tried to calm down the various excited parts of his body. 

It wasn’t just falling off the horse. Merlin had kept a closer eye on Arthur after that, and though he convinced himself it was just the run-of-the-mill saving of Arthur’s life he always did, there were undoubtedly more close calls. When Arthur was nearly trampled by a runaway horse and cart while he and Merlin were passing through the Lower Towns, waving it off with a chuckle, Merlin’s worry began to tip his internal scales. He’d been sure to learn the counter-spell to undo the effects of the Elixir of Bliss, but he had continually convinced himself to allow just one more day before he used it, just a few more moments of this pleasant dream of an Arthur who never yelled or insulted him and even thanked him. But this Arthur felt increasingly like a stranger to him, and Merlin knew more and more surely that Gaius had been right. As sweet as it was, all dreams had to end. 

It was after Gwen had pulled Merlin aside to ask if he’d noticed Arthur acting off that he made the decision to undo the spell. She was more than a little worried, but she was also clearly uncomfortable, and confided in Merlin that while she appreciated that Arthur had stopped giving her the cold shoulder, his bold compliments and little gifts (which she had assumed were meant as compensation) were becoming too much, and when she tried to explain to him why he had to stop, he just didn’t seem to understand. 

“It’s like he’s forgotten he’s the prince of Camelot,” she had told him, chewing on her lip. “He was never like this before—he was always so respectful and careful. He knows why we can’t be together, not like that, but now... he just smiles and tells me that there’s nothing to worry about. I’m afraid he’s going to try something really stupid. Please, Merlin, can you try to talk some sense into him?” 

Merlin assured her he would and got to work right away on the potion for the counter-spell. 

That night at dinner, it was entirely too easy to distract Arthur by telling him there was an interesting bird on the windowsill for Merlin’s liking, and he was resigned to the fact that it was good he was the one sneaking something into Arthur’s wine and not someone who actually wanted to do him harm. As he mumbled the incantation and discreetly poured the counter-elixir while Arthur was still leaning and staring at the window, he marinated in his guilt. In the back of his mind, he thought about how he would have to find some way to make it up to Gaius for being right from the start.

“I don’t see it,” said Arthur, squinting hard and beginning to rise from his chair. “It’s really purple?”

“It, uh, might’ve been a trick of the light,” fibbed Merlin, settling Arthur back down into his chair. “Either way, it must’ve flown off. Here, sire—drink up.” 

Arthur shrugged and did as he was told, taking up the goblet. Merlin was going to miss that obedience, but he knew it was a purely selfish indulgence. Their fingers brushed as Arthur took the cup from him and Merlin shivered, rising a tint warmer. Arthur tipped the goblet and his head to Merlin with a big smile that showed off his teeth—a feature Merlin had also selfishly taken to admiring as Arthur had shown them off more.

“Cheers,” he said, and put the goblet to his lips.

Merlin sighed a heavy breath, allowing a moment to wallow in his disappointment, but was interrupted by Arthur drawing the cup away again to speak.

“You know, Merlin,” he started, drumming his fingers once on the table and holding the warlock fast in with his calm blue gaze. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known before. While I can’t imagine my life being anything other than perfect, I think you’re one of the things that makes it as good as it is.” Arthur blinked slowly, eyes crinkled with a fond grin as he pored over Merlin’s face. “I’ve always thought very highly of you. I’m glad to have a friend like you.” 

As Arthur went to take a sip, Merlin shot out a hand and covered the top of the goblet, and his lips connected with Merlin’s knuckle. Unbothered but curious, Arthur looked back up as his servant, whose shoulders were heaving and who was flushed down into his neckerchief. 

“What is it?” asked Arthur with no alarm at all. Merlin felt like he was tumbling down a hill, unable to stop himself as the feeling of Arthur’s lips lingered on his skin like a hot iron brand. “What is it, Merlin?” 

With throat suddenly dry, Merlin could barely speak, his words creaking out of him. “Is... there... anything else?” 

“What do you mean?”

Merlin bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He knew it was selfish. He knew it wasn’t right. He couldn’t be sure they were even Arthur’s words, they could well be nothing more than the enchantment talking, but they had sounded so genuine. Merlin couldn’t bear the thought of the opportunity slipping through his hands if there was any chance that Arthur might be offering him some as yet unspoken truth. 

“Is there anything else you want to say to me?” asked Merlin, almost whispering. 

Arthur slowly set his goblet down on the table and Merlin withdrew his hand. The prince narrowed his eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, confused but not sounding worried. “You don’t look happy.” 

That nearly took Merlin’s knees out. He wanted so badly to tell him he wasn’t and all of the reasons why, unburden every tremendous pain and secret he toted each and every day as he followed Arthur around, but he knew he couldn’t. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” assured Merlin, forcing a smile to cover up the quiet sob in his tone. “Sorry. It’s nothing—I’m fine. Eat your dinner.” 

Arthur watched him for a moment longer, shrugged, and dug into his food. Merlin watched him, standing dutifully at his side as he always did, and blinked away a mist of tears. Arthur washed down a large and rather unprincely bite with a big swig of wine, and once he had he blinked a little, going back for another sip. He tilted his jaw from side to side as he held it in his mouth, considering. 

“Is this another new batch of wine?” he asked.

“Yeah,” muttered Merlin, and then remembering himself and standing up straighter, amended, “yes, sire.” 

Arthur’s face slowly twisted and he wrinkled his nose. “A real step down from the last one. And why’s the wine being changed so much? I like our usual stuff.” 

Merlin made himself take a deep breath before answering. “I don’t know, my lord.” 

“Well, next time, Merlin, be sure to get the good wine, alright?” 

Merlin nodded and Arthur went on eating without further comment. When he picked up his drumstick, he took a glance Merlin’s way, but didn’t linger. “You can go.” 

Merlin faltered. “I... can?” 

“We’ll you’ve finished all of today’s work, haven’t you?” said Arthur, the draw of his brow pulling tighter as he rolled his neck and rubbed at his shoulder with a little wince. 

“Don’t touch it,” Merlin reprimanded lightly, a reflex. “It’s still healing.”

“I know that, Mer lin, I’m not a child,” snapped Arthur. The pain seemed to have crept back into his awareness, and as he tried to hide it he looked much more like himself than he had before. That gave Merlin a strange sort of relief, and all he could do for a moment was watch Arthur settle back into himself. Without looking up again as he picked at his food, Arthur added, “If you’re so eager to stick around, though, you can clean my boots—seems you’ve been slacking on that this week.”  

Merlin pressed his lips for a moment and piped up when Arthur looked at him again with eyebrows raised and mouth curled in a little confused sneer. “Sire, about these past few days...”

“What about them?” 

Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes and saw the countless layers there, the reservation and poise in his little movements, the emotion he could never fully hide from anyone (least of all from Merlin), and his question was answered without him having to ask it. “Nothing. Nevermind.” 

Arthur frowned before returning to his dinner. “You’re acting very strange, Merlin. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

There was just a touch of worry there, a single leaf upsetting a rippled through a pond of other things, one that Arthur hadn’t shown in weeks in both his hazes of sulk or bliss—concern for Merlin. That made him smile ever-so-gently. 

“Yeah. Everything’s alright.” 

[hrizantemy]

If you don't mind, could you share some of your thought process on creating Taryn as a character and your favorite aspects of writing her so far? (Can you also give a physical description? I would like to draw her and nesta together and Ive been imagining her as cruel princes' Taryn; which is a little funny to think about)

This is so sweet—and so funny! I’ve read the first Cruel Prince book but didn’t even make the connection to Taryn from that series! That’s hilarious and kind of fitting in its own way, but yes, let me give you more details!

So, Taryn as a character actually came about unexpectedly. She wasn’t someone I initially planned to write; it was going to be just Nesta on her own, focusing on her healing journey. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Nesta has never really had someone wholly in her corner—a person who supports her without judgment or an agenda. That gap in her life is what inspired Taryn’s creation.

I wanted someone who could stand alongside Nesta, not to “fix” her, but to offer her unconditional support and the space to be herself. Taryn’s character grew from that idea, and I started with her name, which has so many layered meanings.

• In Irish and Gaelic, it’s tied to “the land of Eoghan” or “people’s ruler,” which felt fitting for someone who would hold her own and guide by example rather than force.

• The connection to rivers and flooding, as in “the trespasser,” reminded me of someone who defies expectations and carves out a path that may disrupt, but ultimately creates growth.

• Then there’s the Latin meaning tied to “earth” or an “elevated place,” which gave her a grounded, steady quality.

One of my favorite aspects of writing Taryn so far is how she knows when to step back and respect Nesta’s autonomy. A perfect example of this is during the Solstice and Nesta’s interactions with the IC—Taryn doesn’t try to insert herself or take over. Instead, she lets Nesta handle things in her own way, at her own pace, without any interference. That respect for boundaries is a cornerstone of who Taryn is, and it’s a deliberate contrast to how other characters have behaved.

For instance, take Rhysand. Even when Feyre explicitly tells him to leave her relationship with Nesta alone, he still tries to control it, inserting his own ideas of what should happen. Or Cassian, who has a pattern of badgering Nesta, pushing her even when it’s clear she’s uncomfortable or not ready to engage with him on his terms. These moments can feel suffocating for Nesta, and I wanted Taryn to be the opposite of that.

Taryn highlights what it truly means to give someone the space to heal and make their own choices. She supports Nesta without demanding anything in return. There’s no pressure to act a certain way, no need to meet someone else’s expectations or timelines. If Nesta decides to set boundaries or push back, Taryn respects that instead of trying to guilt or force her into compliance.

I think that dynamic is so important for Nesta because it offers her something she’s never really had: a connection where she feels safe to be herself without fear of judgment or consequence. And, more than that, it allows her to grow on her own terms. Taryn is there to back her up when needed, but she also knows when to step back and let Nesta lead.

It’s a refreshing contrast to the characters who think they’re helping but end up reinforcing unhealthy patterns instead. Writing Taryn as someone who embodies that quiet, unwavering support has been incredibly rewarding.

Now, onto Taryn’s physical description! She has dark hair—by dark, I mean black—and striking green eyes that stand out against her complexion. Her features are sharp, with high cheekbones.

Taryn’s complexion is on the darker side, with warm, rich undertones that speak to her heritage. Her skin carries a sun-kissed glow, as if she’s spent a significant amount of time under a different sun than Velaris or even the Night Court could provide. It’s a deeper shade, almost like burnished bronze, with a natural radiance that contrasts beautifully against her black hair and sharp features. I’ve hinted at it before, but Taryn isn’t from Velaris or the Night Court.

Taryn typically wears dresses that balance simplicity, emphasizing her. She prefers flowing silhouettes that allow her to move with ease, often crafted from rich fabrics like velvet, silk, or fine linen. Her dresses are usually in deep, earthy tones such as forest green, burnt orange, midnight blue, or warm gold, complementing her complexion and hair.

The designs of her dresses are practical yet stylish—long sleeves for cooler weather or sleeveless options for warmer climates, always tailored to fit her perfectly. High necklines and subtle embroidery along the hems or cuffs add an air of refinement, while the occasional slit in the skirt gives her freedom of movement without being overly revealing.

I think I’ve covered all your questions, but feel free to let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to know or dive deeper into! I’ve enjoyed answering these and exploring Taryn and Nesta’s dynamic—it’s always exciting to share more about their story and development. So if there’s anything you’re curious about, don’t hesitate to ask!

[bliss-wily]

king cold as a grandpa please. headcanons or drawing.

Headcanons for now, simply because I’ll only draw when I’m home alone because I’m weird like that.

King Cold as a grandad, so I’m framing this as King Cold and Kuriza mostly but with a side of Cooler and Frieza, so King Cold as a parent too? Anyway~

•I imagine this begins with King Cold badgering Cooler about when he’s getting grandchildren or whatever, while needing successors or whatever.

•In reality he wants more kids to spoil rotten seeing as his two sons are adults.

•I think he would be more shocked that Frieza is having a child first, insert concerned father mode - his little princess is becoming a father!

•More concerned than he lets on due to Frieza’s lack of maturity, probably expects that the elites and advisors would be watching the baby more often than not.

•Once warmed up to the idea he would be coddling Frieza the entire time as his youngest goes through early parenthood.

•Takes a massive shine to Kuriza, the little boy with his pointy head.

•Would be the grandpa who’s constantly wanting the baby to stay with him, imagine glass of wine in one hand, tiny Kuriza in the other.

•Cue Frieza getting super jealous of Kuriza…Cooler being highly amused.

•Kuriza would be spoilt rotten by King Cold, I think. The kind of gramps who would do ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner if that’s what the young Prince wants. Kuriza would have everything new from any planet desired.

“My boy wants a hooded vulture?”, cue someone being sent to earth to go find one.

•Hooded vulture is totally called Kevin, for no obvious reasons. Why a hooded vulture? First animal that came to my mind for some reason.

•Frieza wouldn’t be the favourite anymore…probably. The emperor of the universe would become the biggest brat of the universe.

•King Cold would treat everything Kuriza does as an accomplishment. Accidentally death beam Frieza in the face? Manage to break an expensive bottle of wine? Learns to bite Vegeta in the arm? Gets lost in Raditz’s hair? All accomplishments!

•The walls of any base/ship/palace are adorned with pictures of the three boys. His sons and his grand baby.

Im sorry these aren’t great. Very random and all over the place but it’s nearly 4am and I can’t sleep so…

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

If I Make it Through Tonight (Everybody's Gonna Hear Me Out)

Martin saw his first monster at the age of ten.

He saw his second monster at the age of twenty-eight, and that monster was his boss.

Jon/Martin, 4.6k words, rated T, read on AO3. This is for day 5 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt Cryptids. pls ignore that i completely forgot to repost this to tumblr lmao

Martin saw his first monster at the age of ten.

He was in Brownies at that age, amongst a group of girls who could tell he wasn't quite like them. The scout leader had been talking about a camping trip for over a year at that point, and finally managed to organise it at a local site. A few girls complained about the dirt and didn't like the smell of the campfire and the portaloo, but Martin stuck with a small group of girls who he found huddled around a flipped over rock, looking at bugs.

He doesn't remember most of the night, in all honesty. They did the usual stuff you were supposed to do when you go camping: stories, songs, s'mores. Nothing too exciting. Then they all went to bed in their lackluster tents and sleeping bags.

When Martin woke up, he didn't know what time it was. Just that it was dark and the campfire had been put out. The girls in his tent were all still asleep. Sitting up and pulling his jumper on, he carefully pulled the zipper on the entrance down and poked his head out. He couldn't see much but the vague silhouette of the other tents and trees.

The woods at night were quiet. Martin closed his eyes and listened to chirping insects and rustling bushes. He's always liked the sound of nature. He lived near a woodland with a park sitting on the edge and he would lie in the basket swing and watch the spaces through the trees. Sometimes he would see deer or rabbits or foxes, or once, even a badger. He didn't have a sketchbook, but he would take some printer paper and a clipboard and draw the animals and plants he saw. Not very well, mind you, but he would sometimes convince his mum to let him keep his favourites stuck to the fridge.

Martin was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud rustle in the foliage, and a hush fell over the woods. A true silence was left ringing in his ears and he turtled into the neck of his jumper. He vaguely remembers, from a walk through that woodland with his father, being told that silence is the most dangerous sound in nature; it means everything that could be eaten has run away, leaving only the thing looking for something to eat. He fumbled for his glasses behind him, not taking his eyes off the treeline, and shoved them onto his nose. It didn't help much, but it wasn't as blurry anymore.

Amongst the black, he saw something shifting, heard the sniffs of a large nose. Heavy, yet careful footsteps made their way through the bushes, and into the campsite. Now out of the trees, Martin could see it clearer.

The creature was enormous, hunched unnaturally on four legs and covered in thin, dark hair. The skin underneath was pale and covered in painful-looking stretch marks. The paws didn't seem like paws at all. They looked more like hands, with elongated fingers and harsh, ragged nails. It was almost person-shaped. Almost. The hunchback made it look like a man trying to walk on all fours, on his hands and feet, but it moved so fluidly, like it was used to it.

Until it stood up.

The thing rose onto its two hind legs, pushing at the portaloo with its knobbly hands, towering over the thing by easily two and a half feet. The small stall rocked back and forth, clattering as its balance was tested. It chuffed as it tried the handle with clumsy fingers, then moved on to investigate a tent.

Looking back on it, Martin knows it was a terrible idea, but his mind had filled with the awful image of this creature—this monster—getting into the tent and ripping the girls inside to shreds, and he simply acted in instinct. He blindly fished the wind up torch he brought with him out of his sleeping bag, and turned it on. The crank made an awful, loud clicking noise and the light wasn't very bright, but the monster still squinted at it.

Big reflective eyes stared at Martin, the lumbering body frozen in a startled turn. Its hair stood on end, teeth bared in its snout and stained with something dark, and it stared. It stared and stared and didn't move a muscle. Martin stared back, suddenly cold with fear. It raised a long, slender finger, the tip thick like a paw pad, the nail curled and yellow, and it held the finger to its lips. Like it was telling—no, warning—Martin to be quiet.

The light faded out. Martin didn't rewind it. He listened to the creature disappear back into the woods. He did not go back to sleep that night.

The first monster Martin saw, he discovered many years later, was a werewolf. And it sparked what can only be described as an obsession.

From that point forward, Martin found everything he could on monsters, ghouls, and cryptids. He found books in the library about Mothman and the Loch Ness Monster and Krampus, and checked them out, much to the dismay of the librarian. He copied the anatomical sketches into the jotters he took from the supply bin in school and proudly showed his teachers, who replied with a concerned grimace.

(To be fair, he doesn't blame them. He was this specky little eleven year old holding up drawings that might as well have been props from The Shining. He once heard a teaching assistant mutter 'Redruuum' behind the teacher he was proudly showing a picture of Bigfoot to, and she was quickly sent off with a glare.)

The interest only got worse as he grew up. He set up trail cams in his local woodland, he went on ill-advised camping trips to unregulated areas, he had a truly awful vampire phase in high school and is rather glad he's not still friends with anyone who would remember it. He started carrying around a camera everywhere he went, just in case, deciding that his top goal should be to finally get a picture of one of the damn things. But one thing truly takes the cake for the lengths he's willing to go to get that shot:

After dropping out of high school and needing to support himself and his mum, he made up a lie about having a master's degree in parapsychology and applied to the Magnus Institute.

Working at the Magnus Institute had been a total dream for Martin for a few years at that point. The idea of being completely surrounded with resources, with proof of the supernatural was all he could ever ask for! Of course, he applied to other jobs as well, but he had all his hopes pinned on the institute. When he got the interview, he was practically vibrating with nerves the entire time. The whole thing was a bit weird, Elias is definitely a bit of a freak who learned what a smile is from a WikiHow guide, but he did get the job!

And ended up in the bloody library.

Sure, having very easy access to every book you could possibly want on supernatural creatures is great, but zero access to the research department is not great. It also doesn't help that there are actually very few books on cryptids, and most of his coworkers thought they were a load of rubbish.

All in all, Martin does what he can before simply returning to independent research (i.e. Reddit threads. Grim). That is, until he got moved to the archives.

It's all he could have ever asked for: two hundred years worth of statements and research packed away into a maze of shelves where no one can see him rummaging around and taking notes on the book he hides in his desk drawer. A boss who doesn't seem to mind, if downright encourages, employees staying late, even if he is a bit of a dickhead about it (a very handsome dickhead, but that's a matter for Martin to think about elsewhere). And two coworkers who are truly entertained by Martin's Origin Story and hand him files to read on werewolves in America, and vampire killers. He swears he was only a little disappointed to find out that vampires are not as sexy as they are, according to Anne Rice.

This is all to say, Martin is finally going on another proper Cryptid Hunt.

Now, Martin has never set foot in a proper research facility, but he thinks he's onto something. Statement after statement has been cropping up about a monster roaming London in the night, that speaks in static and has dozens of eyes. It's like nothing Martin has ever heard before. He's determined to find it. He's got his digital camera, he has a torch and plenty of backup batteries, he has a Polaroid camera, just in case cryptids don't capture well on digital—which he assumes they won't, if the statements won't even record without the tape recorder.

Speaking of tapes, he'll need to find some blank tapes to record anything important on. Not that he thinks a Polaroid wouldn't be enough proof, he just- he likes the Lo-fi charm, alright? It's—as much as Jon detests the word—spooky.

It's not his first rodeo borrowing (stealing) the odd item for one of his hunts, but this time he's more nervous. Jon has made it very clear that Martin is on thin ice, especially after letting a dog into the archives and it causing a mess on the floor. So, he tries his best to be very careful when he picks the lock to Jon's door and stuffs a couple tapes into his satchel. It's all going surprisingly swimmingly until he runs into Jon on the way out after getting his coat.

"Martin?" Jon calls as he spots him. "Did you see anyone going into my office?"

"Mm, no," Martin says, like a liar. He's always been good at lying. That's not great for his character, but it is great for him getting away with everything.

"Right, I must have forgotten to lock the door, then," he mumbles. Jon has his coat on and his bag over his shoulder, which is odd considering Martin doesn't think he's ever seen Jon leave on time. He shows up early and he leaves late; as far as Martin knows, he could bloody live down here.

"Are you heading out already?" Martin risks asking. It's not that he wants Jon to work himself to death, but could he maybe start his self improvement journey when Martin isn't trying to walk out with stolen Institute property?

"Yes, I have, uh—" Jon waves a hand as he thinks, "—plans. I have plans. Shall we head out together?"

The suggestion throws him off, as do many things Jon does. He has these odd moments of treating Martin no different from Tim and Sasha, then the next minute going back to calling him useless. Martin tries to cherish the few and far between acts of kindness Jon dishes out, but he tends to ruin it with his face going bright red and starting to stutter and fumble with what he wants to say. Then Jon will usually side-eye him and tut and the moment will be over and Martin has failed to woo his hot boss once again and—

"Martin?" Jon interrupts, head tilted and brow furrowed.

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah, sure, let's- let's go!" Martin lets out a nervous chuckle and Jon sends him an odd side-eye, and tuts, and sets off towards the lift. Martin curses under his breath and follows.

It's a little awkward in the lift, tense in a way that Martin is sure Jon doesn't feel. He clears his throat quietly.

"So, what plans do you have?" he asks, hoping Jon didn't actually intend on walking side by side in silence to the front door.

"Hm?" Jon raises a brow at him, like he's said something truly outrageous, then his eyes widen a little. "Oh- nothing much, just- visiting a friend from my uni days. Anything planned for yourself?"

"Not much." Martin shrugs. "Hoping to have a nice night in, you know?" Jon hums and nods a little as the lift sings and opens to the ground floor. The chit chat is idle and dull as they make their way through the dwindling crowds filtering out of the Institute, and they share curt goodbyes as they part ways.

_____

Martin triple checks his bag for maybe the millionth time: he has a camera, digital and analog, his phone, water, a few snacks, a torch, a loaded tape recorder and an extra cassette, and some basic first aid items. He has everything. It's time to set off.

The grass is dry and crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way into the woods. He tries to walk confidently, as if confidence is all he needs to warn off a thing that one statement said could most accurately be described as a fucking dragon. This is an impeccably stupid idea to begin with, so who cares if puffing his chest out makes him feel a little safer.

He ditches the path and wanders off into the trees, knowing how bad of an idea that is, and doing it anyway.

The light from the torch sends stark shadows streaking along the ground and up the trees, startling animals off in the distance, but no dragon. Martin knows it's not close because he can still hear the vague chitters of squirrels and insects. He walks slowly, carefully, because it's not going to be any help if he scares them off himself. He swallows as his nerves start to get to him. Maybe talking will take his mind off of it. He starts the tape recorder with a clunky click.

"Okay, erm... documentation of Martin Blackwood going Cryptid Hunting, because he's a bloody moron, tape one. I've found the area that a lot of these statements mentioned, it's a pretty popular walking trail, so hopefully this will come up with something."

A breeze sends a shiver down his spine as he checks all around him, pointing the thin beam of light through the spindly trees. His footsteps are light as he can manage, barely rustling the grass and fallen leaves. He doesn't see anything except a grey forest, illuminated by shitty LEDs, and he hasn't seen anything for the last twenty minutes.

"I'm starting to think this is a lost cause. I mean, it's getting late, and it's bloody freezing, I might just turn back." And he clicks the recorder off. The quiet in the absence of the whirring tape makes him feel even worse.

He tries to follow back the way he came. He winds through familiar enough looking trees and broken branches and rocks and logs. Then he walks past the same bunch of trees twice, and sees a log that he swears he saw ten minutes ago, and a small stream that he thinks he's already stepped over. In what feels like no time, it's been an hour and he hasn't found the trail. He quickly and quietly curses under his breath, panic starting to settle in at the fact that he's lost in a woods with frequent monster sightings.

"See, kids, this is why you follow the walking path," he mutters into the recorder. "Don't do what I do, for Christ's sake." He turns it back off, to preserve space on the tape, but it clicks back on by itself. With a shaky breath, he turns it back off. It turns on again. "Shit, don't tell me the recorder's broken..."

He holds the thing up to his face, trying to inspect the buttons for damage, but he doesn't know how tape recorders work so it's not revealing much.

A branch snaps somewhere behind him. Not a thing branch, or a twig, but a heavy, crunching snap, that sends the forest into silence. Nothing fills the air except Martin's quickened breathing and the whir of the tape. And possibly a short shriek from him, but that's unimportant.

Martin shines the light in every direction, hand shaking as he frantically searches the darkness for a presence. The tape recorder clicks itself off, then starts to play. His own voice comes out garbled and backwards through the tinny speakers of the recorder. It crackles and starts to fade into static. The thing shakes in his hands and he thinks maybe he should put the thing down, when something comes out of it, through the cacophony of static.

"Martin..."

The man in question freezes for only a second before he fumbles to pull his Polaroid camera out of his bag, not bothering with the digital. With the shrieking tape record tucked under his arm, he stands with his camera poised, listening out for movement. He hears a rustle on his left and whips around, taking a picture in that direction.

In the brief second that the flash lights up the trees, he sees it: an enormous, black creature with sickly green eyes covering every inch of its face, twisted horns reaching up into the branches and taloned feet reaching over the bushes. A mane of fur covers its back and neck, tapering down its chest. A tail audibly swishes behind it. And it was looking right at him.

The camera spits out a picture and Martin barely even notices. He takes off in a run.

The creature doesn't make any noise as it follows, doesn't roar or growl or anything, but Martin can hear it crashing against trees and clawing at the wood and ground. He can tell that it's bounding towards him. The recorder is practically screaming and it hurts his ears. He looks over his shoulder, and suddenly understands why three separate people called it a dragon. The thing has six legs and it's leaping from tree to tree like an awful overgrown squirrel.

In his terror, watching it grow closer and closer, Martin trips over a branch and goes flying to the ground. He rolls onto his back, scrambling to kick himself away as the creature closes in. He doesn't get very far as it slams a giant hand down on his chest and stomach. Martin screams bloody murder, kicking his legs in the hopes of hitting anything within reach, pushing at the leg and pulling at its fur.

Martin has always wanted to see another monster, but this is just a little too close for comfort. The thing stares at him with its too many eyes, and they each start to glow, starting from the centre at radiating outwards, the pupils thinning into tiny slits.

Martin feels pinned (in a more metaphorical sense than how he is very literally being pinned to the ground). He feels like he's getting an x-ray, like this monster has peeled him open and is stripping him bare. He's completely frozen under its oppressive gaze. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he is filled with the inescapable dread that it now knows every last detail of his entire life.

He doesn't realise he hasn't been breathing until the feeling stops, and he gasps in deep, gulping breaths, tears falling down his temples. The static from the tape recorder—which had been abandoned to his left when he fell and had still been screeching—starts to quiet down, evening out into a steady white noise. The monster blinks all its eyes in unison, and the pupils have each grown rounder, filling out most of the eyes.

"Martin," the recorder says again. That voice- Martin knows that voice, where does he know that voice? "Martin...?"

"H-... hello?" he whimpers. He wonders if this is recording. "Are you... is that you? Speaking?"

"The tape," the monster says, glancing to the recorder. It—he?—sounds almost more confused than Martin. "It hears me."

The voice is deep and a little bewildered. Martin can't help but think it's the kind of voice you could find reading an audiobook. There's a curious aspect to it, a need to know more that is impossibly familiar. How the hell does he know his name?

He squints, no longer convinced that he's about to be gored or eaten. He swears he knows that voice, that posh, over exaggerated accent, the way it says Mahhhtin- wait, holy shit—

"Jon?!"

The monster- creature- thing– Jon looks back at Martin, shocked for a moment, then he hurriedly sits back. The six legs fold up surprisingly easily into a cat-like position.

"Martin, what the hell are you doing out here?" says the voice coming from the recorder. Says Jon. Says Martin's boss. He's having a bit of a time, okay?

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Martin spits as he scrambles to sit up. "You mean to tell me you're a- a what? A dragon? A monster? A giant ferret that can only speak through a tape recorder? You don't even have a mouth!"

Jon stares, very unimpressed.

"What I mean is, it's very dangerous to be out here this late, especially off-trail." Jon chuffs as the recorder speaks. There's an odd purring rumbling from his chest. "I'm taking you back to your car. Come on."

"Oh, like you know the way," Martin grumbles, but still grabs the tape recorder and straightens out his bag, standing to follow.

"Like this, I know everything, Martin," Jon says, voice low and gravelly in a way that makes Martin's face go hot and red. Jon shuffles around and nudges him between his shoulders with his snout. "Now, let's get a move on."

Martin trudges alongside the giant dragon-Jon, who stoops his head down to seem closer to Martin's height, head tilted at an angle to lay his horns flat against his shoulders, instead of catching them on the branches. Part of him wants to try and make conversation. Part of him wants to forget this ever happened. A massive part of him wants to pet Jon's mane—it looks very soft and fluffy, and this close, he can see tufts of very dark green and dull grey amongst the black and he just really wants to sink a hand into it and—

"Yes, Martin, you can pet the mane," Jon sighs, rolling his eyes. Martin flushes from head to toe.

"How did you- what!" Martin squawks, and Jon laughs a little.

"You were thinking it very loudly at me," Jon explains. Martin stops in his tracks.

"Wh– you can read minds?"

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose."

"Well, don't read my mind, please."

"I can't exactly help it much." Jon rolls his eyes again and moves his neck within Martin's reach. "Go on, I suppose. If you still want to."

There's an odd look in Jon's eyes, looking almost expectantly at him. Hesitantly, Martin raises a hand, checking his face for signs that he was joking, and it doesn't seem so. Jon isn't the type to joke about that anyway, so he carefully reaches over and strokes the fur. It is soft. He carefully pets the fur down with the back of his hand, then sinks his hand a little further into the fluffy mass. At the firmer touch, Jon swings his neck to press into Martin's hand, so hard that he stumbles back.

The purring starts up again as Jon parks himself on the ground and leans heavily into Martin's arms. Martin laughs as he pets Jon's—again, his boss—chest and the back of his neck, wrapping arms around his as far as he can reach. The fur tickles his nose, and Jon rubs against him, all his eyes closing as the purr vibrates under his hands. His backmost leg starts kicking at the ground and a contended sigh comes from the recorder. Martin then laughs so loud in shock that he ruins the moment and Jon shakes him off.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, erm... let's continue."

Martin follows him through the woods with a smug little smile on his face. A question scratches at the back of his mind, but he isn't sure how to ask it without making things awkward. He figures, Jon will just, apparently, read his mind and find out anyway, so he might as well ask himself.

"So are you, like... fully in there?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're- you're conscious in this- form, I guess." Martin thinks for a moment. "Side question, is this like a werewolf thing?"

"Well, first, I suppose you could call it a werewolf thing, it happens every few weeks. And to answer your initial question, kind of?"

"So then why did you chase me down like you were going to kill and eat me?"

"I- I do apologise for scaring you," Jon starts, guiltily bowing his head. "Though, I will admit, it was my intention. I didn't recognise you. Or- I did, but it didn't register? Usually, like this, my brain is a lot more... simple. Straightforward, I suppose is a better way of putting it. Like my sentience takes the back seat to make room for something more- primal. Being able to speak through the tape recorder seems to put me back at the forefront."

Martin doesn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but it wasn't that.

"So you've got some kind of... animal brain when you're—" Martin tries to find a delicate way to put it, and fails, "—this thing?" Okay, that was possibly the worst way he could have described it. He's totally blowing it with his hot monster boss.

"Sure," Jon huffs.

"That explains why you went all cat-ish when I pet you," he chuckles, and Jon pushes him with his head.

All in all, it's a rather pleasant walk back to his car, with the lumbering Jon next to him and his six legs thumping on the ground with each step. He's almost a little disappointed that it's over when he dumps his bag in the back seat and turns back to Jon with a quiet sigh. He has to tilt his head back all the way to look at his face. Sat back on his haunches, middle and front legs politely tucked in at his chest and stomach, combined with the long, slender horns, makes him easily ten feet tall.

(A far cry from his five-foot-five boss.)

"So," Martin says.

"So," the tape recorder says. Jon blinks his many eyes. "I'll see at work on Monday."

"Yup."

"Right. On you go, then." He swoops down and nudges Martin towards the car with his snout, then turns and heads back into the forest. Martin watches for a moment, then opens the door and collapses into the driver's seat. Jon looks back at him through the bushes. Even with the door closed, the recorder crackles out one last message: "Oh, and Martin?"

"Yeah?" He knows Jon Knows he's answered.

"Don't tell anyone about this."

And Jon disappears into the dark.

_____

By the time Martin gets home, he realises that his picture is still in the woods, and it takes all his will power not to drive back and hope Jon is still roaming around and will help him find it. But, then again, Jon probably won't want loose evidence of him being a were-dragon-ferret-whatever.

In a slightly foul mood, Martin goes to sleep.

_____

On Monday, Martin makes very awkward eye contact with Jon as he delivers his tea.

He tries to make small talk in the break room and fails miserably.

He gets no work done for the entire day. But, at five o'clock, after he's returned from washing the mugs, he finds a Polaroid of Jon on his desk, and a note.

The sticky note reads: 'Sorry for knocking you over. Still don't tell anyone.'

Martin keeps the Polaroid folded in his wallet. He doesn't tell a soul.

[maria-de-salinas]

@remadoramicrofics day 17 - Ghost

Words: 892

Rating: G

The first time Remus saw the ghost, he was half-asleep on a thin spring mattress in an upstairs room of the Hog's Head, fingers of early morning light sliding past the thick black curtains and threatening to keep him awake.

The child was three years old, he'd guess, with long wavy hair the same mousy colour as Dora's when she slept. Eyes like his, with those long dark lashes, only the child didn't hide behind them, but looked right at him, the corners of their mouth turned down.

"Hello there," said Remus, crouching down to eye level, or close to it.

The child dropped a plastic cup full of grass and dandelion heads and ran away.

A week or so later, Remus was crashed out and freezing on the lumpy floor of a tent that belonged to one of his friends from the werewolf camp, slipping his arms through the sleeves of his jumper and hugging them to his chest to keep warm. This time, the child was maybe nine years old, dressed in a school uniform--a blue jumper with a white collar and black trousers, their hair still long and wavy but neon green this time. He saw Dora in the impish grin, like they were about to pull the fire alarm or put frog spawn in the teacher's coffee, but the shadow that darkened their face as Remus stepped closer, the lowered eyes that fell to their untied trainers, almost guilty, was all him.

The child didn't look him in the face; their eyes were fixed to some spot just to the left of him, as though Remus wasn't there. As though he were the ghost.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked, eyeing the piece of paper the child was holding. He liked to draw when he was younger--used to spend hours getting a house or a dog or a tree just right. Maybe the child did too?

The child's eyes grew wide and startled; frowning slightly but still not looking at him, they half-hid the paper behind their back as though afraid someone would snatch it. Remus started to say that it was okay, he wouldn't judge, but before he'd finished the child ran away, arms and legs flying everywhere.

Remus knew he'd see the child again. All week he could barely sleep for the half hope, half dread of it. He needed to see them, and he couldn't.

It was 1 a.m on Saturday and he was spending the night on the Underground, slightly drunk and nodding off with his head against the window. He sucked in his breath, sure he'd seen a reflection in the glass, staring at him.

His child was slouching on the seat opposite, only this time they weren't really a child anymore, but a long-legged teenager, dressed in deep purple robes with rips and tears at the elbows--deliberate he thinks, and not the result of wearing them for years on end. Their hair was spiky now, the way Dora liked it, but limp and sullen, like it hadn't been washed in awhile. He could just see the tip of a dark brown wand sticking out of the front pocket, near a sewn-on badge with a black badger on it.

Remus tried to catch their eye but like before, they looked right through him into the opposite window, all sorts of different thoughts going on behind those eyes, things Remus didn't know. Someone whispered to their seatmate and they glanced over sort of furtively, through long strands of hair, the way he used to. Afraid of being the target of their whispers, the way Remus was, or merely looking for a friendly face?

The train moved on, and his child looked down again, hands clasped together, hair falling into their face, a rucksack at their feet. More a question than an answer--how did they get there, where were they going, why did they looks so tired?

Remus did everything he could to get their attention--staring, waving his hand, tapping the tip of their trainers with his, even breaking that most sacred of British norms (and why not? His own existence was a violation) and talking on the train.

"Hello. Can you hear me?"

If his child heard him, they made no show of it. The train stopped and they slid through the open doorway, Remus watching them get smaller and smaller as the train pulled away, and he knew his child was slipping away from him--that he'd never see them again---

He ripped his eyes open and stood up, losing his balance and grabbing onto the handle to right himself. A young woman looked up from her Walkman, her eyes startled, forehead wrinkling in disgust as she looked him up and down. He welcomed it, needed it even. However much he hated himself, it wasn't enough.

He sat back down, avoiding the window for fear he'd see his child's reflection. Or worse, his own, pale and watery as a phantom. He touched his forehead, half expecting his hand would slide right through, but it was solid, slightly damp from his rapid pulse and the heat of his jumper. Alive, or something like it.

Morning came, and he got off, found someplace to change his clothes. Spun himself to the camp to get his battered leather valise and pack up his things.

He was needed.

[chaotictarlos]

After Hours

ship: Tarlos | fandom: 911 Lone Star | author: chaotictarlos | read on ao3

Rating: Explicit | Warnings/Tags: Carlos' thirst traps, masterbation, m x m smut, sex, anal sex, oral sex, semi-public sex, canon complaint, married tarlos

Summary: Carlos sends TK a teasing video then meets up with him at the fire station for some late night fun

Author's Note: I did not plan to write this but then Rafa dropped this video to his Instagram and after losing it and encouraging thoughts from friends we have slutty Carlos 4. When I wrote the first fic of this series I didn't think it would turn into a series but here we are. It's fun, though. I hope you enjoy the fic! Now back to working on the final chapter of my Soulmate AU!

Thank you to @detective-giggles for being a babe and beta'ing this for me.

Read the other fics in the series (one shots that can be read alone): We can get a little crazy just for fun

------

TK is almost certain he hates his husband.

He doesn’t, not really,  but when Carlos sends videos of him just casually looking good, it irritates TK because he’s not home with him to enjoy it. Carlos does it on purpose and almost always when TK is at work because he knows TK can’t do anything about it for a few hours and he finds joy in riling TK up.

He clicks play on the video because he likes to torture himself and watches it again.

Carlos is sitting casually on the arm of a couch, legs entrapped in tight blue jeans that TK wants to rip off of him. His brown and red button-down is tucked in his pants, like usual, but what really draws TK’s attention is the way most of the buttons are undone and the amount of beautiful, brown skin that’s on display. The shirt’s open so much that TK can see the curve of Carlos’ pec and his mouth waters with the want to trace it with his tongue. 

The camera zooms in and TK pauses on Carlos’ face. He admires the stubble that’s coming in nicely - Carlos’ vacation started a few days before his own so he’s had time to let his beard start to grow out. It makes TK think some inappropriate thoughts about the workplace. 

He takes a moment to appreciate Carlos’ hair and how it’s free from any gel or hair product and his curls are free. He adores how one curl curls over his forehead and dangles artfully like it’s supposed to be there. TK knows better, though, and knows that Carlos’ curls are doing what they want to do. TK wants to run his hands through them and mess them up even more.

He presses play on the video again and scowls at the innocent look that Carlos puts on his face as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He does, he knows damn well what he’s doing and how TK’s going to react to it. He clicks off the video and finally types a response to the text that Carlos had sent him.

[TK] Did you unbutton your shirt just to make this video and send it to me or are you being a slut again and letting your tits out?

[Carlos] Wouldn’t you like to know?

[TK] I would. Where are you? That’s not our couch.

[Carlos] Camila got the couch and needed help to bring it into her house because her husband is at work.

[TK] Did you seriously film a thirst trap at your sister's place?

[Carlos] The lighting was good.

[TK] So that means sending me a thirst trap while I’m wasting away at work?

[Carlos] I was sending you a treat to get you through your 24-hour shift but if you don’t want them….

[TK] Now wait a moment, I didn’t say I don’t want them. Do you have more?

[Carlos] Maybe.

[TK] Are they all taken at your sisters' house?

[Carlos] No. The rest are from home.

[TK] 👀👀👀

READ THE REST ON AO3

tags: @strangefurychaos @sapphire11 @first-kanaphan @noxsoulmate @rangergurlgleek1211 @detective-giggles @tarlos-spain @lonestardust @bubblesandroses8 @thebumblecee @mooshkat @importantbailiffpaperpony @cowlos-reyes @meditating-honey-badger @paperstorm @otter-love-asl @kiloskywalker @angeltk

[nanuk-the-bat]

Was tagged by @phenanthreneblue! Thank you! <3

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Nope. I was almost a Kathleen though and that would have been a tragedy lol, but really, I'm not particularly attached to names.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

Couple weeks ago, when I decided to split a whole extra spicy fried Korean chicken with my other half, who basically drinks hot sauce. Said I'd try the hot hot one. I did, and I wept from the burning deliciousness.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

One larva/ honey badger/ cherub

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

Volleyball. Basketball. Soccer. La cross. Archery (if that counts?) Not a sports person, but I have decent coordination and enjoy physical activity for the sake of mental and health benefits.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Only when extra sassy

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Their voice, followed by hair color

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Mossy log meets dappled sunlight.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Can I have both? No...fine. Happy endings with a bit of trauma along the way.

ANY TALENTS?

Not a master of any skill set, but I sing significantly better than the average person. And my level of ocpd helps with organizing. Oh and bad timing.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

Technically in the USA, but not in any of the states.

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Drawing fictional characters ad nauseum. Gaming on rare occasions. Choir and solo stuff on a blue moon.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

One cat that looks more like a gray fuzzy slinkie with the moves of a squirrel, and one illusive tuxedo cat.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

Average height.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT?

I assume this means academically? Microbiology or Music. No I can't pick.

DREAM JOB?

Pathologist? But I'm too lazy to pursue that atm.

TAGGING

@thedogtorwho @star-spangled-bastard @laudanine @wondrouswendy @dethharmonic and @ anyone else who wants to join.

[cornus27florida]

GwenDerick/FredDolyn Hogwarts AU

Their houses color (as Ravenclaw: blue & Hufflepuff: yellow) if mixed will become their color motif : green

Hence why I am coloring the background (probably not that clear in the photo IG?) with CPC X Hogwarts AU color theory : the wittiness of Blue's Ravenclaw from Frederick and the kindness of Yellow's Gwendolyn - make birth of Green if mixed together, their color motif in CPC - hence heart <3

Time spent to drawing and coloring? so long lmao I am indeed a rusty artist - and yeah art-blocker ~ thou I am enjoyed the sufferings of drawing Frederick's hair, coloring Gwen's soft green hair, and drawing their respectful insignia of their Hogwart Houses (a badger like a possum imho)

Frederick being a Ravenclaw (due to bookworm he is) & Gwendolyn being a Hufflepuff (the kindest soul fits here) is based from this HC CPC BLR post as the following :

--------------------------------------------------------------------- This part skippable, I just want to expand the lore of CPC in Hogwarts AU with the following of my headcannons - comes from me being a Potterhead and playing the game "Hogwarts Mystery" - hence the example: the mention of 'frog choir' as music extracullilcular for the example. So, some of the HCs are differentiates with Cookie's HC and I am lessening everyone's age so they're could all in Hogwarts = I am not following their canon ages told by LambCat and CPC ) :

All Pastel siblings (Maria/6th year and the diva of the frog choir's club with her muses are ; Celestina Warbeck and Bozart/Schozart), Lorena/5th year and the Quidditch's star playing the role of Chaser, Jamie and Gwen/4th year - Jamie's the best friend of house elves and since he enrolled the feast's quality greatly improved & Gwen's helped her twin with best subject is Potions-her kindness able to even softens Snape's rock-hard's heart) are Hufflepuff

Yet the Plaid brothers are in different houses, Frederick Ravenclaw (4th year, his best subject is History of Magic, the underdog of top student that not expected to excels at the class that literally a 'sleep-fest') - Lance Gryffindor (6th year, have miracles of could passed OWL to NEWT class and overall is described nicely by Aqua in here) - Blaine Slyterin (7th year, kinda bitter that he's not becoming the head boy even thou he's "know-it-all, could-do-all" perfect. Excels in all classes except Divination - by having Outstandings score)

Prez (Calpernia) is the head girl, while Whitney is the head boy - 7th year and final year at Hogwarts they are - they're have "mysterious strained" past but now working on it. They're as Cookie's HC, both from Ravenclaw. For Curtis-Ravenclaw, somehow I feel he actually lotta older than them, so I placed him as the assistant professor of DADA (as the one that holding the syllabus lectures, so the things that will taught kinda structured) - dw he'll never get the curse/jinx of 'No DADA teacher can lasts more than a year' because he's not teaches it. Asa could becomes the healer's assistant for madam Pomfrey - but I am not sure as student (so being 7th year) or already graduating. Miss Agatha feels to have similar vibes with Prof. McGonagall, while Molly is to madam Hooch with her agility - but I just don't know if they're in the time of Hogwarts studies (September - June) or not.

The parents which have history in the following houses: Leland Slyterin, Izzy Ravenclaw, Jack Gryffindor and Lilyth Hufflepuff) - and we have more characters in the AU!!

Monika - IMHO it will be interesting if she's in Gryffindor - as what she wants is to be braver (like Ben Copper in Hogwarts Mystery game, he's a coward but learnt to be braver)

Beckett and Bernadette will be in Hufflepuff

Orson in Ravenclaw Idk other Princels thou prob in Slyterin (interesting dynamic hating Blaine in same house ngl)

So in Summary, My HC's of Hogwart Houses as following :

$= they're already graduated from Hogwarts School

[number]= the year they're are, is not following canon and basically I make the ones at twenties in 7th year >/\<

Gryffindor : Lance [6], Saffron [7], Thermidora [7], Monika [5], Miss Agatha $, Jack $

Ravenclaw : Frederick [4], Prez [7], Whitney [7], Leopold [6], Orson [5], Curtis $, Isolde $.

Hufflepuff : Gwen, and Jamie, [4] Maria, [6] ,Lorena [5] Jolie, [6] Renee and Bernadette [5], Griffin [7], Beckett [6], Horace [5], Asa [7/$], Molly $, Lilyth $

Slytherin : Nell [6] - the top student of Divination, Syrah [7], Aurelia [5], Abbi [3], Suzanna [6], Leland $.

So many CPC characters fits in Hufflepuff IMHO, yay for them being so pure kind-hearted sweet people !! ^^

[auryborealis]

more sketches of my RE4 OC Madison. I wanted to redesign her hair because the last one was looking a little too close to Helena Harper's.

Some quick info:

Hates being called Maddie for some reason. Just call her Mads.

She was born in 1975, making her two years older than Leon and a year older than Luis.

She's 172 cm (5'8") tall.

She was Leon's superior and trained him alongside Krauser.

More efficient with melee & close range attacks than with guns. Used to be called "One-Woman Army."

Basically badgered Leon into becoming her best friend. Back in the states, they live in the same neighborhood.

They had gone on one date together but ultimately decided to stay as friends.

She likes to give a peace sign instead of a thumbs up.

Got separated from Leon during the first village raid. I haven't decided if she gets implanted with the Plaga or not.

Either way, she loses communication with both Leon and Hunnigan but ends up meeting Luis (after he ditched Leon). Their meeting parallels Leon and Claire's first meeting.

Luis becomes smitten (and a little scared) after witnessing her basically mow down a whole group of villagers that were after them. Her style of fighting is to disarm the enemy and use their weapons against them (she will not do this against Chainsaw enemies or the Brutes).

Leon gets very very very annoyed when Luis keeps flirting with Mads, and what's even worse is that Mads just reacts with amusement.

Luis will survive getting stabbed by Krauser because I said so.

I'm definitely going to draw more of her with Luis, Leon, and Ashley (I'm so sorry that little smiley face is her only appearance). I gotta practice and get used to drawing them first.

...I'm just now realizing I drew her belt buckle incorrectly ASFDJLK I'll fix it next time