#he was camp so I had to make it more camp

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 percy's girl : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Percy would let the world burn if that assured him y/n's happiness. Everyone knows it, except y/n herself.

warnings: jealous n overprotective percy, slight mentions of violence i really don't know if it counts, oblivious reader, no cabin mentioned for reader.

Everybody at camp halfblood knows by now not to mess with percy's girl— except, well, she isn't really percy's girl. At least not that she knew, but for everybody else? yes, she is his girl.

Hard to think about it in any other way when Percy walks around camp glaring at just anyone that even dares to look at her the wrong way. And when it comes to keeping her out of harm's way? He is practically a force of nature.

Percy doesn’t take y/n's happiness lightly, so anything that threatened that is handled by him without her even noticing.

She is probably the only person to come unharmed out of every Stoll prank, and it's definitely not for lack of trying. Connor and Travis like her enough not to pull anything dangerous, but that doesn’t mean they can let her get away without trying.

So everything was planned. A simple, classic, but effective bucket on the door. She only had to come out of her cabin for lunch and they would get her. Hiding in the bushes, Travis and Connor snicker once the door opens.

She is talking to Percy, that is walking behind her, but something makes him pause just when she steps exactly on the mark the Stolls had left. Percy clocks what is happening immediately, as if it was second nature, and he moves y/n out of the way just in time for the bucket to fall directly on him.

He ends up fully covered in chocolate syrup seconds later, but he couldn't care less. His only worry is— "you okay, sunshine?" he asks, wiping chocolate off his face.

She is, in fact, okay. But she's gaping at him, her eyes comically wide. "Oh my gods Percy, how did that happen?"

Oh he definitely knows how that happened, he can turn around right now and find the bush in which the Stoll brothers are hiding just by the sound of them snickering. He is going to kill them.

Still he shrugs. "I don't know, weird bucket placement." He replies casually. "Why don't you go ahead and wait for me in the pavillion? I'll take that bucket down."

"Weird things always seem to be happening around here, huh?" She raises her eyebrows, but happily obliged as she starts walking away.

Percy doesn't take the bucket down, he makes the Stoll brothers do it once he takes them out of their hiding. And the snickering doesn't last them much because as he's leaving, he glares at them. "You two better not try this bullshit with her again."

Listen, Connor and Travis are all about going against direct orders from everyone. But they don't try anything else after that, because Percy is scary when it comes to y/n and they are not about to end in the same position as that Ares son who had tried to flirt with her.

It had been after sword training, some Darren or Dane or something— Percy really did not care about his name, mostly because he was more occupied with glaring at him as he leaned a little bit too close to y/n.

He stood a few feet away from them, knowing that he couldn't intervene without y/n noticing but still fully preparing to do it just in case she got too uncomfortable. He knew her, she wouldn't say anything in fear of being rude. But Percy didn’t have that problem, he would gladly be rude if that meant keeping her safe.

So for now, he only stood with his back against a wall, pretending to sharpen riptide.

"You know, you should train with me sometime. I could teach you a few moves." He told her, smiling smuggly. Percy wished he could erase that smile right away.

And when she started hesitating, the son of Poseidon got ready to intervene. "um- I-" she stammered.

But Percy didn’t really have to do much, because as he was pushing himself off the wall, the Ares guy seemed to notice him, sharpening riptide and sending incredibly hard stares at his way.

Darren-Dane-whatever visibly gulped and took a step back. Percy smirked. Smart move.

As the boy excused himself and basically ran away, y/n blinked at him surprised before she turned to Percy. "Okay, that was weird."

Percy smiled innocently. "Right? so weird."

The next morning due to completely unrelated events, Darren-Dane-whatever ended up waking up in the lake, completely soaked without a single clue how he got there. Percy denied any relation to this weird incident.

Worst part about it all is that Percy swears people don't learn their lesson. While y/n is just walking around in her perfect sunny world, Percy is just following her, trying to maintain her world exactly as it is, free of assholes.

But gods dammit, those assholes don't make it easy for him.

When they're playing capture the flag, they end up on opposite teams and even though Percy is focused on getting that flag, he's also worried for her. He hasn't seen her around, but he knows she should be somewhere close because he has already seen some of her siblings running around.

It's only when he's close to the opposite team's flag that he finds her: she's supposed to be guarding the flag but she's crouched down near the lake, watching a butterfly that's perched on a flower, completely oblivious to the mayhem happening around her.

Percy stops abruptly, his heart racing at the sight. She looks completely at peace, lost in her own little world, the late afternoon sun tracing shadows on her face, it's like she belongs in a painting. So beautiful.

He's mesmerized for a second, flag completely forgotten. Then—

A blur of blue runs past him, pulling him out of trance. His mind barely registers one of his own teammates from cabin nine before the boy is already charging towards y/n at full speed, catching her completely off guard.

She rolls on the mud, almost falling into the lake and Percy is immediately running to her.

"Dude what are you doing? go take the flag!" His teammate yells at him, pinning y/n to the ground. Fuck the flag, Percy couldn't care less about it.

With almost too much strenght, he's pushing the boy out of her, sending him soaring through the air, an indignant yell before he lands with a splash right into the lake.

"Dude what the fuck? i'm on your team!" The Hephaestus boy yells as he clumsily stands on the lake, dripping wet and looking very displeased.

Without looking, Percy flicks his hand and a second later, a wave crashes into the boy's face. He doesn’t care about his protests, he's busy helping y/n up on her feet.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his hands cupping her face to make sure there's absolutely not one scratch on it.

She lets out a small cough, wipping mud from her face. "Yes? it's capture the flag, Perce. This is part of it."

He knows she's right, that doesn’t stop him from scoffing. "Yeah, well, what he did was unnecesary." They both look at the boy once again trying to stand up only to be met with another wave crashing against him.

This time, she realizes this is Percy's doing and gasps. "Percy!"

"What?" he shrugs innocently, wiping some dirt from her nose without any care for the other camper. "He looked like he needed some refreshing."

He ends up being dragged away by her, not that he puts any kind of restraint anyways.

Yes, maybe everyone at camp knows about him being just a little overprotective of her, but so what? he loves her— can't help it if he wants her to be happy and safe. The only one that doesn’t realize this is y/n herself, she's completely oblivious of his actions.

And she remains oblivious through it all; when she's thirsty after training and he's waiting for her with a water bottle, when she's hungry and he has her favorite snack ready, when campers are talking badly about her archery skills and with only one Percy-designated glare they immediately shut up before she can hear them, when he deliberately walks by the side closer to the magical borders just in case something dangerous happens.

It's always there, he's always there. And all it takes is overhearing a conversation for her to realize it.

She's outside of the Aphrodite cabin, waiting for Piper to go have dinner at the pavillion when she overhears some of the girls walking by.

"I mean, come on, Percy is literally the hottest guy at camp, don't you think?" one of them says, and she feels this bubbling jealousy in her chest— something she has never experienced before.

"Agree, but it's a little annoying that y/n is always around him." the other one adds. "I mean she's sweet but he probably finds her annoying how much she clings to him."

Her heart drops, is that what they think? is that what Percy thinks? that she's just this annoying girl clinging to Percy for everything?

Before she can overthink it, the first girl talks again. "I don't think he finds her annoying, he's like totally in love with her, obsessed even."

A third girl sighs dreamily. "Right? he's always so careful and protective with her, Dean from cabin five told me Percy was glaring at him for flirting with her, and the next day he casually woke up on the lake. Listen, he would totally let someone burn if she said she wanted to roast marshmallows."

A chorus of giggles follows, their voices dissipating as they walk away without even noticing y/n was there all along, trying to process their words.

Suddenly everything clicks in her mind. Every time that Percy seemed to just be there. Always at the right moment. Always with a solution to every single problem.

She's not dumb, she has known Percy was protective. But she always thought it was him just trying to be a good friend, surely he was the same with Grover or Annabeth? but now she was sure it was never the same.

Because neither of them has Percy following them around, treating them like they're the most precious thing in the word. That's only reserved for her, and it has taken her this long to understand it, realization crashing over her like one of those waves Percy used to almost waterboard the boy that almost hurt her during capture the flag.

Piper finally steps out of her cabin, apologizing with y/n for taking too long. But she's not even listening, she's already made up her mind.

Without even stopping to take some time to think it through, she turns around and ignores Piper's questions as she sprints towards his cabin.

She arrives just when he's stepping out of the front door, and she's running so fast that she can't stop herself in time before she crashes into him. Thankfully, Percy's senses are better than hers so he catches her by the waist before they both end up on the floor.

"Woah there." he says, and even through his confusion he still finds it in him to be concerned. "Did something happen, sunshine?"

He barely has any time to finish his question before she's grabbing his face and pulling him down to kiss him. He makes a startled noise, completely caught off guard because honestly that was the last thing he was expecting to happen. A couple of long seconds pass with him completely frozen but then— oh, then he's kissing her back, his hands finding her waist like they've always belonged there.

He can taste the strawberry chapstick he has always seen her put on, but the kiss also tastes like stolen glances and endless afternoons spent together, like a love that's always been there, just waiting to get noticed.

When she finally pulls back, too soon on Percy's opinion, he blinks at her. "Not that i'm complaining, but what was that for?"

Her heart is stammering against her chest as she offers him a small smile. "Some girl said you were in love with me?"

"Took you long enough to realize." he replies simply before pulling her close again, his lips finding hers as if this was something he had been born to do.

And she can feel it, in the kiss, in the way he holds her— Percy Jackson loves her. And the best part? She loves him too.

[glamourscat]

hii hope you are well! I was wondering if you can do a fic about rin (from blk) first time with reader and it’s really soft and new to him if not that’s okay! Thank you byee<33

FIRSTs | RIN ITOSHI X READER

a/n: I am extremely sorry for the wait. Classes are kicking my butt. I hope you like it, I tried to give it a bit of a “twist”. | smut at the end |

Rin wasn’t even sure why he was here. Truly, he hated all of them. Okay, maybe hated was a strong word. Perhaps saying he held grudges against some, if not all of them, was a more appropriate fit.

He had never been good at expressing himself, at opening up. In fact, in his entire life, only one person had ever managed to break through that barrier and that was Sae. But then he left. And for some obscure reason, you managed to do it too. With your kindness and resilience, you never stopped showing him that you cared, putting him in his place when necessary. And that only made him more drawn to you.

But back to the main issue. Camping.

It was summer and he had just returned to Japan from his football season. Coincidentally, his ex-Blue Lock… friends? No, scratch that, nuisances, were also back in Japan and had organized this big camping trip with everyone and their respective partners.

He could hear Reo in the background huffing at Nagi, who was refusing to help set up their tent. Bachira… well, being Bachira. And the others were being loud as usual. His eyes found yours, a silent plea of Can we please make a run for it?

You chuckled quietly as you met his gaze.

“C’mon—you dragged me here to begin with. It’s going to be okay,” you teased, though your tone held gentle reassurance.

“But—” he huffed, pouting. “They’re already getting on my nerves.”

“Rin, we literally placed our tent as far away as possible from the others. We are almost in the river. It’s going to be fine. If you get a migraine, we can leave, kay?” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He mumbled a quiet okay, or at least, you thought he did. As he turned his face away, unwilling to show you the way his cheeks flushed red at the light contact of your lips.

Eventually the tent was finally set up. By the time everything was settled, it was already late. After having dinner together, everyone went their separate ways to their respective tents.

Your eyes flicked to Rin’s figure as he changed, his green eyes meeting yours with a hidden glint of amusement.

“Take a picture,” he said smugly, though he made no effort to hide the way your gaze affected him.

“I’m not staring,” you huffed, slightly flustered as you continued putting on your pajamas.

“Sure you weren’t,” he said, amused, as he settled under your shared sleeping bag.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened.

One moment, it was you grumbling, “You’re taking up all the space,” and him biting back, “No, I’m not.” The back and forth went on for some time until, somehow, he ended up on top of you, both of you panting after an intense tickling session. Your lips were still curled into a smile, but then the position you found yourselves in fully sank in.

It wasn’t like… you two hadn’t done anything before. But it had never gone this far. Yet here he was, straddling your lap, his messy hair falling into his eyes, his breath unsteady. And then there was the other thing. The painfully obvious erection pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you let out quietly, your eyes searching his.

“I—I’m sorry,” he gulped, trying to move away, but you stopped him.

“No—I mean… we—if—” You sighed, embarrassed. “I don’t… mind. We can… you know.”

“You sure?” he whispered, his throat suddenly dry.

“More than sure,” you whispered back with a soft smile.

Yeah, no. You hadn’t anticipated having your first time in a tent, much less on a camping trip with Rin’s so-called archenemies a few feet away. Maybe putting the tent so far away had been a sign.

His lips found yours as you both tried to stay quiet, swallowing each other’s moans. His hands cupped your cheeks, his cock rubbing along your slit, sending shivers down your spine.

“I—I… just tell me if it hurts, okay? I’ll stop—just… I want to make you feel good. I have no idea what I am doing, just— I just want to make you happy,” he murmured against your lips.

With a reassuring smile and a nod from your end, his tip slowly pushed in, parting your wet folds. A gasp left your guys lips at the unfamiliar sensation. Heavens. He was already and embarrassingly close. He looked at the top of the tent, trying and desperately failing, to think about anything else but how perfect you fit around him. He took his time, moving with slow, careful thrusts. Your tummy felt warm. As something was ready to explode. And then an involuntary moan escaped you.

“Good?” he asked, his voice huskier now, fighting back an amused smile.

“Yes—fuck. Yes,” you nodded, your hands gripping his back, pulling him closer as his movements started matching yours. Slightly faster, deeper.

The tent filled with quiet gasps, muffled moans, and the sound of skin meeting skin. It was intense in the best way. He was so soft with you, tracing his fingertips along your skin, kissing your neck, whispering how much he loved you. And you were pretty sure he was almost in tears as he finished, that’s how good it was. Not to mention the obscene moan that left his lips, such a sweet melody to your ears.

It was trust. Two souls melting into one in the most primal way. As he kept moving, pushing deeper, slower, faster. He was getting lost in the feeling of his cock in between your warm walls, struggling to keep silent. And lowkey cursing himself for waiting until now to do it, especially location wise.

He didn’t know much, but he did know he wanted this again and again. This feeling, this closeness, forever.

To be two in one. To get lost in each other.

——————————————————————————

Morning came far too quickly for Rin’s liking. But after enough convincing, you managed to drag him to breakfast with the others. He sipped his tea quietly, subtly leaning into you, until Isagi spoke.

“Did you guys hear that last night? There were some strange noises. I think some wild animals must have been near the campsite.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t just me and Nagi who heard it then,” Reo said, looking up from his phone.

Rin’s eyes locked onto yours. But before either of you could even think, Shidou’s voice cut through the open space.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry. That was just me and Sae having s—”

The sentence went unfinished as Sae grabbed him by the ear, dragging him away while Shidou yelped in protest. Laughter erupted around the group.

Well.

A wild animal had been out last night, indeed. If you could say that.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[mydarlingclaudia]

apocilypse…… simon…… fem!reader…… @vaaaaaiolet I am also going to write more of this I just had to get this out of my system first

wc : 781 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Simon always wakes up before you.

He’s a deep sleeper, he slept lighter when he was on deployment, but those days are in the past, either way, you’re a much deeper sleeper than he is.

But the first thing he does when he wakes up is press two fingers to the pulse point in your neck.

You sleep a foot or two away from him in a sleeping bag on the dirt floor, he normally wakes you up after he throws something together to eat, you greet him with the same thankful grumble and sleepy smile. He’s far from home and you’re the only person he has, you could leave if you wanted to, he could do the same, but you follow each other through each valley and mountain chain.

Simon found you a year after the end of everything, well, more like you found him. It had been somewhere in either Wyoming or Utah, but he had stepped in a deep hole some animal had dug, not having seen it, and apparently the shout he let out when he twisted his ankle had found its way to your ears. He had bristled when you walked out of the overgrown brush, expecting you to try and rob him since he was down and had dropped his knife a few feet away, but you had helped him up and dragged him over to your small camp.

He stayed with you for a week, eating the fish you cooked and silently eyeing you, trying to figure you out without ever asking. As soon as his ankle healed, he left. For almost a week he headed north, pushing himself harder to get away from you.

But you found him. Again.

It was another mistake, but it was one you made this time.

Fire spreads fast in dry, open fields.

You hadn’t meant to do it, the fire you had made had gotten too big and there was nothing you could do to try and contain it. So you packed up your things and ran down to the river.

Simon thought you were following him when the crunching rocks under your feet made you known in the night, the knife to your throat was supposed to make it clear he didn’t care for strangers.

But when you explained that you didn’t know he had been hiding out here and that you were just trying to get away from the fire you started, his grip loosened and his knife found its way back into its sheath. He could smell the smoke and the dirt on you, he figured he owed you one, anyway.

So he let you stay, neither of you slept; he was scared you’d try to steal from him (even though most of him knew you wouldn’t), you wanted to stay awake because you knew the fire would get closer by the hour.

The two of you hiked up the mountain in the morning, figuring you’d keep heading north, you could see the smoke and burnt up earth from the summit.

That was two years ago, you and Simon have found other people along the road, but there wasn’t any kind of connection with them. That and neither of you really trusted others. It would be a small brush of your pinky against his to let him know you were uncomfortable or him crowding around you when others were around, something silent to say it’s time to go.

The world ended when people started dropping like flies, it wasn’t a sickness, they just died and there were too many fingers pointing at so many different things that everything just shut down before hell broke loose. Simon was only in America because Price said he needed a vacation and jokingly suggested Vegas, Simon decided to go just for the fun of it.

You’re everything he has now, he makes sure you’re extra bundled up in the winter, makes sure you eat enough, tries to keep you entertained, tries to do the harder work for you, anything you want, he does it. He always thought he’d be a shitty husband, given his job, but with you, with nothing else to worry about except for keeping you fed, he’s not half bad.

He’s had too many nightmares where he ends up alone, he can’t go back to that. Even before the end, even when he was still in England living his life, he was still alone. The last thing he needs is for you to die in the night and bury you alone.

So when he presses his fingers to your neck and feels the soft thump of your pulse, it’s already a good day to him.

[redheadspark]

Azriel 9

A/N - Thanks for the request, I hope you like it!

Whipped

Summary - Azriel has it bad, and he won't admit it

Warnings - Fluffiness

“Spill,”

“It’s not your concern, Cassian,”

“It kind of is since you almost killed one of our best recruits,”

Azriel looked from top of the table in front of him over to Cassian, whim had a raised brow at him as he sat across the desk in Rhysand’s chair.  Rhysand was causally behind him, leaning against the tall window of his person study at the River House, his arms crossed and watching the Spymaster who was feeling as though the spotlight was on him. It was, given the recent stunt he pulled and how it came out of nowhere. What he did was not like him: in fact it was far from it.  He was usually cool and calm, his mind was always clear and he knew what the next step would be in his day.

But that day was not like any other day, all because of one person.

Cassian, a small smile on his face, reached over to pour a small glass of whiskey for Azriel.  He reached over to place the glass in font of the Spymaster.  Azriel glared at Cassian, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Come on, we’re all friends here, best to get if off your chest now while you can,” Cassian joked as Rhsyand rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going to let him down when it comes to this, are you?” Rhsyand asked Cassian lightly, whom was still watching Azriel with his trained eyes.  Azriel hated this, he would rather be back at the camps with the reckless recruits that were too cocky for their won good than be  here with his two childhood friends that knew which buttons to push.  But this was his own doing, and he took the whiskey to drink it in one go with grimace.

“Damn, and that’s my good whiskey as a gift from your High Lady,” Rhysand grumbled in amusement as Azriel clanked the glass back on the desk top.  He sighted, rubbing his face in frustration. 

“Azriel, best to let it out than keep it in,” Cassian advised his old friend and fellow Illyrian.  Azriel took in a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment.  It felt like he was about to go through an insane torture session, but he was one being tortured not the other way around.  

It was best to let it out than keep it in, even with how embarassing it was.

Earlier that day he was up at the camp, the winter winds whirling above the camp as most of the recruits were out and about for a day of training.  Azriel wasn’t meant to be there, he had obligations back at Velaris with plenty of paperwork to keep him busy and his mind occupied.  He was distracted as of late, he could admit to that.  He hated being distracted, it was the last thing he needed.

It wasn’t one thing that made him distracted, more like someone.  A particular person in fact, whom was been haunting him for some years.  This person was someone who crept into his life from the first meeting.

It was you: a high fae from Dawn Court.

Who were hired to come to Night Court by your old back in Dawn Court, you were head of security for the high fae families and was now needed in Night Court to not only fight alongside the Illryians but to train them as well.  You were a tougher leader, someone none of the soldiers expected when Cassian introduced you to the entire camp.  Of course, some Captains grumbled at the notion of a female running a camp and giving out orders.  But that didn’t stop Cassian from being smug and happy at the notion of someone else training the cocky newbies.

Azriel met you with a firm handshake and a shy smile.  But your own smile made his heart race, it was so wide and seemed so pure and genuine.  How can someone with a hard shell be so gentle in a smile and kind in tone?  You were a mystery to him, not to mention the rare beauty that you had in the shine of your hair.  

How can someone make him question all that he knew?  

That was months ago, and you and Azriel grew a good friendship with one another.  You both worked with each other constantly, helping out with new training tactics, putting the recruits in their place, even  where to place security throughout Night Court and Velaris.  You had plenty of ideas to share with Azriel, whom was taking in all you told him.  He loved hearing what you had to say, taking his own notes.

But that also meant his own feelings would get to him from time to time.  He would catch himself watching you for a few seconds longer, his gaze lingering when you would walk away to chat with the others captains  or go over paperwork in one of the main tents.  He hated that it was distracting him or making his thoughts wander, but he couldn’t help it either.  This never happened to him before, not with anyone else in his life.

He was catching feelings, and it was saying him.

The day it went too far was when you were chatting with one of the Captains out the outskirts of the camp.  Azriel could only watch from the other side of the camp, seeing with burning eyes as the Captain was chatting with you as if you two were old friends.  You weren’t, in fact you barely chatted with anyone else there almost the Illyrian.  You had a few friends in Velaris where you were living since it was not safe for you to be a female captains amongst plenty of Illryians.

Azriel felt like he was about to throw up and pass out at the same time as you were still talking to that Captain, your smile radiating like the sun and your long hair in brains behind you,  He hated this, hated how a simple gaze from you can change his day or how hearing your speak would make his world a bit brighter.  And because of those light feelings, jealousy was ensuing.  This was also new: the Spymaster of Night Court behind jealous or anyone talking to you or making you laugh.  Why would he be concerned about this?  Who was he to worry about you and whom you talked to?

Did he love you?

Azriel watched with trained eyes as you were looking uneasy in the conversation then, almost like you were felt off.  But the Captain you were chatting with did not care, he was even hovering a bit closer to you.  Almost a bit too close to Azirel’s liking, who was now seeing red at this point since he could see and almost feel how you wanted to back up and leave the spot.  Azriel knew body language well, and your body linage was putting up red flags.  

The one thing that did change the tides was Illyrian placing his hand on your arm a bit too roughly.

Azriel saw red.

“So…that led you to almost breaking his nose and nearly ripping his throat out?” Rhysand asked tentatively, Azirle grimacing from the question as he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.  He hated reliving it in his mind, it all felt like flashes that were blinking one moment after another.  But he did remember hitting the Illyrian’s face over, slamming him to the ground like he was a sake of potatoes.  He remembered seeing the shocked look on your face as Azriel stalked away with a clenched first that was speckled in blood.

But he was glad he did it, no matter how bad it looked.

“Rhys, our boy is whipped,” Cassian said in a light manner and a chuckle on his lips.  Azriel glared at him, though Cassian was not scared one bit.  In fact he laughed as Rhysand could not help but smile.  He was nothing to admit that the did have feelings for you, but it was real to him.  He was officially afraid that his feelings made him could his sight, but he also was not going to run from it.  Not like when he would run and his shadows were follow him.

No, he was planted where he was

“Say one more thing about it, and I can rip your wings off with ease,” Azriel warned Cassian, whom just licked his tongue as Azriel poured another friend.

“Yeah, you’re beyond whipped,”

The End

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Yours and Mine

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst. Mentions of infidelity. Smut. Words: ~6k

Summary: She is bored of her life as the vicar's daughter. Abraham feels trapped in an unhappy engagement that is more obligation than choice. Together they learn that life isn't what you allow to happen to you, but rather what you choose to make of it.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“How many rounds of ham and cheese have you got there, love?” her father asked, wrapping triangles of egg and cress sandwiches in waxed paper, before he placed them in a wicker basket.

She stopped buttering the slice of bread in front of her, stilling her knife as she paused to count the slices of bread piled off to the side. “Eleven so far, twelve once I’ve finished this one,” she said, before continuing to spread margarine out towards the bread's edges.

“I think that’ll be enough then,” he told her, hefting the second, already full basket for emphasis, “ham and cheese, egg and cress, tuna and sweetcorn. That’ll do nicely.”

She simply nodded. Truthfully, it had been enough several sandwiches ago. There was enough food to serve an army, let alone a traveller’s camp. She wouldn’t mind if there was a genuinely charitable act of kindness behind the gesture, but there wasn’t. It was her father’s attempt to be nosy, thinly disguised as a good deed.

The arrival of the travellers in Grantchester a week ago had been the most exciting thing to happen in the sleepy, little village for ages. Ordinarily, it was the talk of the parish whenever someone took down their net curtains to wash them, so a small community setting down caravans in Mr. Ruskin’s field had set the place abuzz. As the village’s vicar, her father had taken it upon himself to take food up to the camp. On the surface, it was Christian kindness, a warm welcome to Grantchester. She saw her father’s actions for what they really were though; he wanted to size them up, to have information to pass back to his flock when they asked. She found the gesture patronising, it suggested they couldn’t look after themselves. She didn’t want to argue though, her father was not a man to change his mind easily, or be reasoned with, so she simply swallowed down her trepidation and continued layering slices of ham and cheese.

As she suspected, they were met with a frosty reception upon their arrival at the farm. Those that were not in their caravans, stopped what they were doing to stare coldly at her and her father as they approached with their heavy picnic baskets.

There were fires lit, and dogs barked and chased each other playfully. Piles of timber laid in neat stacks, having been chopped for firewood, and laundry hung on makeshift lines between fence posts. They appeared self sufficient, and she cringed, casting her gaze down at the mud that was splattered across her olive green wellington boots as her father’s voice rang out in the eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant clucking of chickens and faint crying of a baby from one of the caravans.

“Hello there,” her father called out loudly, “I’m Father Thomas, the vicar of the local church, and this is my daughter.”

Embarrassment blazed against the surface of her skin, making her feel too warm despite the gentle breeze in the air, as he said her name out loud, laying the blame of this obvious insult at her feet alongside his own.

“We wanted to offer you a warm welcome to Grantchester,” he continued, oblivious to the hostile atmosphere he was creating. “These are for you.”

She dared to glance up as he gestured forward with the picnic basket he was holding, and saw that not one of the people standing before them made a move towards them, or reached out to take it. After a moment that felt like it stretched on for an eternity, a tall, slender man with an axe slung over his shoulder, hinged forward at his hips, spitting heavily upon the ground. Her lips parted in shock, icy cold fingers of fear creeping up her spine as she watched him, an obvious answer to their offering - ‘we don’t want it.’ 

She set down her own picnic basket on the muddy ground, her aching shoulders grateful to be free of their burden, and looked at her father with wide, imploring eyes. “I think we should go,” she whispered, low enough for only him to hear, “this was a bad idea.”

He set down his own basket, with a slight nod, before grasping her shoulder and marching her away. She walked quickly, her heart pounding with fright as her father kept a firm hold of her, but it paled in comparison to the second hand embarrassment that made her want to curl in on herself. They had offended them, she knew they had, and she had done nothing to stop it.

“Perhaps once they try the sandwiches they’ll warm up to us a bit, we just need to give them time,” her father muttered nervously, more to himself than to her, as he kept his eyes fixed ahead as they walked back through the village.

“They don’t want our sandwiches, Dad,” she sighed exasperatedly, “I’m pretty sure we annoyed them.”

Her father huffed, finally releasing her shoulder as their house came into view, the tendrils of ivy that clung to its red brick front a more than welcome sight. His voice blustered with annoyance as he spoke. “Well, with that ungrateful attitude, they won’t last long around here. Good riddance to them.”

She pursed her lips, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Of course it hadn’t occurred to her father that perhaps the group just wanted to be left alone. However, in a village that thrived on gossip and needing to know the business of absolutely everyone, they had chosen the worst possible place to settle if it was privacy they were after.

“I’ve made a call to Mr. Ruskin,” her father announced, two days later, stepping into the kitchen as she stood at the sink, washing the plates and cups from breakfast. “You’re to go and collect the picnic baskets from our…visitors this afternoon.”

The word ‘visitors’ came out of his mouth as though it were dripping with poison. She knew the word he longed to use in its place, it made her prickle with annoyance, and she squeezed the sponge unnecessarily tight, watching as soap suds expanded out of it, spreading through the murky depths of the warm water in the sink.

“Why did you need to call Mr. Ruskin to let him know that?” she asked, her voice tight as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I’m doing home visits this afternoon, so I can’t come with you,” he explained, adjusting the white clerical collar of his black shirt as he gazed absentmindedly out of the back door of the house. “Mr. Ruskin knowing you’ll be there will help keep you safe.”

‘Keep me safe from what?!’ she longed to shout at him, but instead she took her frustration out on a teaspoon, scrubbing the silver of it harder than she needed to as she frowned.

“They don’t mean us any harm,” she finally said, raising her head to look at her father as he continued to stare out into the back garden.

“You are kind, my girl” he told her, turning to look at her with a soft smile, “foolish, but kind.”

He turned and walked from the kitchen, his silent way of letting her know there was no further room for argument. It frustrated her endlessly, the way he would silence her, simply by removing himself from the conversation.

When she arrived at the camp later that afternoon, the picnic baskets were both overturned. She thought for a moment that the travellers may have grudgingly accepted the food, until she crouched down to lift them up. The waxed paper inside had been torn to shreds, what little food scraps remained were teeming with maggots. A sharp sound of repulsed shock escaped her throat before she could stop it and she stumbled back from the sight, falling firmly on her backside to the muddy ground.

“Think the dogs have probably been at ‘em,” a gruff voice came from somewhere above her.

She lifted her gaze, meeting a piercing pair of blue eyes that stared down at her. As she looked over the sharp lines of his face, she recognised him as the man that had spat in response to her father offering the sandwiches. He wasn’t carrying an axe this time. He loomed tall over her, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, revealing the tattoos that littered his forearms, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

She quickly looked away, busying herself with righting the wicker hampers. “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, her heart pounding hard against her ribs, “it was my dad’s idea.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, and for a moment she thought he would leave her to it, until he spoke again. “Your dad’s idea for you to sit on your arse in the mud too, or you want a hand up?”

Her head snapped back up to meet his icy stare once more, her jaw agape in shock at how he had spoken to her. When her eyes met his again, he had a hand extended out towards her. She hesitated a moment, then reached up. His hand dwarfed hers as he grasped it; his calloused palm was rough, yet warm against her own as he tugged her easily to her feet. She found she only reached his chest as she stood once more, and she hastily stepped back, tugging her hand free of his, to put some space between them.

“Thank…thank you,” she stammered, looking anywhere but him as she attempted fruitlessly to brush her skirt clean.

A lazy smirk spread across his face as he watched her, before nodding down at the picnic baskets. “You gonna be alright carrying those?”

“Well, they’re mostly empty now,” she sighed, stooping to grab one, “so I should be fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing her curiously. “You sure? Would hate for a spoiled little thing like you to fall over again.”

She straightened, her brow furrowing into a scowl as she stared defiantly up at him, clutching a picnic basket by its wicker handle. “I am not spoiled,” she argued, “but you’re rude!”

He grinned at her, the predatory flash of his teeth stirring something warm and uncomfortable within her, before he stooped to grab the other basket. “I might be,” he said with a shrug, as he stood upright once more, “but at least I can admit to my shortcomings.”

She found herself relaxing as he fell into step beside her, walking away from Mr. Ruskin’s field and back towards the village. He had an easy presence, and she felt vindicated that she had been right to insist to her father that she had nothing to fear.

“Well, at least your dogs enjoyed the sandwiches, even if you didn’t,” she offered with a small smile.

He didn’t return it, glancing quickly over at her before continuing to look in the direction they were walking. “It’s the first time anyone’s ever tried to tell us to sling our hook with sandwiches, I’ve gotta admit.”

“We don’t want you to leave,” she said quickly, turning her head to try and meet his gaze, “that’s not what it was.”

“You might not mind us being here,” he said, “but your old man certainly does. We’re not exactly the sort of people that have the welcome mat rolled out for them when we settle somewhere.”

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, but he cut her off, stopping and turning to face her.

“Isn’t it? What did your dear old dad tell you before you came here today? Did he tell you to be careful, warn you we might be dangerous?”

She opened her mouth, she wanted to deny it, but as she stared at him, she found herself unable to lie. She quickly pressed her lips together, feeling her skin grow warm at the memory of her father’s concern for her safety. If only he could see her now.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, almost triumphantly, as he turned and continued to walk. “I’m Abraham, by the way.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Abraham, I’m–”

“I remember your name, Miss. Thomas, don’t worry,” he said with a wink.

That uncomfortable warmth returned and she quickly looked away, blinking as though the action would clear the sight of his crude gesture from her mind.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re skittish?” he asked her, “sort of like a cat. Miss. Thomas the cat…a tom cat!”

He grinned then, and she laughed. “You’re ridiculous,” she told him with a slight shake of her head, “so what are your plans for while you’re in Grantchester?”

“Got a couple of horses we’ve paid to stable with the farmer whose field we’re staying in,” he told her, “once they’re in racing shape, I expect we’ll sell them and then move on.”

She had always loved animals, and her eyes lit up at the mention of horses. She so seldom ever saw any in the village. “You have horses?!”

His gaze softened at her palpable excitement. “Well, yeah, they’re what pull our caravans. But these ones are special. They’re thoroughbreds, trained ‘em myself. You wanna meet ‘em?”

“Really?! I’d love to!” she smiled widely, stopping and turning to face him as her house came into view.

“This home then?” he asked, holding out the basket he held for her to take.

“Yeah, best not to go all the way to the front door, just in case…”

She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, feeling ashamed.

“No troubles,” he came to her rescue, seemingly unbothered by the snub, “swing by tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the horses, if you want?”

“That’d be nice,” she said quietly, her eyes filled with silent apology as they met his.

“Tomorrow then,” he said with a slight nod “see you later, Tom Cat.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the nickname, and she watched him walk away until he was out of sight. Her father had been wrong – it wasn’t Abraham she found scary, just the way he made her feel.

“This is Fergus,” Abraham told her, his voice almost reverent as he ran his palm over the forehead of a large chestnut and white horse, before turning to stroke the crest of an equally impressive grey thoroughbred with a black mane, “and this is Paddy.”

She smiled softly, her wellington boots crunching against the gravel as she moved closer to the open stable door, and reached out a hand to run her palm over the soft, white muzzle of Fergus. It felt like peach skin, surprisingly soft to touch, making her giggle. “Hello, handsome,” she greeted the creature that loomed before her.

Abraham smirked that lazy smirk of his as watched her, his arm stretched over the bottom half of the stable door to rub absentmindedly at Paddy’s withers. “Careful, you’ll make me jealous.”

“Do these ones pull your caravans?” she asked, glancing over at him, an attempt to change the subject and draw the attention away from how his words made her stomach flutter.

Abraham shook his head. “These ones are just for racing, trained ‘em myself. We’ve got vanners that pull the caravans. They’re in the field with us, they don’t like to be stabled, they enjoy their freedom.”

“Bit like you then,” she quipped, turning back to Fergus who had begun to snuffle at her hands as they rested upon the stable door.

Abraham grinned, plucking sugar cubes from his trouser pocket and passing one to her. “Just like me, Tom Cat. You’re good with horses, y’know?”

“I’ve always loved animals,” she admitted softly, watching in fascination as Fergus took the sugar cube from her outstretched palm, devouring it in several loud crunches. “I used to take in injured birds from the garden and nurse them back to health when I was younger. I wanted to be a vet.”

“Don’t you want to be anymore?” he asked, glancing over at her as Paddy took a treat from his hand.

“I do,” she admitted sadly, pushing away from the stable door to lean against the brick wall beside it, “but my dad won’t allow it. Since my mum passed away, I’m all he has, he needs me around to look after the house while he runs the parish council.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Abraham said, frowning slightly, as he stepped towards her, brushing his hands off on his trouser legs.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. She felt trapped in Grantchester, as caged as the birds she once tended to, before setting them free again. Her mother’s illness five years ago had been so sudden, her passing even more so. Since then, her father had clung tighter to her than ever, refusing to let her out of his sight for fear he’d lose her too. She understood, but it was a stifling existence, her dreams snuffed out alongside her freedom.

She gave a slight shrug, eager to be rid of the melancholy that had settled over her like a shroud. “It’s just how it is. But what about you? What are your big plans once you sell these horses?”

He sniffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m getting married,” he said. There was no joy or excitement in his voice as he said it though, it was a fact he relayed to her as though she had just asked him what the time was.

“Oh...well, that’s nice,” she smiled tightly, hating the way her heart sank at his admission “So, what’s her name?”

“Luella,” he replied, and again the response was flat, lacking in any enthusiasm. “Need to brush the horses down, you fancy lending a hand?”

Her brow furrowed at his sudden change of subject and she wondered why he was so cagey about sharing any details of his engagement. She decided against pressing the issue, not wanting to make an already uncomfortable situation worse, and accepted the brush that he held out to her.

She relaxed as she worked, enjoying the presence of the horses, but also the easy companionship and conversation that Abraham offered. He made her laugh in a way that meant that by the time the afternoon was over, her cheeks ached from the tug of smiling.

By the time she arrived home, her cigarette trousers were dusty with hay and horse hair. She left her wellington boots in the porch as she pried them off, not wanting to traipse mud and straw across the living room carpet.

Her father was settled into the high back armchair by the fireplace – the place he always sat when he was home, that had been his designated seat in the house her entire life. He looked up from the book he had been reading as she entered, giving her an appraising look from over the rims of his reading glasses as his brows raised slightly.

“And where have you been that’s brought you home in such a mucky state?” he asked.

“I was up at Mr. Ruskin’s, helping out with the horses,” she said, subtly backing away towards the stairs. It was a vague amswer, but honest enough that she hoped it wouldn’t prompt any further questions that he would be upset by the answer to. She was wrong.

Her father frowned slightly, tucking his bookmark between the pages he’d been reading, before he closed his book and placed it upon his lap. “Mr. Ruskin has no horses,” he prodded, sitting straighter in his chair.

“No, they’re Abraham’s,” she said quietly, placing a hand upon the bannister, as if the very action of touching the beginning of her escape upstairs could save her.

“There’s no one in the village by that name,” he studied her closely as he said it, making her squirm with discomfort.

Finally, she snapped, huffing exasperatedly as she threw her hands up in defeat. “He’s one of the travellers, but you knew that didn’t you? You just wanted to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong!”

Her father sighed, setting his book upon the arm of the chair, before he rose and came to stand before her. His features were soft, but there was something steely in his gaze, the look that meant whatever was about to leave his mouth was final. “Your naivety puts you in danger,” he explained, “I don’t wish to scold, I only mean to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“They weren’t dangerous to you when you were forcing your charity on them,” she argued, before shrinking back as the steel in her father’s eyes became fiery fury.

“A kindness they met with hostility,” he said, his voice raising slightly in anger. “They are not like us, do you understand? You’re to keep away from this Abraham, I won’t tell you again!”

“He’s my friend,” she protested, her voice weak even to her own ears. A sense of helpless desperation clawed at her insides, making her feel hopeless.

Her father turned his back to her, moving back towards his chair – his retreat from the argument letting her know that it was over. Nothing she said would matter. “Get a bath,” he said softly, sitting back down again, “you stink like a farmyard.”

It had been three days since she had seen Abraham, three days since her father had told her to keep away from him. She hated how she had been cowed into submission by him. Her compliance to his demands wasn’t through blind obedience, however, more out of fear for what her disobedience would mean for the travellers currently settled in the farmer’s field. Her father held power in the village, he led the parish council, one word from him and Mr. Ruskin would have no choice but to move them on. Keeping away meant keeping them safe, keeping Abraham here.

Her father had been called away to central Cambridge for the day for a meeting with the bishop, leaving her alone in the house, and she had chosen to spend her morning in the front garden. The sunshine beamed gently down upon her hair, warming her from head to toe as she knelt by the flowerbed, her gardening gloves caked in soil as she gently uprooted weeds, careful not to disturb the colourful pansies that decorated the edging of the lawn. The lurid pinks, purples and yellows were a stark contrast to the bright white of the picket fence that enclosed the garden – a very pretty looking prison, as much to her as it was the flowers.

“You avoiding me, Tom Cat?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Abraham’s voice, her heart pounding as her eyes widened at the sight of him, taking in the way he smirked down at her as he leaned casually against the fence. “You can’t be here,” she hissed.

“Why not?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he stood up straight, almost looking down his nose at her. “Pal says he saw your old man headed up the station road this morning, so I know he’s not home.”

She moved to stand, not enjoying how the imbalance in their positions made him talk down to her, and tugged off her gardening gloves, dropping them into the flower bed. “If anyone sees you…” she sighed, tugging a hand through her hair, hating the way the words felt in her mouth as she said them. “Look, my dad’s told me to keep away, so I am. I’m not doing it because I don’t want to be friends, I’m doing it because I am your friend. He’ll have you run out of the village if I keep seeing you.”

“Alright, so we stop seeing each other then,” he shrugged, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes that set her belly aflutter with nerves.

“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked, folding her arms around her middle as her eyes tightened in suspicion.

He grinned, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over the tattoo of a pin-up girl that adorned his forearm. “Maybe you’re doing something else you’d normally be doing when you’re…not seeing me.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as realisation dawned upon her. “So, you want me to lie?”

“Lie is such an ugly word, Tom Cat,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned forward slightly, grasping the pickets of the fence, meeting her eye line. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I dunno,” she mused, pursing her lips, as she poked absentmindedly at the flowerbed soil with the toe of her shoe. “I enjoy going to the library.”

Abraham hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as he appeared to think for a moment. “Alright, so let’s say you go to the library, you check out a book, you happen to bump into me on your way out. You’ve not lied about where you’ve been, have you? We can spend some time together in secret, and if your old man happens to ask anyone if you were, in fact, at the library then the answer’s a yes, and you’ll have a book to prove it.”

She huffed a laugh, unable to stop the way her mouth spread into a grin as she bowed her head slightly, before lifting her eyes back to his. “You’re a bad influence.”

“And yet I’m not hearing you say no to the idea, Tom Cat,” he grinned back.

And she didn’t say no. Over the two weeks that followed, her and Abraham met up in secret twice a week. She would go to the library, check out a new book – and return the one from her previous visit – always something she had read before, just in case her visits prompted any questions, she could tell her father what the book was about. Then Abraham would meet her around the side of the library building and they’d slip away into the woods together. They had found a clearing, away from prying eyes, with an old tyre swing that they took it in turns to mess around on, while they chatted, joked and passed away idle, sunny afternoons together.

“What book is it today then?” Abraham asked.

He was gently moving the tyre so it spun in slow circles as she sat in it, her latest borrow from the library clutched in her hands. She watched as the woods panned slowly around her, a glacially paced kaleidoscope of browns and greens. An involuntary smile playing upon her lips every time he spun slowly back into view.

“Anne of Green Gables,” she told him, “it’s one of my favourites.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about then?” he asked, placing a hand atop the tyre to halt its movements as she swung to face him once more.

The intensity with which he looked at her was almost too much, and she found herself dropping her gaze back to the floral design of the book cover as she answered. “It’s about an orphaned girl who’s sent to live with a family, and she struggles to fit in,” she explained, running her fingers over the edges of the pages. “She keeps getting into trouble, and there’s this one boy, Gilbert, who she hates to begin with, but they fall in love. They get married in one of the sequels.”

“And is that why you like it?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her eye, making her feel too warm beneath his gaze. “Because of the romance?”

“I guess so,” she admitted, with a slight shrug, suddenly feeling shy, “it’s not something I know much about.”

“No?” he asked, drawing back and cocking his head. “Never had a special someone, Tom Cat?”

She laughed then, finding the very idea ridiculous as she shook her head. “I’ve never even been kissed.”

He stepped closer then, one hand still holding the tyre steady, while the other grasped her chin gently, tilting her face up to look at him. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore, and her lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath, the tips of their noses brushing as that piercing stare of his dipped down to her mouth and back up again.

He pressed at her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, tugging gently, and it made her insides boil, simultaneously wanting to pull away, to flee from him, while also longing to lean forward, to melt into him and stay there forever.

“Tom Cat…” he breathed his pet name for her, little more than a whisper, and that was all it took for her defences to crumble, for her to lean the rest of the way in and press her lips to his. It was clumsy on her part, she didn’t know quite what to do with her lips, but he gladly dominated, his mouth moving against her own in a way that had heat licking between her legs as it pooled in her lower belly.

His hand dipping down, moving to grasp the bare flesh of her thigh beneath her skirt was what broke the spell, fear and guilt washing over her like a bucket of ice water. She pushed him away, causing him to stagger backwards, as she leapt down from the tyre, her eyes wild and heart pounding, as she sought to put some distance between them.

“No!” she shouted, trying to sound angry instead of upset as she planted her feet shoulder width apart, gripping her book so hard that her knuckles blanched with the force of it. “No! You don’t get to do that to me. I won’t…I won’t be a part of your adultery, you’re engaged! How dare you?!”

Abraham blinked, brow furrowing in confusion, steadying himself as he stepped towards her. “You said you’d never been kissed before, I was just��”

“Oh, and you just thought you had the right to be my first?” she seethed, too angry to allow him to finish what he was saying. “I’m just the poor little village girl, trapped in her boring life, who you come along to have some fun with before you go off to be free again, and live happily ever after? Is that it?! Am I a joke to you?”

By the time she finished speaking, her eyes burned with unshed tears and her chest heaved with the force of the emotions that boiled inside of her. She had never been so angry, so indignant in all her life.

“I don’t want Luella!” Abraham shouted back, the words exploding out of him the moment she had said her piece. It made her jump, startling her out of her own upset as she watched his face contort into an angry scowl, his nostrils flaring as he continued. “I never asked for her, and she doesn’t want me either. She’s been knocking off that farmer ever since we arrived here. It’s an arranged marriage, neither of us want it. So I’m not making an adulterer of you…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that to you…”

“Oh,” was all she managed to breathe out, so quiet it was barely audible over the chittering of the birds within the woods. The outrage she had felt had dissipated so quickly, she didn’t know what to do with herself, she felt silly, overwhelmed by the need to apologise, but she held her tongue. Sorry wouldn’t undo any of this.

He exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his coiffed hair, flattening it slightly. “I might spend my life on the road, but I’m not any freer than you are,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost sad. “Meeting you…it’s made me the happiest I’ve been in ages, and if me kissing you has buggered that up, then I’m sorry.”

Her heart twinged at his words, her expression softening as she stared at him with sympathy. “You haven’t ruined anything. It was perfect,” she admitted, “I wish…I wish there was a way for me to make this better for you…easier for us.”

“Run away with me, Tom Cat,” he said earnestly, taking another step towards her, twigs snapping beneath his feet as he narrowed the distance between them. “Just you and me, let’s do it.”

The sincerity in his wide, blue eyes was almost too much for her to take, it was a crazy idea, and she couldn’t help the bark of laughter that forced its way from her throat. “You can’t be serious? That’s a reckless idea.”

She hated herself for saying that the moment she opened her mouth, seeing the flicker of hurt that crumpled his features momentarily, before he straightened, clearing his throat. “Yeah, was only joking,” he said quietly, “it’s a stupid idea.”

Her mind raced as she laid in bed that night. She couldn’t shake the guilt at laughing at him when he suggested they run away together. The more she thought about it, the less silly it seemed. They were both unhappy, trapped in lives that neither of them wanted or had asked for, and truthfully, Abraham coming to Grantchester had been the happiest she’d been since her mum was alive. Surely it couldn’t hurt to explore what their lives might be like if they threw caution to the wind and allowed themselves to pursue what their hearts desired? She would be out from beneath her father’s thumb, and Abraham would be rid of an obligation to a woman he didn’t love.

By the time their next meeting at the library came a few days later, her mind was made up. She returned her copy of Anne of Green Gables, not bothering to borrow a new book, too filled with breathless excitement as she rounded the corner of the building to meet her secret friend.

“How would it work?” she blurted, coming to stand before him as he leaned against the red brick building.

“How would what work?” he asked, eyeing her curiously as he pushed away from the wall.

“Us,” she replied, as they began to walk in the direction of the woods, “if we ran away together.”

“Seriously?” he asked, glancing sideways at her. “I thought you said it was a stupid idea.”

“I didn’t say it was stupid,” she sighed exasperatedly, as he helped her over the turnstile into the patch of woodland that had become their rendezvous spot. “I said it was reckless, and it is, but the more I think about it, the more I want to.”

She gasped as he crowded into her space, walking her back through the scattered twigs and leaves of the woodland floor, until her back made impact with the solid trunk of a tree.

“D’you mean it?” he questioned, grasping her chin, his eyes searching hers for any trace of insincerity. 

She nodded, feeling as though she had forgotten how to breathe as a grin spread across his face, lighting up his sharp features with pure elation.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, making her whine as he pulled away all too soon, just as she’d begun to kiss back.

“I’ll sell the horses,” he told her, before pecking his lips softly against each of her cheeks. “We’ll use the money to buy a little house somewhere. You can get a job at a veterinary office, just as a receptionist until you get more experience. I can get more horses, and earn my living training and selling them on. You could help me look after them, since you’ll be a vet. We could have chickens, and maybe a goat.”

Each statement was punctuated by a kiss, each promise delivered with a press of his lips to her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. It made her stomach flip as the idea of them running away together, building a future together, became more tangible.

“I want that more than anything,” she whispered, her hands balling into fists in the white cotton of his shirt.

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he promised, nipping at her bottom lip.

This time, when his hand disappeared beneath her skirt, she didn’t stop him. Every nerve ending in her body cried out for his touch, and she clung to him, held up only by the front of his shirt, and the rough tree bark at her back.

“We’ll get married,” he murmured, as his fingertips danced along the inside of her thigh, the calloused skin a hardened juxtaposition to the softness of her own. “And we’ll have babies.”

She moaned, the sound foreign to her ears as he toyed with her knicker elastic, before dipping his fingers inside. She had never been touched like this before, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep her on her feet as Abraham swiped slowly through the wetness that had gathered between her legs. She focused on his voice, and all of the pretty promises he made, afraid that if she dwelled upon the physical sensation for too long then she would bolt like the frightened cat he claimed she was.

“I’ll make you feel like this every day, Tom Cat,” he uttered, his fingers swirling over her sensitive bud, causing her to keen and her hips to buck. “Because I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.”

As his fingers dipped back towards her entrance, gathering more of her arousal to help aid in the circles he pressed against her, she mewled, the coil tightening in her belly, pushing her dangerously close to a sensation she had only ever experienced at her own touch.

“Would you like that?” he asked, speeding up his movements.

She nodded, her mind too foggy with the impending onslaught of sensation to form a proper answer, but that simply wasn’t enough for Abraham.

“Say it,” he insisted.

“Y–yours,” she keened, before white hot oblivion overtook her. Her body shuddered against the tree as she yelped in surprise, clinging tightly to him as she convulsed against his touch, a pleasant ache bursting forth and making her feel hot all over.

He worked her through it, only stilling his fingers when her hips began to move away from his touch instead of chasing it. “Mine,” he murmured back with a smile.

Read on AO3

More Abraham fics

[calypso-rt]

She fell first/He fell harder request (pretty please, you are my one and only writer I ride or die for) She’s your typical sweet shy kind reader kook, a jeans/t-shirt type, a friend of Sarah. He’s always ignored her though in favor of the extroverted sexy kook girls. She glows up a bit becoming more of a woman and dressing figure hugging (though not revealing. She’s still her and modest) and has decided to let go of Rafe, feeling stupid for just having a crush on someone who couldn’t care less about her. Though now she has his attention and he’s feeling some type of way being ignored/the bare minimum short polite conversation when she used to sneak glances at him at the house or find reasons to linger around him…..and he’s def not okay with guys talking to her…while he is glancing from afar with heartache…..and he’s def gonna follow when a guy leads her away from the party and make some heartfelt declaration. I WANT RAFE SIMPING AND BEING A MESS, CHASE HEEEER

-> A/N: i saw this and just HAD to start writing immediately. I love it so much thank you, anon! <3

worth the wait

-> Rafe x F!Reader

It started years ago, slow and quiet, like a secret you kept even from yourself.

You were there, always there, floating around the edges of his world like a soft breeze he never bothered to notice. A friend of Sarah’s, a Kook by default but never quite the type to demand attention.

You were the quiet one. The sweet one. The one who lingered in doorways when he was around, sneaking glances when you thought he wouldn’t see.

(He never did.)

Rafe Cameron had always been too busy looking at girls who weren’t you. The loud, sexy, confident ones who draped themselves over him like accessories, all sun-kissed skin and effortless flirtation.

They knew how to keep his attention. You? You were just the girl in plain clothing, flipping through paperbacks at parties and blending into the background.

You knew better than to hope. But that didn’t stop you from feeling.

Maybe that’s why leaving for the summer felt like such a relief.

A few months away, an out-of-state camp, something new. You didn’t have to be that girl anymore. The one waiting in the wings, the one hoping for a glance that would never come.

You threw yourself into everything: early morning hikes, late-night talks by the fire, pushing past the edges of your comfort zone until you weren’t just existing, but living.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t come back with a whole new personality, didn’t suddenly turn into one of them...the girls Rafe actually looked at.

But you carried yourself differently now. Stood a little taller. Laughed a little louder. You still wore the same clothes, but they fit you better somehow, hugging the quiet confidence you hadn’t realized you’d built.

Most importantly?

You came back over it.

Over him. Over the way you used to linger, over the ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with. It was stupid, really. A crush. That’s all it had ever been.

And if Rafe Cameron had never noticed you before?

Well. That was perfectly fine.

Except… now he did.

It happens at a party, because of course it does.

Figure Eight, same crowd, same overpriced liquor being poured into red cups. The air is thick with salt and smoke, music thrumming under your skin as you weave through the sea of familiar faces.

Nothing’s changed.

Except you.

You’re not lurking on the edges anymore, not pretending to be invisible. You’re here because you want to be, because, for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought in your own story.

And Rafe?

He’s exactly where you left him, stretched out in one of the patio chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, his attention flickering between his phone and the girl curled up next to him. Some blonde, barely dressed, draping herself over his arm like she’s claimed him.

It used to sting, seeing him like that.

Now, you don’t even spare him a second glance.

It’s almost funny, the way his head turns when you walk in: slow and deliberate, like he’s making sense of something his brain can’t quite process. You catch the moment it clicks. The flicker of recognition, the way his easy, lazy smirk falters for half a second before sliding back into place.

You’re laughing at something Sarah says, not even looking his way. Your shoulders back, your head held high, the warm glow of summer still clinging to your skin. And your eyes—God, your eyes—don’t even flicker in his direction.

Maybe it was the liquor running through his blood, but he gets up, the wasted blonde grumbling in frustration as she's pushed aside, and makes his way over to you, heart beating.

“Didn’t know you were back.”

His voice is low, smooth, the same drawl you’ve heard a million times.

You glance up at him, barely breaking stride as you move away from Sarah. “Got in a few days ago.”

His brows pull together. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Sarah knew.” You shrug, effortless, like you don’t notice the way his eyes drag over you, lingering at the way your clothes fit just right. Like you don't care.

(You do. A little. But you’d rather die than let him know that.)

Rafe scoffs, taking another step, cutting off your path like he expects you to stop for him. “Right. Sarah knew.” He tilts his head, watching you too closely. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

You smile, all polite disinterest. “Something like that.”

And then you walk away.

No nervous laugh, no lingering, no waiting to see if he watches you go.

(He does.)

And for the first time in his entire life, Rafe Cameron feels something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his gut.

It takes him a second to recognize it.

Regret.

...

Jealousy isn’t something Rafe Cameron feels.

At least, not like this.

You’re different now. And worse? You don’t seem to give a damn about him anymore.

And he feels it, really feels it, when he sees you laughing with some guy at the party.

Some Kook douchebag he barely remembers the name of, leaning way too close, making you smile in a way that burns in his chest.

His stomach twists. His jaw clenches. His grip tightens around his drink until the cheap plastic cracks in his hand.

“Dude.” Topper’s voice breaks through the red haze, amused and knowing. “You good?”

Rafe doesn’t answer. Just glares at the scene in front of him like he can will it to stop.

(You haven’t even looked at him once tonight.)

You used to... always used to. Sneaking glances, lingering, hoping he’d say something. And now? He could be furniture for all you care.

The guy leans in. Says something that makes you tilt your head back and laugh.

And Rafe sees red.

Before he can stop himself, he’s moving. Drink abandoned, footsteps quick and purposeful as he crosses the room.

By the time you realize he’s there, it’s too late.

“Didn’t think this was your type.”

His voice is smooth, dripping with something too sharp to be casual. You blink up at him, surprised, before your expression flattens.

“I didn’t know I had a type.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah?” His gaze flicks to the guy beside you, unimpressed. “’Cause last time I checked, you weren’t into desperate losers.”

The guy bristles. “What’s your problem, Cameron?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Rafe—”

But he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking at him.

His jaw is tight. His fists curl at his sides. Everything about him screams territorial, and he hates that he feels like this, like he’s been replaced, like you were his to lose in the first place.

And then you do the worst thing imaginable.

You smile at the guy.

A small, amused, totally dismissive smile, like Rafe isn’t even here.

Like he doesn’t matter.

And that’s when it hits him like a truck, like a gut punch, like a sinking, spiraling, helpless feeling.

He’s screwed.

...

Rafe has never had to chase before.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing now.

It starts with little things. Small, almost unnoticeable gestures that shouldn’t mean anything but do.

One: The Jacket

It’s late. Too late to be sitting out by the beach in just a thin hoodie, but Sarah begged you to stay for one more drink, and you didn’t want to seem like the same girl who used to fade into the background.

You shiver once, just once, and suddenly, there’s a heavy weight settling over your shoulders.

“Rafe—”

“Don’t start,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t just drape his very expensive hoodie over you without a second thought. “It’s cold.”

You glance up at him, suspicious, but he just stares out at the water like this isn’t a thing. Like this isn’t the first time he’s ever done something for you without being asked.

(You don’t give it back.)

Two: The Coffee

It’s early, and you’re buried in a book at a café, sipping on some overpriced latte when a familiar voice breaks your focus.

“You drink that caramel crap?”

You blink up, startled to find Rafe leaning against the table, a fresh cup in his hand. Before you can answer, he sets it down in front of you.

Your usual order.

The one you’ve always gotten. The one you thought no one ever noticed.

Your lips part, but Rafe just shrugs, casual. “Figured you might want a refill.”

Then he walks away.

You stare after him, utterly baffled.

Three: The Save

You weren’t going to call it a date.

Just a study session at the country club with some random Kook guy, an easy way to brush up on Econ while sipping from the drink in your hand.

But Rafe doesn’t see it like that.

He sees some guy sitting way too close, leaning over you like he has any right to, and before you can react, there’s a firm hand curling around your wrist.

“Come on,” Rafe says, voice low and final.

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

His grip isn’t tight, but it’s there. Protective. “We’re leaving.”

You scoff. “Since when do you get to decide where I—”

“Since you clearly don’t know when someone’s wasting your time.” He glares at the guy, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “Trust me. You can do better.”

And even though you should be annoyed, even though you should pull away, you don’t.

Because his fingers brush against your palm for half a second, just long enough for you to realize he’s trembling.

...

You’re not sure what you expected when Rafe finally snapped.

The party is long over. The music has faded, the bonfire burned down to glowing embers, and most of the guests have either gone home or passed out somewhere inside. But you stayed.

Not for him.

(Definitely not for him.)

You just like the quiet. The way the Outer Banks feels when it’s still. When the waves are the only sound, when the sky stretches wide and endless, littered with stars.

You tug your sleeves over your hands, exhaling softly as the wind rolls in off the water. You don’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

But you do.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low, words edged in something raw.

You sigh, shaking your head just enough to make a point. “We really don’t.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, we do.”

He sits down beside you on the sand, shoulders touching.

You cross your arms. “You can’t just—”

“Why won’t you look at me?” he blurts out.

You freeze.

He’s sitting too close, his expression a mess of frustration and something else. Something bordering on desperation.

You force out a scoff. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously.” His voice dips, softer now. “You used to. All the time.”

Your stomach flips. You hate that he remembers. You hate that he noticed now and not when it actually mattered.

“I grew up,” you say evenly. “I stopped wasting my time.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, and for the first time, he looks hurt.

“That what you think?” he murmurs. “That it was a waste?”

You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. “What else was it supposed to be?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he just stares at the ground, like he’s struggling to say whatever is clawing at his throat.

Then, finally

“I was an idiot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Rafe lifts his head, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because he’s serious.

“I didn’t see it. See you.” He shakes his head, almost like he hates himself for it. “I don’t even know why. I think—I think I was too busy looking at the wrong things, and by the time I figured it out, you weren’t there anymore.”

Your chest tightens. “Rafe—”

“I notice you now,” he says, shifting closer. His voice is rough, uneven. “I notice everything. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you get nervous. How you always pick the raisins out of the trail mix after you play golf.”

Your breath catches.

His jaw clenches. “And I hate it.”

You rear back slightly. “What?”

“I hate that I had to lose you to see you.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I hate that some other guy gets to stand where I should have been this whole time.”

Silence.

Loud. Heavy.

You stare at him, heart hammering, every instinct screaming at you to run, because this is too much, too late, too Rafe.

So you shake your head. Swallow down the ache in your throat.

“I don’t...” You inhale sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

Rafe goes still.

You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself. “You don’t get to do this, Rafe. You don’t get to ignore me for years and then suddenly—”

“I know.” His voice is hoarse. “I know. And I don’t expect you to believe me.”

You falter.

He steps closer. Slowly. Cautiously. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“I just…” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “I just need you to know that I’m trying. That I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You swallow hard, pulse hammering.

Because for the first time, he looks at you: not like a challenge, not like something to win, but like something he’s afraid to lose.

And that scares you more than anything.

...

Epilogue: The Payoff

Rafe dedicated any free time he has to you and only you.

It's not really a conscious decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He's utterly determined to prove to you the depth of his feelings.

You’re browsing the tiny, tucked-away bookstore downtown, running your fingers along the spines, when a book suddenly appears in front of you.

"Thought you might like this one," Rafe says, leaning against the shelf like he belongs there. Like he planned this.

You eye the book, one of your favorites. The same one you used to read at parties when he wasn’t paying attention.

Your lips twitch. "You think you can bribe me with books now?"

"Not a bribe." He shrugs, but there's a telltale smirk on his lips. "Just proving I do pay attention."

You try not to smile.

You fail.

Another time, it's late. You’re shivering outside after a bonfire, rubbing your hands over your arms, when Rafe suddenly pulls his hoodie over his head, a sliver of his toned abs showing, and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," he says, but his arms are already breaking out in goosebumps.

You roll your eyes but tug the hoodie tighter around yourself. It smells like him: clean, warm, safe.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

You don’t offer.

He's forever jealous although he's resisted making a scene, knowing how much you hate it.

You’re laughing with JJ at a party when you feel it. The heat of his stare.

You glance over, meeting Rafe’s narrowed eyes across the room, his jaw tight, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

You arch a brow. Oh?

"Relax," JJ murmurs, amused. "Pretty sure your boyfriend is about to combust."

You don’t correct him.

And when Rafe gets just frustrated enough to stalk over, hand resting at the small of your back, tugging you just a little closer...

You call that a win.

But he's a bit impatient in his love for you.

It happens in his car.

You're laughing—really laughing—at something dumb he said, and he’s just watching you, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your jaw.

You stop laughing.

The air shifts. Your heartbeat stutters. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up.

But you pull away, grinning as you grab the door handle. "Not yet, Cameron."

His groan is tortured. "You’re actually killing me."

You smirk. "Good."

It takes time.

Little moments. Soft gestures. Proof that this isn’t just some fleeting fascination. That he’s all in.

And when you finally kiss him—really kiss him...

He swears under his breath, pulling you in like he’s terrified you’ll change your mind. Like he’s spent years waiting for this and refuses to waste another second.

His hands frame your face, his lips desperate and sure all at once.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"You’re mine now," he murmurs, voice thick.

You smile.

"Yeah, Rafe." Your fingers curl into his hoodie. "I’m yours."

As if you weren't always.

[wyrm-mlm]

Trans!Erik Headcanons

* Born as Maxine. When choosing a name he wanted to disconnect from that part of his life. Part of it was an attempt to compartmentalize the trauma as it’s easier to think of it as happening to Maxine and not him. Will still sometimes use Max as an alias however.

* After leaving the camps he went to the UK. That was where he met others like him while trying to get a job wherever he could find it.

* Received top surgery which was hard enough to do given his past. Will never get bottom surgery.

* Left the UK shortly after that as he caught the trail of a Nazi and saw red.

* Because of this didn’t learn how to properly shave his face and so cuts himself almost every time.(Charles eventually teaches him properly)

* Very jealous of Raven’s mutation, believing she can’t get dysphoria because of it(he is wrong)

* Despite being a telepath Charles doesn’t realize Erik is Trans at first because of the previously mentioned compartmentalization

* When Charles explains his little joke about making Erik appear in a dress to Angel, Erik is very upset, as he just recently came out to him and so assumes Charles sees him as a woman still. Charles is the proverbial dog house for at least three days.

* Takes testosterone when he can manage to get his hands on some. Has forged prescriptions to get more as he despises menstruation.

* When he does take testosterone it is a whole production because he had extreme phobias around anything medical. Charles eventually helps with this too.

And that’s all I have for now

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Part 2 of @noshirdalal's answer to what Charles wishes he'd said to Arthur on their last ride together (requested by me [@rockscanfly] for @kaphzzz's birthday). Part 1 can be found here.

Yeah, I think this goes for Arthur as well, maybe. But for Charles I definitely think his love language is service. And so in the ‘Charthur’ realm of things when he says ‘Always’, that is, uh…In ‘Princess Bride’ it's ‘as you wish’, right? So its as close to ‘I love you’ as he’s ever gonna get.

Transcript:

I think Charles might ask if there are things that Arthur needs done that he may not have the time or the strength to do. And if there any of those obligations that Charles could take up for him. I think Charles would take the responsibility of being steward to his friend’s last wishes very, very seriously.

 [Noshir is quiet for a while] 

I think long parts of that ride would not be spoken, you know. Maybe just long periods of time where they’re riding closer together than you normally would. Just tryin’ to breathe in the moment, enjoy each other’s company. A brief moment of peace, even if they know that they’re goin’ off to do some heavy lifting. 

Charles—we all know Charles isn’t a talker, he’s a doer. And I think if he didn’t—[talking to Nala] out—I think if he didn’t…oh, maybe didn’t have fears is the wrong way to put it. If he had the courage to do so he may have even given him, like Charles may have even given Arthur, like, his necklace or the feather he wears. Like, things that Charles keeps with him. 

Charles isn’t necessarily superstitious so to speak, but he definitely believes in the power of totems. And I can see him giving a totem to Arthur to wear as a form of protection and also just as a sign of his affection. 

But doing so comes at a risk, right. Its becoming clear that there are some people in that camp that are not, that are not friends. And I think revealing any kind of relationship or care for another person in camp is also a vulnerability. And I think that's something that Charles would be heightendly aware of. And then there’s the completely other side of it which is you know, in that age, like, two men being affectionate, two men being in love—not something that you really talked about and certainly didn’t publicly express. And if Arthur chose to wear a totem from Charles openly I think there’d be a lot of talking in camp. So my guess would be that Charles would—

[loud bang as Nala knocks into something] Nala are you okay? Was that your head or your tail? Come here, out!

So my guess is that—I think that would be a sign of affection that Charles would love to do. And he wouldn’t tell Arthur like, how to be careful about it, or what not, because Arthur’s not stupid. I think he would give that totem to Arthur openly without any conditions. That’s how he’d show how much he cares for him. Trusting that Arthur’s care for him would mean that he’d be careful with how he wore or carried anything that Charles had given him. That he’d kind of make sure that in doing so he didn’t open either of them up to harm. 

That’d be a lot off—I think there’d be a lot of unspoken, unspoken gestures and just. You know, they’re on a long ride and Charles would have breakfast ready when Arthur woke up. Arthur would like lay out his bedroll and stuff and, you know, go to the river to wash up or whatever and come back to find that Charles had, like, pushed up his bedroll against something comfortable using like, Charles’ saddle as something that would support him but would be comfortable so that Arthur could sleep with his head and chest a little bit elevated so that he wouldn’t coughing so much at night. 

Like, little things that um—and you know Arthur probably wouldn’t say anything. At most he’d just share a look with him, and yeah. I think it would be a lot more about the things Charles would do. Overt signs of care that I think in his normally more careful state of being that he just wouldn’t dare to do. And I think, I think those things would mean the world to Arthur. And I think as, I think it would actually make Charles really nervous to do some of those things. And you know, like, Arthur being gracious and caring I think in his way would know not to rib Charles about it or put him on the spot. And that would give Charles the courage to, to do more. 

Yeah, I think this goes for Arthur as well, maybe. But for Charles I definitely think his love language is service. And so in the ‘Charthur’ realm of things when he says ‘Always’, that is, uh…In ‘Princess Bride’ it's ‘as you wish’, right? So its as close to ‘I love you’ as he’s ever gonna get.

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back!! and I have a bunch of chapters this time, so let's see how I do with this one.

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag

CHAPTER 13 (third house skull for coronabeer)

the sticky notes with little giraffes my sister had gifted me to read nona ran out so I had to get a couple packets of colorful stickies to continue

I bought two packs of 200 each and was like 'this for sure is gonna be more than enough'

I'm not sure of that now, after first use

I think nona might appreciate the colors (and the previous giraffes)

even if they're not tlt aesthetic

ANYWAY, we're leaving the meting with BOE in the not-so-secret-very-obvious-actually meeting place

nona apparently all along knew that el machetes was actually la machetes and her name is our lady of the passion aka pash

coronabeer asks her how she knows that and nona says it's the way she moves her bones

camilla asks coronabeer to let her see "her"

and insists, saying she can help "her"

by this point I'm, of course, thinking about judith

turns out, it is judith

camilla asks if judith is part of the negotiation, to which coronabeer responds that she is not, she's "their ticket out of there"

judith is in an awful state, btw

she's doing really badly, hooked to stuff, fed through tubes, looking like hell

nona feels bad for her

I feel really bad for her

what are you doing to that wet mouse

with no necromancers around, she's the only one who can help herself, and she can't always do it

let's remember coronabeer was a fake necromancer

and, apparently, varun is hurting her

nona states again that she doesn't like the sunglasses and, since camolive are busy, I'm gonna take note of that myself

camolive (which I had stated before that I thought was actually palmolive right now, but here it's still undetermined) asks for some space to work and help judith in this rudimentary medical setting they have her in

coronabeer is being very tsundere about it all

she's acting like she's not worried about the love of her life

but nona is like "I see you"

coronabeer clocks palmolive being himself and not camilla

(I CALLED IT)

palmolive says he hopes she didn't mess up judith on purpose to get him to show himself

you weren't subtle, my man

wearing sunglasses inside like bono

coronabeer says she won't tell anyone about palmolive and camilla sharing the body apartment

she tells palmolive about how camilla, judith and her bonded in summer camp detention with BOE

and how she was grieving for him but, after meeting harrow, she was fine, so she assumed camilla had always been right about the bones thing

the gall of thinking camilla can be wrong

judith can do half of the job of healing herself and needs palmolive to help her with the rest, while she comes in and out of making sense

nona reminds palmolive about the timer

coronabeer reminds judith where she is, but she sometimes gets fuzzy with it

judith tells them that if they say they have been coerced, she'll tell everyone that they didn't meant it

I think we're past that point, but hope is the last thing to lose, judith

coronabeer holds her hand while judith talks about how they're using her to go against her house and when coronabeer says she isn't making sense, she responds that coronabeer hasn't made sense in months

judith says her hands are too filthy to save camilla

nona thinks it's funny to think of someone having to save camilla

same, tbh

and then, she talks to nona

"Ninth, where is the mercy of the Tomb? Where is your sword in the coffin? Who are your masters now, and who do you master? Where is my cavalier, Reverend Daughter? Where is yours? Because I saw her in the waves —she was there in the gray water— I saw them all—they hurt me—where is my hunger? I eat and eat and eat without surcease, my green thing, my green-and-breathing thing..."

SO

I think my tally of this being harrow's body might be correct

not so sure about gideon's soul now, though, if judith is out there seeing her?

in the river? maybe?

she says "in the gray water" so maybe it is the river

maybe she can access the river in her almost-dead state?

or perhaps the one she saw was martita and not gideon?

maybe she could see all of the ghosties, because she said "I saw them all"

how does she know about gideon's sword in the coffin, though?

AGAIN, PLEASE DON'T ANSWER ANY OF MY QUESTIONS

LET ME FAIL

after that, she screams, palmolive puts her to sleep and then he switches with camilla

he puts her/his hand on her shoulder, which is cute

coronabeer then understands that camolive switch places and doesn't like it much

she swears by yandere twin that she won't tell about this and reminds camilla that she has kept her secrets before

wonder what yandere twin is doing rn

swimming in the river maybe idk

kissing dr john's ass and all that

or maybe not, if dr reverend emperor john is out there taking his monologue show on the road with alleged harrow-not-harrow

camilla offers coronabeer an out from BOE but coronabeer is too deep into judith to leave her

she frames it in a tsundere way, like "if something happens to judith, how am I getting out of here?"

I see you coronabeer, you're doomed

you love that wet mouse

coronabeer tells camilla "you and I don't own our own souls"

to which camilla replies "My soul's mine. You give yourself away to anyone who doesn't want you."

coronabeer says she always had a soft spot for palmolive

to which camilla says "you were part of the lie"

I think this has to do with the sixth house situation

nona, trying to make things less tense, makes things even more tense, as a treat

she asks about the water and the green thing that judith mentioned

both camilla and coronabeer look at her as if she was a ghost

coronabeer says "The Captain didn't say anything when you came into the room. She only screamed."

??????????????????????????????????

I had to go back, because judith responded to things palmolive and coronabeer said

after nona touches palmolive's arm and reminds him of the timer, judith asks where she is and coronabeer answers

they have a back and forth there

coronabeer even says she must have some eight in her blood because of the melodrama

she talks about the green thing and the water right after her and coronabeer where having a back and forth on whether they had or hadn't lived

and after she talks to nona/harrow, is when palmolive makes her sleep

so, at which point was this?????

if this is some sixth sense situation, coronabeer and palmolive shouldn't have been able to answer things judith said

and coronabeer very much did

I'm gonna trust they're not gaslighting nona and that something went on here

maybe they meant the screaming was only in the part where judith talks to nona specifically

we'll see

DON'T TELL ME

CHAPTER 14 (we've got the tomb back!)

coronabeer offers to drop nona at school and nona is so excited about it that she doesn't even consider the dangers of jumping out of the van and leaving camilla and pyrrha there

she thinks it's a selfish thing that won't have dangerous consequences because they have a code for when dangerous consequences are imminent

still, gotta put a child barrier on this one

they get spare masks and coronabeer offers nona her hood

coronabeer says that she has as much right to nona as camilla does and that nona isn't that much younger than camilla is, anyway

when nona says that she loves camilla, coronabeer asks if she loves her romantically

not in those adult words I just used, mind you, she says "Do you love love Camilla? In-love-with Camilla?"

use your grown up words, coronabeer

nona, on the other hand, feels out of her depth when spoken to like an adult

so she changes subject, telling coronabeer that camilla isn't coronabeer's type

coronabeer wants to talk about herself, which is a subject she's very passionate about

but it backfires like crazy when nona calls her out on acting flirty without meaning towards we suffer, wanting camilla to hug her but not in a sexy way and being in love with "th—"

this is judith, we're talking about judith

coronabeer is upset at being dissected emotionally and nona says "You shouldn't ask me things if you don't want me to tell you the truth about them"

girllllllllllllllllllllllll

I want this as a welcome mat in my house

coronabeer getting owned like chad over here

third house annihilation, one by one

coronabeer thinks she should ask nona about whether she's pretty and ask yandere twin about emotional things, because that way she'd hear what she wants

this girl would have been a menace with social media

anyway, coronabeer and nona get to school and angel teacher is just coming in

angel teacher is looking worse every time the camera comes back to her

angel teacher is taken aback by coronabeer but doesn't let her meet nona's gang because she's carrying a gun

nona is very disappointed at this turn of events

coronabeer says she's camilla's partner and angel teacher is again surprised at this

nona thinks coronabeer is nearly pretty enough for camilla

nobody is perfect enough for camilla, though

also, over my dead body, coronabeer

go chase your wet mouse, thank you very much

could I beat her in a fight? no, but could make a very compelling power point presentation? absolutely

boobs, hair and a sword vs boobs, hair and a solid dissertation

nona thinks coronabeer should have said nona was dating her instead, because camilla doesn't need the street cred as much as she does

coronabeer says she knows what nona is, even if they refuse to see it, and that she envies nona more than anyone in the universe

I mean, yeah, childish wonder and relentless will to believe in the best of people sounds great right about now

nona is steven universe

CHAPTER 15 (seventh house skull again!!!!! very sus!!!!)

everyone's kind of fighting about having seen coronabeer and sriracha girlie was worried for nona's safety

nona asks her not to be sad if something happens to her

sriracha girle also has the angel teacher update, says she was dropped off by a car this time

sriracha girlie considers this an additional protection towards her, to which nona asks why is angel teacher so special

great question, imo

apparently, everyone but nona, sriracha girlie and kevin are leaving for lunch

main teacher is very confused about this until sriracha girlie informs her that there's gonna be a broadcast

main teacher asks angel teacher about it

(angel teacher's name is apparently aim)

(as in aim for the door if they come for you, angel teacher)

main teacher asks if they're gonna start arrests and they decide to move the conversation to another location, away from the kids

sriracha girlie knows more than they do, though, but ok

we need to protect kevin from this

we love kevin

nona is weird with food again, this time eats only ice cubes and a pencil

at this point, I'm realizing it isn't just me thinking she's particular with food, she indeed is particular with food and also very weird about it

she behaves exactly like our puppy who eats what she shouldn't and we have to be looking at her with 26 eyes because she hunts for snails and pieces of wood

nona asks sriracha girlie what the broadcast is about

as you might have guessed, it's about necromancers

nona tells sriracha girlie that she knows she's been at the park at night and sriracha girlie tells her not to go there, ever

she confirms that the "you-know-what" were killed

says that someone high up took them before they burned, with a shot to the head

sriracha girlie says she goes with two others, nona guesses it's honesty and born in the morning

nona says "Born in the Morning" and sriracha girlie corrects her and says "You mean Born in the Morning"

I don't see how that's different? neither does nona?

???????????

hope this is just a nona pronunciation thing I can't get in written form and not yet another ortus vs gideon thing, I can't take another one of those

it's written exactly the same, once without and once with emphasis

nona asks sriracha girlie if she's with BOE but sriracha girlie also hates them

she calls them traitors but also says they sell them guns

which...idk what to think of that

I mean, I understand the traitors bit, since they're currently in dialogue with necromancers

but selling guns to civilians is definitely A Move from BOE

sriracha girlie talks about how her family was killed and how she trains with a sword because she doesn't want to be caught off guard ever again like her brother was

while also saying that she wishes nona was her sister

god, this is gonna end terribly

sriracha girlie, I don't know about your future

this looks bad

so, nona tells sriracha girlie "her Secret"

????????????????????

sriracha girlie recommends her a clinic where angel teacher works

nona asks her not to tell anyone about it because she's the only one who knows

I assume this Secret isn't that she's potentially one of two people connected with the Ninth because sriracha girlie hasn't stabbed her yet

right in front of kevin's salad

we love kevin

I also don't think it's about her having memory loss, because pyrrha, camilla and the entire BOE know that, and nona says sriracha girlie is the only one who knows

unless she meant only one except for her people

but it wouldn't make sense for her to just say "Secret" and not elaborate, if that was the case??? in her recount of events????

also, why does she need a clinic for it????

nona can heal herself, she can't have a Secret related to anything physically damaging that she'd need a clinic for

the only thing she's got going on is memory loss and being potentially one of two people

neither of which are things nobody else knows about but sriracha girlie and nona

she's not having a baby or having a surprise degenerative disease

am I making too much of a mess out of something obvious?

DON'T TELL ME

I feel like this book is a lot more difficult to grasp than the other two, tbh, when it should be the opposite, because now I know things

it's the first time in which I know supposedly more than the protagonist, but it's the hardest one

it feels so much more complicated to me and makes me feel so stupid so often

in any case, nona falls asleep

none of this sounds like it's gonna be a great time for either of these two

and I don't think trusting someone who has a vendetta against your people is a good idea, nona

if push comes to shove, you're gonna go against each other, and what are we gonna do then???

JOHN 8:1

"but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives."

this is the part in which jesus does the famous "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her"

alleged harrow says her body is a mystery to her and that she'd collapse and fall asleep where she fell and wake wherever dr reverend emperor john put her

alleged!harrow which could be ice cube barbie, for all I know

WAIT

should I put ice cube barbie as another potential occupant of harrow's body as nona?

was there a third option nobody thought of because nobody knew about ice cube barbie but harrow and gideon?

could nona be ice cube barbie without memory?

could they have switched when book 2 ended inside harrow in the vacant tomb?

dr reverend emperor john god-forbid is, like I said, taking his monologue on the road

last time we met up with the monologue, lyctor team had decided to stream the necromancy stuff to put it out in the open

like anyone who has ever depended on social media to do a job knows, when you're trying to make something take off, it doesn't happen

it doesn't matter how good the content is, the algorithm is awful everywhere

so they got like 5 viewers

until one of the people the invited live turned out to be a flat earther and THEN it picked up

after that, people came in for him to heal them and he says he enjoyed playing jesus

he said the government said "this is a cult"

WHICH, YOU KNOW

SOUNDS VERY CORRECT

he says M brought in a nun, gonna assume M is mercygirl and the nun might be anastasia?? anastasia sounds like she was a nun, I mean, look at the ninth

"You've got two scientists and an engineer and a nun and a lawyer and a banker and a cop and an artist. That's not a defence force, that's a cop and six different kinds of nerd."

new meme format just dropped

sorry but I need to try it out

(should I post that separately, I wonder)

it really is a great meme format, dr john, I'll give you that

thank you for your minuscule service

"A and M were making black jokes about taking volunteers from the crowd for the skeleton army. One day we ran out of time before those jokes could become suggestions."

not to bring in star trek again but

so, dr reverend emperor john kills every animal in a big ass radius to build a bone wall around them

he, of course, has a lot of excuses for it, as he usually does

I have another data meme for that, but I'll save it for another time

"They treated us like we'd done some kind of huge crime."

"I wanted to talk about you"

again here with the "you" which clearly cannot be harrow

at least not how we know her

alleged!harrow not!harrow says "I still love you" and he says "that's a good one" and cries

I don't feel bad about him crying one little bit

AND THAT'S ALL!!! sorry that this one is so long, I wanted to make up for lost time T_T

[loveamongdragons]

Hey!! Im sorry, this is a really weird question and you really don't have to answer but I love your atla posts sm and they really make me think. Love your fics too. Here's the thing... I actually just know atla via fandom osmosis so I have no clue what you're talking about in this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/loveamongdragons/774408895286460416/hey-can-we-talk-about-this-as-apposed-to-this?source=share

Could you please elaborate? Thank you! I hope you're doing well, take care and stay hydrated! <3

Hey there! So happy you like my stuff ^^ it's not weird to ask at all, welcome aboard.

So, I concede that I might be grasping at straws here, but at the same time: the thought had randomly occurred to me and then dug its claws into my brain with no warning whatsoever.

My point is that the scenes at hand are quite similar: one person shoots an arch/circle of fire, and Katara is on the receiving end. Her reactions though differ significantly.

I find it intriguing, shall we say, that she shows zero fear when Zuko, "the face of the enemy", the guy that had spent the entirety of the show up until then hunting them, casts the fire in anger, but is petrified when Aang, her friend and love interest, casts fire in his chipper way. Like, isn't that curious?

In that same vein, it is curious how Zuko is the only person whom she ever shows the depth of her anger. You'd think that hurling all sorts of accusations at a person who you perceive to be your enemy, and whom you perhaps even believe to be evil at heart, might scare you a little bit? Or maybe you'd at least expect to deal with retaliation or something. Instead, Katara is perfectly comfortable with her anger around Zuko, up to the point where she turns her back on him in the Crystal Catacombs and starts to cry. With Aang though, she is consistently walking on eggshells and trying to stay amiable and motherly.

At the same time, she seems to be perfectly fine with Zuko's anger, too. For heavens' sake, she looks concerned and confused, and not scared in the slightest when Zuko shoots fire at them in the second gif. In regards to Aang, we get this line from Katara though: "I'm not saying the Avatar State doesn't have incredible and helpful power … but you have to understand … for the people who love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary."

Yeah, so it's as if Aang's bottled up feelings of pain and rage have always been more scary than Zuko's explicit pain and rage. And it's just curious how in those two scenes Katara has less trust in Aang's ability to control himself than when she encounters a pretty emotionally distraught Zuko - who both do the same damn thing, with VERY different consequences, of course.

Now, you could say: hey, it's just because Zuko was a proficient firebender, and Aang wasn't, and Katara thus knew she couldn't rely on Aang's abilities, but she could rely on Zuko's (and... girl... the way this alone sounds!). Which, I fully accept that this might be the case. But it still wouldn't take away from the fact that it's curious as hell that Katara did not show any sort of fear in that scene with Zuko, and the argument becomes interesting again when you imply that she even at this point had enough trust in Zuko that she didn't even perceive him as a threat.

I must say: I adore this scene! I love this encounter between Zuko and Katara because I think it's the first real emotional exchange they have. Katara offers to heal Iroh! She is concerned! He pushes her the fuck away. (Mirrors their later encounter beneath Ba Sing Se, too). Did Zuko spend the next days thinking about her offer? Did he wonder in secret late at night if he should have accepted? Did he find himself feeling cozy, warm, sad feelings towards her, and then pushing them away? Did he think about it when he met her again in the Catacombs, and then later at the Gaang's camp? Did she?

[nightcityace]

(Lets all just pretend its not nearly a week after Valentine's day already) I have been trying to figure out how to do this set for AGES now and I'm so happy with how it turned out!

There is also a little fic to go with it under the cut! Turns out my own struggles with trying to get everything just right was good inspiration :P

“This was supposed to be nice…” Vik sighed heavily as soon the waiter was out of earshot. It was actually supposed to be perfect, but the judgy looks from the staff and clearly corporate patrons had thrown that out the window almost as soon as they had walked in. He felt his heart flutter as Sunny chuckled softly.

“It is nice.” They grinned at him and poked at the marble sized morsel of food, it was probably food, with their fork. “Okay, maybe the food isn't, but I definitely like the company.” 

He found it impossible not to smile back at them, “I suppose you have a point there.”

It had taken ages to get a table here and he had called in more than a few favors to make sure it was a good one. Vik wiped his palms against his pants for what felt like the hundredth time. He had to stop doing that, it would ruin them. There was no reason to be nervous. Everything had been planned out. He knew what he wanted and he was sure he knew what they'd say. What he hoped they’d say. Everything leading up tonight had felt so easy, but as he looked down at their comically empty overpriced plates it just felt wrong. It wasn't them. Sunny loved it when he showed them the little dives around Watson and they were both more than happy to spend an evening camped on the couch with some bad take-out, but he had wanted tonight to be something special. 

“Hey…” Vik almost jumped as Sunny gently laid their hand over top of his on his knee, their face was soft, but concerned. “Wanna just get out of here? Go get a burger or something?”

He couldn't help but laugh, “It's like you were reading my mind. That sounds perfect.” A look of relief crossed Sunny’s face and was followed immediately by a mischievous smile he knew all too well.

“Good. I'm taking this,” they grabbed the bottle of wine from the table and then chewed their bottom lip thoughtfully, “also these. Which means we should probably run.” They winked as they scooped up the wine glasses from the table as well, pouring the remnants from them into the fake floral centerpiece. Vik laughed as they ignored the waiter’s shout as they quickly made their way to the door. 

- -

Half an hour later they were still breathlessly laughing on an old blanket laid out on the roof above the clinic. Sunny leaned over to give him a soft kiss as they passed him another glass of their pilfered wine. “There that's better, not so tense.” 

Vik snorted, “I think the food might be better too.”

“Oh definitely, the potatoes may be fake, but the deep fryer’s still real.”

It was ridiculous, a stolen bottle of high class wine paired with a budget burger and fries from Tom’s Diner while sitting on a dirty rooftop in formalwear. Completely ridiculous and actually perfect in a way some overpriced restaurant would never be. He moved closer to Sunny and smiled when they immediately leaned into him with a contented sigh, resting their head on his shoulder. Ridiculous and perfect. It suited them, it was them. He felt his stomach twist as he carefully reached for his pocket. “Sunny… I uh…” god he hadn't been this nervous in his boxing days, not even when he was heading toward a championship match. His mouth felt so dry, he couldn't get the words out.

Sunny straightened where they sat and turned to look at him with concern, only to freeze as they saw the small round object he held.  “...Vik?” their voice was barely a whisper as they looked from him to the ring with wet eyes. “Oh my god…” 

“I, uh, saw this going differently, was gonna be a whole thing. Obviously it didn't go exactly as planned. I hoped it would feel romantic, y’know?” He could tell he was rambling and took a shaky breath, “But it didn't feel like us, and I happen to like us. A lot actually and I'm hoping you might want to keep doing this for, oh I don't know, forever?” He was cut off as Sunny choked out a laugh and pressed their lips together suddenly. He returned the kiss with a soft laugh of his own. “That a yes?”

Sunny pulled back just far enough for Vik to see them roll their eyes and then wiped away a few stray tears as they grinned “Obviously that's a yes.” 

[castellanapologist]

Pomegranate

(TW: Noncon kissing, mean luke. Enjoy!)

Kronos. That name echoed in your head day in and day out. There wasn’t much to occupy your time anyhow. You spent your days chained in a cabin aboard some ship named “Princess Andromeda”. That’s what you had heard Luke call it anyway. Luke. Your eyes squeeze shut at the thought of him. How unhinged he had seemed. A different man you had crushed on back at camp. 

His normal dark eyes had a golden hue now, tinged with slight mania. It frightened you. Luke visited your room often, as he preferred to bring you your food and drink. The first time you had assumed he was coming to save you. Some part of you hadn’t believed it when everyone said Luke had betrayed camp. Seeing him in the flesh had made your heart jump and had you thanking him for saving you. 

He had laughed, cooing at you for your trust in him. “I have saved you. From that wretched camp.”

You didn’t know how long you had been aboard. Weeks? Months? Time didn’t make sense anymore. The only way you could keep track was how you were chained. When you had first been captured, you had been bound by your hands and feet. After a while your non-dominant hand had been set free. Then your dominant. Finally, all that remained chained was your left foot. The chain was long enough you could walk almost completely to the door, but stopped just short of you being able to reach it. 

Luke had promised when he could trust you, you could be free of this room. Come to his. A few months ago you could have swooned over that promise. Would be blushing over how he sits with you for hours, lays his head on your lap or how he always has your favorite foods ready. You had questioned him once how he knew what you liked and for a split second you swore you saw the old Luke, a small blush dusting his cheeks. 

“I remember everything you like.”

You play absentmindedly with the sheets of your bed, a tiredness pulling at your eyes. You contemplated sleeping, but the rumble in your stomach suggested otherwise. Luke would be back soon anyhow. He could never stay away for long. And speak of the devil…

Luke enters your room holding a plate of food, already smiling at you. You weakly smile back, knowing if you don’t he gets…agitated. He sits next to you and shows you the dinner of the night. You hum your approval and turn to face him completely. He had grown fond of feeding you when your arms had been chained and wasn’t willing to give it up even when he freed them. You open your mouth obediently for the fork. 

It's quiet besides your chewing but you prefer it this way. Some nights he rants and raves for hours about the “golden age” he’ll bring for demigods. You could hardly stand to see him so crazed over a pointless war. When you’ve eaten your last bite he places the plate on your nightstand before facing you once more. He gently cradles your face in his hands, thumb rubbing your cheek. If you close your eyes, you could almost picture this happening at camp.

It's moments like this that give you hope the old Luke is still in there. Underneath all the paranoia and mania there’s still the boy who everyone looked up to. Luke tugs your face closer to kiss your forehead. You feel your heart constrict in your chest and the overwhelming urge to cry. When he pulls back, the golden hue is duller now, his dark eyes swimming with affection. 

“You’ve been very good recently.” He muses. You murmur a thank you before he continues. His hand plays with your ankle chain. “Tomorrow you’ll move into my room. It would be tonight but unfortunately I won’t be in my quarters until late. I’d prefer to be there on your first night.” 

You swallow before thanking him again. You’ve learned he likes when you thank him, even for small stuff. Moving into his quarters turned your stomach. Part of you is excited to be in a new space, to be with him even if he’s not the same. The other rational part of you is screaming ‘DANGER’. His thumb continues its soothing tub of your cheek while your mind wars with itself. After a while, he reluctantly pulls away and goes to leave. Before he does, he presses his lips to your forehead once more. 

Restless sleep came over you, dreams of Luke’s erratic behavior getting worse plaguing your sleep. You wake up more than once, feeling eyes on you. Even when you search, you find nothing. Morning comes slowly and once again Luke. He’s visibly excited and to your surprise there's no food in his hand. He must sense your disappointment because he comes over to embrace you. You hate how you melt into his embrace. 

“Don’t worry sweet girl, breakfast is waiting for you. We’re moving you this morning, I couldn’t wait until tonight. Come with me.” Luke says into your hair. Your heart pounds and you nod silently. He kneels to where the chain is connected, unlocking your ankle. The weight falls and you can hardly believe it. Luke stands once more and grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. His smile is sweet yet you know that while the physical chain is gone, you’re still trapped. 

“Just follow me. Can you walk? Or do you need me to carry you?” He asks. You shake your head as his hands drop to lift you. 

“I can walk.” You say softly. He looks slightly disappointed but interlaces your fingers once more and leads you out. You can’t move your head fast enough to take everything in after so long in the cabin. Even just the hallway is fascinating to see. Luke’s moving too fast, maybe on purpose. You slightly stumble and he whirls around in glee. He scoops you up in his arms which causes you to yelp and cling to him. His self-satisfied smirk tells you everything you need to know. Once you arrive at his cabin, he slows. Opening the door, he smiles softly down at you. 

Luke steps over the threshold of his room, his eyes boring into yours. You can’t tell whether to be relieved that the manic golden hue is still dimmed or overwhelmed by the fact these actions are his own. He gently places you on the bed, towering over you. You feel ridiculously small below him. A silence stretches before his hands come to cup your face. You can’t help but lean into his touch. 

“Luke…” You whisper. “Why is this happening?”

“This is our destiny!” He exclaims, gripping you tighter. “The Gods are our enemy. They don’t care about us.” 

Your cheeks are squished in his hold, his grip bordering on painful. The manic glow in his eyes brightens and you feel your breath hitch. Fuck. You need to calm him down before things escalate. Your hands grasp at his wrists. 

“Luke-” You gasp out. “It's okay, I know. I’m on your side-”

“Why did he abandon me?” Luke shouts suddenly, nails digging into your skin. You whimper in pain, squeezing your eyes shut. He lets go, and you open your eyes in time to see Luke crumpled to his knees. He shoves his head into your lap, breathing heavily. It feels like your hands automatically find purchase in his curls, soothing him. It's silent in the room for a bit with the only disruption being his breathing. Your heart pounds as you try to calm him down. 

“Luke, what he did was awful. He’s a terrible father.” You agree with him, thinking of your own parent who had barely acknowledged you. Luke grips your hips tighter as he mumbles something into your lap. One of your hand snakes down to cup his cheek, raising his face up. The golden hue has dimmed once more and you can’t help yourself. You press your lips to his. Luke relaxes against you and moves his mouth in sync. It’s not the first kiss you two have shared since you’ve been brought here, but it's the first one you’ve initiated. Once you break apart, Luke looks so defeated. 

He whispers your name like a prayer. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “I’m not mad Luke. I’m here for you.”

He remains silent for a short while before covering your hand with his. “I don’t want you to leave me.” He says softly, like if he speaks any louder you’ll run. You nibble on your lip as you stare into his eyes. His other hand comes up to tug your lip loose. 

“I won’t Luke. I’m here with you.” You relent, leaning closer. He closes his eyes before kissing you again. It's slow and tender, like he’s afraid. When he pulls away again he looks decided on something. Luke stands and your hands drop to your lap as he towers over you once more. 

“I’ll be back later. Food will arrive shortly okay?” He says softly. You nod and he kisses your forehead before stepping back. You almost miss his warmth as he leaves the room. The day passes rather quickly. Especially since you now have a window to look out. The view is breathtaking, and you never realized how much you loved sunsets until they had been taken away from you. Just as the sun's orange hues have covered the room, Luke comes home. You turn to face him, feeling your breath catch. In the golden light, you feel transported back to camp. He looks beautiful. 

He crosses the room in two strides, grabbing your face and pulling you into a fierce kiss. You melt against him, fisting at his shirt. He’s kissing you desperately like a man dying. You can barely keep up and when he enters your mouth you can’t help but moan. Suddenly you feel something being pushed into your mouth and your eyes fly open. You try and pull away only for Luke to hold you in place by the back of your head. You struggle against him but it's futile. The taste of pomegranate makes you recoil like you’ve been burned.

Luke pulls away and clamps a hand over your mouth before you can spit them out. Your breath comes out in heaves as you try to get away but he simply won’t let you. Your tongue automatically rolls the seeds around in your mouth and you count a total of six. Six. Six pomegranate seeds. You panic more which makes him coo at you.

“Shhh baby I know. Just chew. Can’t risk you leaving. Never want you to leave.” He murmurs. You try to shake your head but his grip is too strong. His hand slips from the back of your head and snakes to your jaw, gripping it tight and forcing you to chew. Tears spring to your eyes as the seeds burst and flood your mouth with the juice. You try to refuse to swallow but Luke pinches your nose and it’s only a matter of time until you do. 

He leans in to kiss you again and you try to dodge only for him to yank you back by your jaw. His lips slot against yours so gently you can almost ignore his bruising grip. Again he tries to push his tongue in but you firmly keep your lips shut. He insistantly pushes again but you deny him once more. His hand comes to yank your hair, making you gasp and allowing him inside. Six more seeds are shoved into your mouth and you know it’s futile to resist. You swallow. Luke pulls back with a manic grin. 

“Now we can be together forever.”

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XIV - The Cage

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 41k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: hello you wonderful people. i am so excited for the next few chapters and to show you all where we are heading. i know this chapter is a bit on the sadder side but i promise if you stick with me, it will pay off. i've been doing a lot of research and i believe i've found some very cool things to include in this fice hehe. smooches! ♡

carpentum - closed carriage centurion - high-ranking army official

Chapter XIV - The Cage

Acacius doesn't feel like staying in his tent. He goes over the route for the next day three more times before folding the map and heading out of the makeshift door. He makes his rounds, greeting some of the soldiers and centurions alike, even stopping at one point to taste the wine one of them offers him. He trails in between tents, all of them neatly organized, built for the night like a temporary, small town. His horse neighs when he nears the animals that are tied to a large wooden post and Acacius smiles in spite of himself, stepping forward and greeting the stallion. 

The andalusian is the only gold spent that he does not feel guilty about, having been his trustworthy companion for several years now. He reaches out, tracing his hand over the side of the horse's head and onto its neck, gently patting it. “You are not sleepy either, are you? Did we not tire you out with today?”

It shakes his head as if to decline and Acacius sighs, allowing his horse a few more pats before retreating. He gets in another round around the camp before forcing himself to wander back into the direction of his own tent. A third round would raise brows, no doubt.

He does feel a bit better, having scoured the perimeter and knowing that you are merely feet away, that he would wake immediately if anything happened so close to him. Not that he hoped he would need to.

But he still catches himself straining his ears when he has retired to bed, trying to gauge if you are still awake or if sleep has already taken you. He briefly wonders if you are the same as him, laying awake and staring at the ceiling. Then again, you don't carry the kind of regret that he does so sleep in general might come easier to you.

Acacius groans as he turns in his bed and brings his hands onto his stomach, staring down at them in his horizontal position. The green stone surrounded by gold stares back at him and with a sigh, he takes the ring off, twisting it between his fingers. The inscription is the same it was when Lucilla first gave it to him.

Marcus • Aurelius • Maximus

The three men Lucilla has loved, one as a father, two as lovers. He is still not quite sure he deserves the engraving to the left of Aurelius that she had added for him when she asked him to wear it. The fact that her father and himself share a first name only makes him feel less equal, like he can never live up to those that came before him.

With a small groan, Acacius sits again, slipping the ring back on his finger and he reaches for his quill. The letter to Lucilla is rather short. He can never mention details, nothing of where they are or where exactly they are headed, just in case it falls into wrong hands. But he can tell her that he misses her, that he wishes he were back in Rome. So he does precisely that.

He hands it to the next courier they meet.

For about a week, things settle into an unsteady normality. They ride and march during the day, Acacius paying extra attention to the formations they decide on, making sure that he and at least one other capable soldier are always close to your carriage. You have started to obey him when he asks something of you and neither of you are openly hostile towards the other. But he can tell that you are unhappy or, at the very least, disappointed in what the world behind the walls of Rome has had to offer so far. He catches glimpses of you glancing out the window of your carriage when he is riding behind you, taking in the hills and forests that you pass. But the winter is still all around you, even as you get further south, and the frozen over ponds and leafless trees make the campaign feel even more hopeless.

You retire early each night, excusing yourself politely and heading back to your tent. Often, you say that you have to perform prayers but he’s not sure whether or not to believe that. And the one evening he does think further, imagining you on your knees in the tent beside his, he has to muffle his moans with his pillow.

The night before you are to reach Beneventum, an excuse to see you opens up before him like the sea when one passes the last hill before Ostia.

“My lady?” He pats the outside of the tent to imitate a knock. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” you call from inside and Acacius slips through the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed. He hasn't been in here since the night he spoke to you but it still looks much the same. Thick curtains that are bunched up and tied to the side around your bed, more pillows lining it than he cares to count. They've even laid out a rug for you and somehow, the soft and warm interior fits you.

“How have you been?” – “Is everything alright?” You speak at the same time. Your voice is slightly panicked while his is awfully polite and he tries to ignore the small stab in his chest at the realization that you think something must be wrong for him to come and speak to you.

“No. No, everything is fine. I merely wanted to let you know that we will be arriving in Beneventum tomorrow, around mid afternoon. We will rest there for two nights, allow the men to catch their breath,” he explains, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The silence that follows his words feel unbearable. “It is a nice town. Small, but nice. Kind people. They will let us restock on what we need.”

“Good,” you answer quietly and why is it suddenly so hard to talk to you? Before, you both never hit a spell of silence. Even during Bona Dea, he found that he preferred talking to you over sleep, over anything. Now, the conversation just feels heavy.

“Very well. I will get out of your hair then.” He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he turns his back on you and leaves.

***

The sun is beginning to sink lower in the sky when you notice riders falling away to the side, leading the men that march behind them onto the fields beside the Via Appia. Your carriage doesn't get steered off course however, continuing on the small road. Then, two riders appear beside you, one on each side and it takes you a moment to understand that they are there for your protection.

And then you see it. Up on a small hill before you sits a small town, the road leading straight through it. The caravan slows down as you reach the outer perimeter, the riders now staying close beside you. You catch a glimpse of an arch as you pass through it. Stone looms above you for a few moments and you think you spot a relief of Trajan in passing. Then you reenter the sunlight and with it, spot Acacius in front of you, his head held high, his white horse proudly stepping through the town. You can't quite place the feeling that builds in your stomach at the sight.

You watch as storefronts pass your window, an array of spices, colored fabrics, painted pots and vases flying by. It's much too fast to look at the items properly so you make a mental note to come back tomorrow and browse around. Unlike a lot of other women, Vestals do get paid so you have more than enough gold to spend.

Eventually, the houses retreat and you pass through a small gate, one so narrow that the riders beside you finally fall behind and then well-kept gardens appear around you. There are statues placed along the path, several small fountains further away. None of it is nearly as large or tall as in Rome but they’re impressive nonetheless. Eventually, the carriage comes to a halt and you feel the soldier in the front jump down from his seat. A moment later, he appears through the curtain and offers you a hand.

You smooth down your coat and glance up at the villa that you have come to a stop in front of, its grounds looming over the town below. Acacius has already dismounted his horse and is talking to a man and a woman animatedly. You are led to join them, smiling awkwardly as you come to stand beside the General.

“Ah, there she is. May I introduce you–” He gestures from you to the couple. “To Sir and Lady Orbilius. They are kind enough to host us during our time in Beneventum.” You greet both of them, even if not quite as enthusiastically as they greet you.

The brown-haired woman, probably in her late forties, bows down a bit too low and reaches for you. “May I take your hand?” You nod quickly, holding it out for her. She places a kiss on the back of it and you can feel Acacius shift beside you. “I cannot tell you what an honor it is to have you under our roof. Of course–” She turns toward Acacius. “Having the General is a big honor in itself. But a Priestess of Vesta, by the gods–”

Tears glisten in her eyes when she straightens again. For a split moment, you think you have somehow offended her and worry seeps into your chest. But then she smiles and you realize that they are in fact tears of happiness or gratefulness or something of the like. 

They show you through the atrium and a terrasse that overlooks the gardens, speaking highly of the hot summer days here. Eventually, the lady of the house leads you upstairs, shows you to what will be your bedroom for the next two nights and then allows you some peace and quiet before changing for the evening meal they have insisted on sharing with you. You find your wooden chest already sitting in the corner and open it to admire your options. Now that you are not sleeping and dining in a tent, you do not need to wear a coat over each of your stolas.

The red one is packed near the bottom and you consider whether or not you should wear it at all. The intention you purchased it with does not hold up anymore. But why not dress up a little? Especially for a woman who was so thankful to meet you she almost cried? You tell yourself that is the only reason why you carefully drape the red fabric over your body, the gold details glistening in the equally golden rays of sunshine filtering in through the curtains. The evening light gives the small room an orange glow. And the view out the window is near picturesque, the small town below you, complete with a temple, fields and woods stretching behind the perimeter. Your hands unconsciously roam over your body, smoothing down the small wrinkles in the soft fabric as you take a deep breath.

***

This has to be a special kind of torture. Watching you lie down beside him, the red and gold fabric of your stola draped over your body and try one food after another without a care in the world. Like your body is not so close to his, like you can't feel the invisible connection that is flickering in the air between you.

Acacius has been tortured before, when he was held captive for what luckily turned out to only be a few days. But this? It's worse.

Your hosts have taken the lower couch, eager to keep the appropriate customs. No doubt hoping for a favor or two, or at least a good word from his lips directed at the Emperors when needed. He wouldn't care so much if it didn't mean sharing the higher of the couches with you, all of you stretched out around the table so laden with food and wine that Acacius is surprised it has not yet given in under the weight.

He tries to recall if your stolas were always this tight, if they always hugged your form so well, highlighting your body in all the right places. Or, maybe, it just seems like it because he now knows what is underneath the fabric, because he has kissed your legs and shoulders and chest and tastes you on his lips, felt inner parts that no other man has ever got to feel. Acacius swallows another bite of his food, adjusting his own toga in a way that he hopes is inconspicuous.

“General Acacius, would you care to join us for a walk in the gardens before you retire?” He barely even noticed the others getting up, expectant eyes now resting on him. He agrees quickly enough, standing as well, thankful that his toga is not one of the thin ones he wears during the summer. Sir Orblilius’s attention turns onto you. “Will you be joining us as well?”

Acacius’s gaze flies around and he can immediately tell that you do not look eager, the hesitation clear in the way you hold yourself. “Well, maybe we should let the lady go on upstairs. Our travels can make one weary.”

The man laughs heartedly at that. “I hope you have not worn her out, General.” It is clear that he’s joking, unaware of any implication beyond a lighthearted comment. But Acacius can immediately see the blush creeping up onto your cheeks.

“I shall join you. I would love to see the gardens,” you respond politely, avoiding Acacius’s gaze. He follows suit as you are both led over to the terrasse and begin to descend the stairs that lead to the rich plants and trees below. He pretends to listen to the couple speaking of their statues and rare fruits, pretends to be impressed by a tree that supposedly never withers. Here or there, he throws in a question or thoughtful nod to keep the conversation afloat, his real focus all the while on you. He does not wish to learn more about your respective hosts but he has things he’d like to ask you. Like how his soldiers have been treating you. If you are comfortable on this journey. If you already regret taking it.

But such is not the kind of small talk expected by the couple beside him. And so he doesn't.

When your small group has completed the lap around the house and he once again finds himself at the bottom of the stone steps, Sir Orbilius gives Acacius a polite smile. “If you would excuse me now, General. I would like to take my wife upstairs.” He pauses for a moment like he is waiting for an invitation to stay a bit longer. When none comes, he continues. “Now that I am thinking about it, I believe it is best if I too retire. We will see you at the ‘morrow?”

“Yes. Of course.” Acacius nods politely. “Thank you for the meal and for showing us around. You really do have a beautiful collection.” He’s become so good at playing a game he doesn't even enjoy.

“Well, my lady Vestal, you may want to retire too.” The woman of the house joins you, having walked side by side with you and she holds her arm out for her husband to take. He does so with a well-rehearsed motion. And Acacius’s gaze is once more drawn towards you rather than anything else. Your polite smile reminds him of his own. A priestess certainly understands the rules of the game well, maybe better than he does. Maybe that is why your answer comes as a surprise to him.

“Not quite yet. I like walking among the stars–well, under them.” You trip slightly over your words and he has to hold back a chuckle, finding it rather adoring. “Sitting in my carriage all day makes my legs feel funny so I enjoy small walks in the evenings.”

Acacius nods along, pretending not to understand the small snide you are sending his way. Because he has been insistent that you stay in your carriage rather than ride or, gods forbid, walk. He simply feels it to be safer that way. It is not unlike the house on Palatine Hill that Lucilla will be sitting in right now, guards always stationed at its gates. He will lock those he loves in a cage if it only means keeping them safe from the world.

Not that he loves you. He just cares for you. For your safety.  Or something of the like.

The others bid you both good night and without speaking, you begin to walk again, taking one of the less-treaded paths that lead straight through the gardens and towards the edge of the property. Acacius trails slightly behind you, hoping that his presence won’t bother you but also unable to let you roam around all by yourself.

He watches the way your hips move and how your stola trails behind you and when he begins to feel sick with himself for abusing his position like this, he focuses on your footprints instead. Which is why he almost runs into you when you come to a halt.

***

You feel Acacius’s hand reaching for your shoulder as he steadies himself and you give him just a few moments before slipping out of his touch. The path has led you to a small, round pavilion, the slightly angled roof looking a few years past its prime. But its position at this side of the garden is high enough to overlook the houses below and the hills in the distance. There is light spilling onto the street from a few windows still, some bright like the fire of Vesta, some stemming from just one or two candles on a windowsill. But behind the houses, the fields and hills lie in the dark. Acacius’s troops must be on the other side of the town, to the north.

“It is so dark,” you whisper quietly, absent-mindedly running your fingers over the column beside you. The stone is cold to the touch. “It is never this dark in Rome.”

Acacius nods quietly, stepping beside you with a few, slow motions and you listen to the sounds of his toga rustling as he moves. His voice is only a whisper. “Rome is a very special place, my lady.”

His hand brushes over the red fabric of your stola, the one you have wrapped tightly around your body to fight off the cold. You can feel his thumb tracing one of the golden lines, his touch as light as ever. If you moved just an inch to the side, you are certain he would drop his hand immediately.

You both stay silent for a while, staring out into the ever growing darkness as one or two more windows below you lose their light. It must take minutes for you to gather up enough courage to look at him.

His eyes are soft, a little glazed-over from the amount of wine he was practically forced to taste at dinner. And the way he looks at you? It is like the difference between day and night, between light and dark, the way he looks at you so differently when you're alone like this. You've seen him give commands with a mere look. But the brown eyes that rest on yours in this moment are not those of a General. They are just those of a man.

“I am sorry my men gave you trouble that first day.” He says quietly, bowing his head slightly, though his eyes never leave your face.

“It is not your fault,” you whisper back, shaking your head. Then, maybe because you hope to lessen the worry in his eyes, you add; “They have been good to me. Many of them are kind.”

Acacius nods. But he doesn't respond. So you fall back into silence. A dog barks somewhere below you. You turn towards the sound, your eyes finding the small street you passed through earlier, the one with the many shops side by side.

“Oh, I meant to ask. May I use the day tomorrow to head down to the stores? I would like to look at a few things, I promised a friend I would bring her back something and…” You trail off, your eyes still on the now abandoned street.

“No.”

And there he is again. The cold, uncaring General who does not give a damn about what you do or do not want. “What?”

“No. Absolutely not. The streets are narrow and will be filled with people, both our own and the townsfolk, not to speak of the travellers. We are not the only ones travelling Via Appia.” Acacius states, his voice already letting you know that he will not put this decision up for discussion.

The anger you would have felt a few days ago now only manifests itself in the form of resignation. Your shoulders slump slightly and a sigh leaves your lips. “Of course. What a silly idea. I forgot you are to lock me up in either a carriage or one of these rooms for the entirety of the trip.”

“I will keep you safe the entire trip,” Acacius mutters. His hand has disappeared from your side. “It is getting late. I will escort you back to the villa. Come.”

You stand like one of the statues around the garden, frozen to the spot. The way he switches up so fast, like he becomes one person and then another–it’s exhausting you. “Acacius?”

“What?” You can tell he sounds slightly on edge, like he’s itching to get away. From you or the conversation or both.

“Could you just–could you just be a little bit kind to me?” Your voice trembles slightly and your head stays bowed. You can’t make out his face in the darkness. His shoulders shift as he gives a weak nod.

“Let me be kind and take you to your room.”

If the last week has taught you one thing about Acacius, it is that he will not allow you to change his mind quite so easily. And with the chances of success so slim, you find that you don’t have it in you to try. Maybe the light-hearted joke earlier tonight held more truth than either of you would have liked. Maybe travel, and Acacius, have truly worn you out. You let your gaze roam over the town below you once more. Then, you turn and obey him without another word.

[frillydolle]

More hurt/comfort w Arthur plsss I love ur page❤️❤️❤️

lowhonor arthur morgan x crybaby female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ mean arthur , ur a sensitive girl , hurt at the start and comfort at the end

he's been gone for weeks. which, of course, isn't a surprise, but he's not usually gone for this long. he had you worried, nervous, anxious.. you weren't sure what to think, really. he wasn't the type to reassure or comfort you at all bit you didn't mind too much, he was a man of action, the kind of action that no one should see, the action turns people's heads... the act of hurting, killing, and thieving. yet, you love him all the same.

no one else has seen him either, and that's what had you worried most. how could no one have seen or heard from him? he was one of the most well-known outlaws! well, he was very sharp and quick thinking. now, you're just sitting on your cot, wriring in that journal of yours, to get all your feemings down. soon, you look up, and you pay attention to the sounds of hooves returning to camp. a smile formed on your face.

“arthur! you're back—” your smile dropped as he gave you a small hum while he walked past you, making his way to his own wagon. did he ignore you?... no, he's just like that. it's nothing. or that's what you often told yourself. he sits on his cot and begins to take his boots off and you sat beside him. you knew what he was like and so you had to be careful.

“you've been out for days..” “yeah, i know, honey. came back with a headache, too.”

he seemed... off and you weren't sure why. you thought back for a moment, did you upset him? annoy him? say something wrong? you weren't sure or you couldn't remember but you just wanted everything to be okay again. you didn't want him to treat you like this since he would always tell you if he'd stay out long but this time, he told you nothing.

“... why didn't you tell me, arthur? you always ha—” “didn't think it was a problem.”

oh. he didn't think it was a problem. well, he never really did, but only he's never spoken to you like this. so.. blunt and monotone as he takes off his boots. you weren't really sure how to even continue the conversation, although you're determined. you were his girlfriend, he often made sure that everyone knew it, too. he was acting a little rude, but you didn't want to confront, knowing that he'd bite like a coyote if he was provoked even slightly.

“where were—”

“shut yer goddamn mouth, darlin'. makin' my headache worse with all yer yappin'.”

oh.

okay.

your face dropped even more, and your lips form a small pout while your eyes fill with tears. he's never really spoke to you like that either. you didn't know what to think. yes, he'd be mean to you, but he's just teasing. he always did that with you. an annoyed sigh left his lips as he leans back up, turning to look at you.

he's prepared to be a little more mean, to think of something more to his standards and yet, he doesn't. his gaze softens just slightly as he notices you play with your hair — an subconscious of yours, sometimes a comforting thing. only then, he realised he upset you. badly.

being upset and sitting beside him on his cot, you moved away with a small being created between the two of you. how could be so mean? you're his girlfriend! he's meant to love you, protect you, help you— then, you feel a large hand rest on the back of your head before he'd guiding you to rest against his chest. this was his way of apologising.. without saying it. he never apologises. to you nor anyone else. that's the moments the tears started streaming down your face:(

“i didn't mean to, dollface..”

“you can be so mean, arthur morgan.. so mean...”

[minorlyatfault]

𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 !

p. jackson x child of demeter!reader

only want to fix it with a kiss on the lips,

but i think i might,

take a bite !

𝓦arnings: grammatical errors. ooc(?). my attempt in being poetic. talks ab leaving camp.

𝓝otes:

001. to that one random girl who let me borrow her dictionary earlier at the café while i was writing this, thank you😭😭 (i forgot to ask for her name or ANYTHING)

002. cherry cherry cherry cherry

003. def a guardian angel

sunlight passed through the leaves to cast dappled patterns across the picnic blanket spread between the roots. the cherry trees danced in the soft summer air, the branches weighted with juicy fruit.

you sat opposite percy, a bowl of newly picked cherries between you. he picked one up, rolling it in his fingers, investigating it as if it contained some deep secret.

"you know," he said, looking up at you with that crooked grin, "i think i like it here more than any other place in camp."

you raised an eyebrow. "more than the lake?"

percy paused, then nodded. "yeah. i mean, the lake is fine & all, but this," he waved his hand around at the cherry trees, the small square of green you'd cut out of nothing with your own two hands. "this is more.. okay."

you snorted at his statement.

it was. this wasn't just part of camp half-blood; it was part of you. a part of your soul that had been buried in the roots, in the flowers, in the fruit that grew sweeter each summer. you had sown it yourself, tended to it with the same patient reserve your mother, demeter, had taught you.

& somewhere, somehow along the way, it had grown into yours & percy's.

not formally. not in any manner you could speak. but it was in the way he seemed to always end up here, like a tide drawn in. in the way you reserved the reddest cherries for him, even when you swore you didn't. in the way he looked at you now, like there was nowhere else he'd prefer.(he sometimes jokes about making blue cherries)

you extracted a cherry from the basket, spinning the stem around your fingers. "why is this place so okay?" you asked, your voice teasing.

percy let out a soft snort of laughter. "what, you want me to go all sappy about some trees?"

you grinned. "perhaps."

he tossed his cherry pit into the grass & stretched out on the blanket, hands behind his head. “fine. it’s peaceful. it smells good. &…” he turned his head to look at you, something unreadable visible in his sea-green eyes. “you’re here.”

your breath hitched.

it wasn’t fair, really, the way he did that. said things like that so casually, like he didn’t know what they do to you.

you swallowed, eyes on the cherry in your hand. "do you. . . ever consider leaving?"

percy flinched. "camp?"

you nodded, still looking at the fruit. "yeah. just… escaping. no gods, no monsters. just… us."

the words felt dangerous, even as you said them. he knows you didn't want to leave permanently. he knows you don't want to abandon camp, your cherry trees, the strawberry patch, your half siblings, annabeth, clarisse, will, nico, grover, chiron.

a break? definitely. the half-bloods have experienced war, not once. lost many. you know percy is exhausted. with all the quests, the gods. he led wars. he mourned(you all did). you remembered the first time he came to camp. clueless of the half blood life, the sparks in his eyes, shined. he was like a fire that refuses to go out.

this is the price he's paying for simply existing. said the gods.

percy was silent for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was gentler. softer. "yeah. i think about it all the time."

your heart tightened. "really?"

he looked away from the sky again. "yeah. but i don't think we'd ever really be able to get away from it, you know?"

you knew. gods, you despised that you knew.

demigods weren't cut out for peaceful lives. no matter how much you wanted to hope otherwise.

percy jerked up, grasping another cherry. but he didn't pop it into his mouth; he held it in front of you, an unspoken offering.

you hesitated, then leaned forward, biting into the fruit he held out to you. his fingers touched your lips▰only for an instant, hardly more than a suggestion▰but it made heat unfold in your chest nonetheless. you heart began hitting, punching, slapping your lungs & rib cage. beating so hard that it hurts.

percy grinned. "see? fleeing wouldn't be so terrible."

you swallowed, heart pounding. perhaps it was the angle of the sun on his face, or perhaps the way time seemed to be holding its breath, but something inside you burst. like a cherry when it gets squished.

before you had time to think twice, you leaned in, pressing your lips against his.

percy stopped in mid-motion for half a second. long enough for uncertainty to seep in▰but then his hand wrapped around your cheek, pulling you closer, deeper. the kiss was slow to start, tentative, like the manner in which the waves of the sea crash against the beach. but then he breathed against your lips, tilting his head to one side, & then it wasn't slow anymore.

your fingers went to his shoulders, curling into the collar of his shirt as he drew you onto his lap. the basket of cherries fell over, abandoned, fruit rolling across the blanket. his arms around your waist, holding you tight against him as his mouth worked against yours▰hungered, urgent, like he's been waiting as long as you had. like he's been craving your lips for decades as long as you had craved his'.

the flavor of cherries hung between you, sweet & intoxicating.

percy pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing unsteady. "we're going to be late for dinner," he whispered, a lazy smile pulling at his mouth.

you laughed, fingers tangling in his dark hair. "perhaps we should simply run away, then."

his hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly. "tempting."

you kissed him again, slow & lingering, as the cherry blossoms above you continued dancing.

perhaps you would take a bite.

© minorlyatfault, 2025.