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pursuitseternal · 10 months ago

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“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut

Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.

CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

The First Day…

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A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)

Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel

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You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”

Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.

Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.

You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.

And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?

You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.

“Leave me,” he barks back.

“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”

Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.

If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.

You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.

“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”

You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”

He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.

“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”

You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”

“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”

He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.

He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.

You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”

“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.

You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.

“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.

You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”

“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.

You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”

He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.

“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.

“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.

You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”

“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.

“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”

He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.

“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”

“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”

“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.

A bit nervously.

You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.

You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”

You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?

A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”

You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”

He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.

Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.

Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.

Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.

You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.

You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”

You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.

Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.

Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.

New words, new titles, same obsession.

Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.

Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.

You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”

Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.

“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.

“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.

“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”

You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.

“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.

“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”

“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”

“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.

“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”

“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.

Or, at least he lets you…

He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.

He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.

You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.

Not that you need it.

But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.

Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”

“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.

“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.

“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.

“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”

“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.

And you take full advantage of his ease.

You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.

He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.

But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.

You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.

Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.

Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.

His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.

A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.

“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.

Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.

You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.

You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”

You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”

“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.

“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”

“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.

“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”

He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.

And just for him.

You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.

A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.

Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.

His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.

He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.

“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”

You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.

“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”

You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”

“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.

“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.

Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.

They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.

It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.

He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”

You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.

He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.

“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

456 notes · View notes

roxygen22 · 1 month ago

Note

You know how everyone thinks Timothee looked sick/tired during the Dune event last night? Maybe a fic where he’d actually not feeling well and has to miss it and he’s extremely bummed but reader wants to him to rest because he’s been working so hard for his next project Marty supreme and it’s taking a lot out of him. Physically and mentally.

Thx ☺️ love you 😘

🥰 I hope you don't mind a slight tweak where he did go to the event but came home wiped out and irritable.

Written from female reader perspective.

Most Meaningful Role

You could sense Timothée's foul mood before he even reached the front door after the Dune 2 Q&A. It was evident in the little things - the speed at which he pulled into the driveway, how hard he shut the car door, the muffled growl when he dropped his keys trying to get inside. If he was a cartoon, you would have seen a little dark storm cloud floating above his head.

IG credit: tchallamett

The aura of the room changed dramatically as he stepped across the threshold. He never even verbally responded to your greeting. Instead, he flopped down on the couch next to you and laid his head on your lap.

You softly gazed down at the boy turned friend turned love of your life, trying to exude calming vibes to counter his ire. You noticed the purple circles ghosting his eyes masked the beautiful constellations of freckles you adored. Out of habit, you extended your hand to play with his hair, but you hesitated ever so slightly due its new shortness before diving into the longer locks at the top.

Timothée noticed, rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I know, I know, my fans don't like it either."

You gently tugged his hair to turn his face toward you. "They don't understand how much you sacrifice for your roles. How much you put your heart and soul - and health - into your craft. I- I'm worried about you."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You are exhausted all the time. I don't even remember the last time you came home happy. The last time you had the energy to go out on a date or a walk in the park or..."

You were interrupted by a low, exasperated grumble. Timothée sat up quickly and walked away from you to the kitchen island, all but slumping as he leaned with all his weight on outstretched arms on the counter's ledge.

Fed up, you continued. "Remember. I was here, watching you starve yourself for Beautiful Boy. I was here as you went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune 2 to ACU, and now Marty, watching as your poured your energy into your fans and work instead..." you paused, unsure whether you should continue down this path. "Instead of us. I can't believe they still have you doing press for Dune anyway. Isn't it a bit overplayed by now?"

You instantly cringed, knowing you had crossed a line as you saw his shoulders tense, which blunted your surprise as Timothée slammed his hands down onto the cold marble counter with enough force to rattle the silverware in the drawers below. He turned on his heel, insult clearly written on his face.

"Over-? Guess which movies paid for that brand new car of yours in the driveway, huh? Or this house?!" he snapped back heatedly.

"Timmy, I-"

He held up his palm to cut you off. "No! I had to listen to you rant. Now you get to listen. Acting is the ONLY thing I feel a little bit good at. Take that away, and I-" his voice faltered. "I have nothing," he finished quietly.

In the deafening silence that followed, you visibly deflated, shrinking into yourself and hugging your knees on the couch.

"That's - UGH!" Timothée groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. As you stared down at the plush carpet, you saw him tentatively pad closer in your peripheral vision. He sank to his knees when he reached the couch, looking up to lock eyes with you.

"That is *not* what I meant, Peach," he stated in a much calmer tone. "Without acting, I- I have nothing to offer. To you. The world. This face," he said, pointing to his own, "won't last forever. I have to make the most of it while I still look young."

"You're going to age prematurely if you keep up your current pace," you quipped tersely, breaking his gaze by moving your head to rest your chin on your elbow. "It won't be the end of the world to be typecast into the settled and married dad role, especially if that is what you are."

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. This wasn't how you wanted to tell him, but your emotions got the best of you.

Timothée sat back slightly. "I'm not a..."

You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. You shifted to look at him once again, your eyes now bloodshot from holding back tears.

"Dad?" he breathed.

You nodded. "I took a test this morning. Wanted to tell you when you got home."

"Oh. Oh, Peach! That's- I- " Timothée stammered. "You- we- we're going to have a baby?" he repeated with bewildered excitement. He practically launched himself from the floor, throwing his arms around you and peppering your cheeks with kisses while you laughed. He pulled back and held your face in his large hands, gently wiping a stray tear from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

It was heartwarming to see genuine happiness light up his face once again, even if just for a fleeting moment before his eyes fell to the ground. "This should have been a happy occasion, but you are probably going to look back at this moment and just remember me yelling at you. One of the most important moments of your life, OUR lives, and I stole the wind from your sails." Now it was his turn to cry as he rested his forehead on your knees.

You gave him a moment to wallow, using the time to carefully think through what you wanted to say. You carded your fingers through his chocolate locks. "Timmy, you will *have* to slow down and take care of yourself if you are going to play a meaningful role in your child's life and mine. Pun intended. Is- is that still a role you want?"

Timothée moved to rest his chin on your knee so he could look up at you with his red-rimmed puppy eyes. "More than anything."

He pushed himself up from the floor to sit beside you on the couch. "May I?" he asked nervously, gesturing his hand toward your stomach. The corners of your mouth pulled into a soft smile as you nodded, to which he replied with a huge grin. *This* was how you had pictured this moment.

Timothée gingerly placed his hand on your belly and laid his head on your shoulder, idly rubbing semicircles with his thumb. He exhaled a contented sigh while you resumed watching the sitcom his arrival interrupted. Within just a few minutes, his idle movements ceased, and soft snoring began. Amused, you rested your cheek against the soft pillow of curls atop his head.

"Rest while you can, love," you whispered as you laid your hand on top of Timothée's on your stomach and let out a contented sigh of your own.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List: @croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months ago

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Taylor!!! Happy 1k to you!!!!! So well deserved. Hope you’re having fun celebrating 💕

💫- “Do you have to leave right now?” “I can stay for a little while longer.” with big soft guy Frankie Morales please 🥰

Em xx

heat lightning

rating: teen pairing: frankie morales x f!reader word count: 1.1K summary: this is not your frankie warnings: angst, reader and frankie have a daughter, proceeds the events of the movie, everyone's having a really bad time a/n: thank you for your request, Em! i know i don't usually do angsty!frankie but i think this scene had been brewing in my head for a while and i wanted to try it out! love you so much and i hope you like it!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Frankie Morales Masterlist

When you were nine, your aunt and uncle divorced. An ugly thing – lots of crying, late nights up with your mother, arguments over the phone, loyalties tested, lines drawn in the sand. You didn’t understand much of it at the time, but there was always a moment that imprinted on your young psyche that has stayed there ever since.

You can almost smell the spilt wine on the carpet in the living room, hear your mother muttering and blotting with one hand, the other on her sister’s knee. You couldn’t see your aunt’s face from your perch on the staircase. Perhaps because it was elicit – you had been put to bed hours ago – or because you were curious – you had never seen an adult cry before – but you can recall the memory as if it were yesterday. From between the banisters of the stairs, only your aunt’s back was visible, hunched over and swaying as if unable to hold herself up right. It reminded you of your baby brother before he could hold his neck – precarious and loose in a way that was almost horrific in its vulnerability. She sways, back and forth, your mother’s hand on her knee - it’s alright, it’s just a spill, we’ll clean it up, don’t worry, it won’t stain – and then your aunt mutters the words you will forever remember for the rest of your life. The words butting up against each other, slurred on top of each other, she whispers:

“I woke up to a stranger.”

You think about your aunt and your mother and the fights and the wine and the calls and how you never saw your cousins much after that as you stare up at the shadowed ceiling, as lighting blinks reality white for a fraction of a second. Thunder rumbles, angry like your aunt, but for some reason you can’t feel anger. You don’t know what you feel but your jaw remains slacked, your joints sink into the sheets, your throat clear.

Another growl of thunder, a single shriek of the alarm clock at 3AM, and Frankie’s hand slaps it silent, the alarm unnatural and too loud, threatening to bring the ire down from some great furious eye. Rage you couldn’t begin to grasp at, but wished for. The fortifying self-righteousness of anger would feel lovely right now.

Instead, all you can hear is your aunt’s drunken words.

Beside you, Frankie is still through the next beat of thunder, the spark of lightning, and then he sits up. He faces away from you, shoulders rounded like your aunt, but firm and steady unlike your aunt. In the next snap of lightning, you watch the planes of his back glow, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. You could trace Frankie blind-folded if you had to. Your hand goes to him as it has an incalculable amount of times over the past few years, unaware of what your conscious mind knows: you can’t make him stay.

A stranger – how can he possibly be a stranger to me?

Your hand on his lower back stirs him, waking up to the heat of your palm.

“It won’t be long,” he says for the dozenth time, a mantra for him as well as you. “I’ll be back before Alejandra’s party.”

The Frankie you know, the Frankie you love would never even risk missing his daughter’s birthday. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband sees it as something worth losing, in favor of money. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband wants to provide, wants to prove there is a sliver of a better man beneath the coke addiction, beneath the suspension of his license. It wants to provide, provide, provide when all it does to you is take.

Neither of you know this now but it will take him over a month to come back, empty handed but filled to the brim with more nightmares than before. One month to the day of this night, you will google, “when is a missing person presumed dead?” and then close your laptop so hard, it shatters and you blow a hole in your bedroom wall with the force you throw it across the room.

This hulking thing in the shape of your husband is foreign to you, strange, but it still smells like him. Sounds like him. Has the same warm cup of his hands.

When you don’t respond, or even beg, he moves to stand, the slats under the bed groaning. He promised to fix those months ago.

He stands and your fingers curl around your husband’s wrist. Even the beat of his pulse sounds just like Frankie’s. But this is not your Frankie.

You hope to God and whatever else is listening that Frankie finds himself in the dark bowels of that wet jungle.

Your mouth dry and your own heartbeat loud in your ears, you look up at him, into those dark brown eyes that make up your whole world. They are unfamiliar to you as they watch you with an emotion you can’t ever remember seeing in his eyes before.

“I know you have to go,” and you do, you know this is something he has to do for himself, not for you or your daughter, but himself and there’s nothing you can do to stop him. “But do you have to leave right now?”

This hulking thing that smells like your husband, sounds like your husband, maybe loves you like your husband goes still. Beneath your fingertips, you swear his heartbeat slows. Lightning flashes again and you lose completely the shadowy outlines of his face in the total darkness.

And in that flash, his wrist slips out from between your fingers – this thing is going to be intentionally cruel as he cuts the cord and takes off with the soul of your husband – and then a broad hand slips down to your shoulder, your elbow. Gently pushing, guiding you back onto your side, he slips back under the covers, encasing your body in skin and warmth you know so well, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. His breath is soft, relaxing as he curls around you and you hate this thing even more because it really does a wonderful impersonation of your husband, the man you love, the man you will always love.

You let the tears come because you know they won’t break his fickle stone heart and you need relief.

He holds you as you cry, his nose in your ear as he says,

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

#1k followers #follower event #1k milestone #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie morales x ofc #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fic

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bluedalahorse · 6 months ago

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on flaws as opportunities and organizing the beef

I’m in the place now where I have enough distance from Young Royals season 3 to think about what felt flawed about it for me, and it led me to some interesting revelations about how I understand the characters and the story.

And to be clear: this does not mean I didn’t love season 3 with every fiber of my being, or that I think it sucks forever. Even a great production has flaws. The wonderful thing about being in fandom is that we love our shows deeply but also like to pick them apart, and in picking them apart we come up with ideas for future fics and fix its and character studies. Writing flaws are always an opportunity.

Anyway…

Thesis statement: Wilhelm and Simon don’t actually have the same beef with August, and the show should recognize that.

Or, to put it more formally, August causes them different problems that need to be addressed differently. I think that by acknowledging that more directly, and leaning into the discomfort that creates between Wille and Simon as a couple, the writers could have cleaned up some of the Wilmon-related messiness I saw in season 3 and have been mulling over for a while.

Caveat: I still need to do a full, formal rewatch of the third season. But I’ve rewatched here and there these are my preliminary thoughts.

To start, let’s recap Wille and Simon’s conflicts with August in season 1. For Simon, August is a bully and a gatekeeper when it comes to the world of Hillerska. He makes fun of Simon for being “socialist” and puts Simon in a position where he’s bringing in alcohol and then drugs for richer students’ recreation. August doesn’t pay Simon back for the alcohol the first time, which also shows a profound lack of awareness of Simon’s financial situation. Despite bullying Simon, there are times in August’s mind that he probably thinks he’s done Simon a favor. I do think, as flawed as he is about it and as much as he’s making weird speeches and doing aggressive forehead kisses, August assumes he’s really helped Simon out by getting him on the rowing team. But from Simon’s point of view this is all just more gatekeeping. Simon sees Hillerska as his ticket out of Bjärstad, and he wants to succeed in his merits as a student and a musician. But the way August treats him reminds him that his talent matters less than how many favors he can do rich boys. It also reminds him that he’s expendable to Hillerska students—August is absolutely ready to let Simon take the fall for the drugs when he feels it threatens his position.

Wille, meanwhile, is not excluded or gatekept by August but rather included more than he wants to be. Prior to the release of the video, Wille mostly finds August’s “come here and let me play your surrogate big brother” antics annoying. The debate over whether to let Simon or Alexander take the fall for the drugs is something that increases Wille’s ire toward August and makes it more serious, enough that we see Wille out August for his money troubles. But Wille also entrenches himself further in the system as a result of their argument—he still uses Alexander as a scapegoat, and he offers to pay August’s boarding fees afterward as an attempt to restore the peace between them. Their relationship isn’t seriously fractured until August releases the video. This harms Wille in the sense that it sets Wille up to deny his authentic self and makes it hard for him to engage in intimacy without trauma getting in the way. In essence, it puts Wille in a similar position of trauma that August was put in when the Erik and the third years initiated him. (Much much much more publicly, yes, but let’s note that transfer of trauma, because YR is about cycles.)

The video also throws Wilhelm into a space where he starts to doubt his connection with Erik, because Erik told Wilhelm he could trust August. At the end of 3.4, Wille tells August that Erik would hate what he did, but I suspect he’s been wrestling with the uncertainty over whether Erik would really accept him and Simon for a long time. I don’t know if Wille really trusts Erik even though he says he does. In my opinion, it’s August’s release of the video that first brings this sense of doubt about Erik into Wille’s mind, and for three seasons we’re watching him slow burn toward actually voicing that doubt and grappling with it.

I think it’s tempting to believe that the trauma of the video release unites Wilhelm and Simon against August, and makes them feel the same sense of pain and loss, but ultimately I don’t know if that’s true. I’m not sure I see Wille and Simon as two boys in love against the world, at least not in a way that isn’t complicated. For Wille, the video affects his ability to express himself authentically and makes him doubt his relationships with his family. For Simon, the scandal of the video will now forever follow him when he wants to break free of Bjärstad and become recognized for his own merits. These are different harms from the same event that need to be dealt with differently.

One of Wille’s flaws is that he doesn’t fully realize that. I think he tends to center himself without realizing it, and sees the harm that happens to Simon as an extension of harm to himself. I actually think this is pretty interesting, and pretty in line with how Wille would have been raised as a prince. We see Kristina telling him that everything he does reflects on her and the family, so it’s natural that Wille might see a threat against Simon as a threat to himself without really thinking through how they’re going to be impacted differently. And the “prince” as a literary archetype has always been somewhat rooted in the “rescue” of others.

I explained this to @heliza24 and she said something really smart, which is, “the thing that necessarily gets lost when you muddy that is how much Wilhelm’s violations of Simon resemble August’s violations of Wilhelm.” And she’s right. I’d been trying to find a way to say that some of Wille’s actions in s3 remind me of August’s more toxic traits, and that part of Wille’s hamartia in s3 is he can’t see the ways he’s behaving similarly to August even as he shuts August out. When August releases the video, it puts Wille in a position where the royal court and Kristina are forcing him to conform more-more-more, and to hide his authentic voice from the world. Wille in turn inflicts that on Simon, acting as the royal court’s mouthpiece when they want Simon’s songs or May Day pictures deleted. We see Simon worn down to the point where he’s almost fading away. It’s actually pretty upsetting.

To that end: I also can’t help draw parallels between Wilhelm’s insistence on public gestures of affection with Simon and the way August and Felice walk arm in arm after they get together, the way he clearly wants to be seen with her. I also look at the way Wille craves Simon’s constant emotional support—especially on the night of his birthday—and see August reaching out to Sara as his emotional support lifeline.

Now, for what it’s worth, I still don’t see Wille as this awful, irredeemable person. (I don’t see August as this irredeemable person either, for that matter, and this is part of why I see Wille and August’s healing as intertwined and interdependent.) But I do think one place that season 3 fell flat for me was in the way Wille never got to recognize that his own issues with August and Simon’s issues with August weren’t exactly alike. And for Wille to recognize that some of the things he’s trying to do to heal aren’t equally healing for Simon. (Seriously, I almost tore my hair out when Wille joined the choir. It wasn’t a romantic gesture to me—I found it creepy! Let Simon have one space to himself!)

It probably would have helped to have one scene where Simon articulates that to Wille, and really point it out. I get it if we don’t have time for Simon and August to resolve their shit in one season, and since Wille is the protagonist, he and August resolving their shit is going to take precedence. But when Wille and August are still at odds in the first part of the season, I do feel this vibe where like, Wille assumes he’s the avenger for wrong done to both him and Simon. And I kind of wanted to see that reckless avenger vibe get addressed.

@heliza24 probably describes this better than I do, but season three does have a habit of obscuring Simon’s agency from the audience, mostly so the writers can manipulate the audience’s reactions to Wilhelm and Simon, and especially so they can keep us in the dark about the fate of the Wilmon relationship during the breakup cliffhanger between episodes 5 and 6. I don’t know if this was the greatest choice, to dangle the cliffhanger over our heads, because it ends up moving a lot of Wille’s development into the last 10-15 minutes of the season and creates an issue in pacing and character arc. I wonder if they could have spaced his character arc out a little more and infused the tension into other moments and ideas. I think that could have been more satisfying.

Incidentally, this is a season 3 writing problem that’s foreshadowed in season 2 with the way Felice and Wille’s friendship is written. Felice essentially becomes Wille’s confidant as Wille attempts revenge on August. This makes sense, as Felice has her own beef with August based on how awfully he treated her in their relationship, and she’s friends with Wille, so it’s a natural alliance. But once again, it’s different beef, impacted by Felice moving through the world as a Black girl with a rich white mom, and not a white boy prince, and Felice never gets a chance to say so. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but it does matter because season 2 episode 3 ends with… Wille kissing Felice just to feel something!!! And at the beginning of episode 4 everyone’s talking about what happened and what might be a new relationship between Wille and Felice!!! Gosh does that remind anyone of Felice’s predicament in the middle of season 1? It sure does remind the random girl in the choir, who says Felice only dates bluebloods!

The thing is, I wish Felice had been able to make that comparison more explicitly in her conversations with Wilhelm. Things obviously don’t get as bad with Wilhelm as they do with August, and Wille and Felice talk things out. But Felice doesn’t get to express herself about that as much as I wanted her to, and we don’t get much of a sense as to whether or not this changes Felice’s views of Wille’s revenge plot. She forgives him pretty quickly, and I don’t know if she should have. Just a little more careful planning on the writers’ parts could have given Felice the agency she needed in season 2.

Anyway! Let’s talk about stakes. The stakes for Wilhelm in season 3 are that he’ll become August—or more accurately, that he’ll construct an armored facade like August has constructed to get through life, and that he’ll hurt other people in the process. (This is true for Wille even with him being queer, I think. Wille may be queer, but his whiteness and wealth and power and literal hired staff of PR-minded humans are going to frame how the rest of the world responds to that queerness.) Whereas for Simon, Sara, and Felice the danger is that, in order to maintain their place in the upper class system, they’ll become dependent on someone like future August or future Wilhelm, who has a lot of power and spends most of their life in armored facade mode.

Wilhelm and August reconciling is still important, because when they recognize one another’s humanity, they can actually be vulnerable with one another the way they need to be, and take that armor off. And I think by forging that relationship with one another, they have a space to really question the values they are raised with and act better to loved ones in the future. But we’re really just witnessing the first step. And there’s a lot more steps they need to take with one another, and with the other people in their lives.

What can I learn from this as a fan and writer?

Thinking about this actually helped me understand a point of view in fandom that I’ve always disagreed with. I still disagree with it, but I think I understand it better now. Periodically I’ll encounter points of view where August is seen as the worst kind of evil, the sort of person where you unite with each other to take him down once and for all. You know… Avengers Assemble! Or something. In some fan’s minds, he’s the kind of guy everyone at Hillerska should turn against at once and ultimately reject for the sake of narrative catharsis. A symbol of the corrupt system and nothing more.

And I never really saw August that way. He can be awful and annoying at times, and extremely harmful at other times. He often makes things much worse for our other main characters a lot of the time. Often times he is the most direct representative of the system that’s causing them problems. On the other hand, he’s also capable of really, truly caring about people and community, as much as he gets in his own way about it. We also know a greater extent of his trauma now and how it affects him. All in all he seems as human and as in need of liberation as all the other characters of Young Royals. It makes sense that he’s the one of five who hasn’t left behind the system yet, but I feel like one day he can maybe get there. I feel like those are the writers’ intentions, and the show’s intentions overall. Certainly this is also the version of August that Malte’s acting reflects.

I think I also understand now why I don’t always see eye to eye with others about Wille. I adore Wille, but I think sometimes the assertion others make that “Wille has one brain cell and it’s being in love with Simon” feels threatening to me rather than adorable. Wille is really really fascinating to me in that falling in love nudges him to question things about his position, but it doesn’t erase his relationship to his privilege entirely, and he can be pretty flawed in how he understands his power and how it plays out in a relationship. I think for others, they might see Wille as protective and caring toward Simon. Whereas I see him (and prefer to see him portrayed) as intending to be protective but definitely at times overstepping and putting Simon in a more negative place than before. I think part of this is caused by a writing problem in seasons 2 and 3. We see the negative impact the relationship can have on Simon—look it absolutely breaks my heart when Ayub mentions how Simon deleting his social media will make him sad—but I don’t know if Simon gets as much of a chance to articulate that to Wille or even to the audience as I want him to. And I also see Simon and Wille’s very different conflicts with August as part of that.

Moving forward… these flaws in seasons 2 and 3 don’t ruin my love of the show. They aren’t me saying the show is bad. They’re disappointing, because Young Royals is so good in so many ways that it sucks when it does let us down. But basically everything I like has a flaw one way or another, because literally no work is perfect. And right now I’d rather look at the flaws in YR and say, this is something I can learn from and play with in fanfic.

(And sometimes there are times when tumblr wants to explain all the flaws of a show away and idealize it and I wonder… can we not do that? Because sometimes claiming a show is perfect and flawless limits discussion and creativity. I get just as frustrated with people idealizing the Wilmon pairing and putting it on a moral pedestal, which has ultimately led to me blocking the tag from my dash. I like them a lot more when I think about them as complex teenage humans who fuck up a lot and not a godlike ideal of romance. I love them, your honor! But I think I need to love them independent of the tag.)

As for where this goes in fanfic, I think this once again leaves things open for fans to explore. Once again, I think there’s a whole interesting story to be explored in terms of how August and Simon work through their shit, and how that really has to happen in a space that’s in part independent of Wille. A shared relationship with Wilhelm might be the catalyst for why they’re working through their shit, but some of what’s going to happen has to happen without him there. (For what it’s worth, I think we see flashes of Simon and August beginning to understand one another throughout the series—Simon is running some really interesting mental calculus when he realizes August has an eating disorder, shout out to Omar’s acting there—but those threads always get dropped or interrupted. It’s infinitely frustrating to me as someone who likes both characters and wanted to see them talk honestly for once but didn’t quite get that.)

I also think this gives me interesting questions about where Wille and Simon’s relationship could go next in fanfic. Independent of the monarchy, I think Wille is still going to have to work through his instinct to be an angry avenger or reckless rescuer at times, and the part where he assumes he and Simon are harmed in the same way by the same things. Even in a world where Wille doesn’t have a title, he’ll still have wealth and white privilege that Simon doesn’t. And I don’t think that has to get in the way of their future happiness, but watching them navigate through that is something that draws me into a story idea.

So, you know. This has been an update on my fannish desires. At least, my fannish desires that do not involve the rest of the YR characters, various ships on Heartbreak High, and Interview with the Vampire season 2 finally airing today. There’s a lot going on in this brain and none of it is the work I need to get done.

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morgana-ren · 1 year ago

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You ever just think about the fact that Ascended Astarion didn’t make Tav a spawn, but a vampire bride? Just so his beloved wouldn’t go through what he did? Like think about it.

He says his transformation was painful and that he crawled out from his grave, writhing in agony as the vampirism took over. But for Tav? He made it painless, pleasurable, and brought her back from the brink before she could fully slip into death with his own blood. Once a vampire creates their bride, their happiness and well-being depends on her. This is the closest thing that a vampire can feel to true love, despite everything being twisted in his head now.

The love he feels for her is still there, oh absolutely. It's just been twisted into something ravenous and devouring. When he says he wants to spend eternity with her, he very much means it.

The way he feels for Tav can never be true love because true love is selfless, and he is not. It's more of a dark mirror into true love. Desire becomes uncontrollable lust, protectiveness becomes possession, care becomes control, and love becomes an all-devouring need.

The thing with needs is that they are not up for negotiation. They are essential, and demand to be obeyed. Astarion needs Tav once he ascends, so it's no longer healthy. It is especially no longer healthy because he genuinely does not give a damn what she has to say about it. She is his: his lover, his beloved, his consort, his Tav; his. She is bound to him body and soul.

That's part of why he turned her-- well, that and obviously he couldn't stand to lose her, and mortals are so terribly fragile. She cannot leave him even if she wanted to. He knows firsthand what it is to try and disobey your master, and he knows no matter how willful, she will never be able to disobey or leave. He was handed a Illithid-ex-machina to get away from Cazador, and the chances of that happening again are... practically zero.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't care for her. In a way, he cares too much. He still loves her. Those feelings still fester inside of him, whether he wants them to or not. They still absolutely have a crushing grasp on him, probably much to his ire. Vampires are capable of love, just not quite as we know it. It's unhealthy and obsessive.

He doesn't want to hurt her. There was no reason to make her transformation painful. In fact, he associated it with sex so it was probably rather pleasant for her. He takes her as his consort eternal, and he very much means that. He doesn't have any intentions of abandoning her. He's basically marrying her forever.

Like you said, he even gives her his blood. Something that he tells you is entirely unheard of for vampires. She's not his equal-- not quite-- but she's as close as he could logically without giving her the means to disobey and, Bane forbid, leave him.

That love is still nestled in him. Again, like you said, it's just been twisted now. What was pure and built on friendship and love and care flips to the opposite. Desire and selfishness rule his life, and by proxy, her.

Think of a beautiful bird you feed outside. It's a mutual understanding built on compassion and trust. It comes of its own free will, and you give of yours. But suddenly it's not enough. You don't want that beautiful bird to leave you. You don't want it to fly too far or seek other gardens. You want the bird with you always, to sing and perch and keep you company. So you cage that bird so it no longer has a choice. You hide the bird away so it can sing only for you, now and always.

He loves her eternal still. And yet, it can no longer be true love when one side no longer has a choice.

#morgana and friends #astarion spoilers

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deandoesthingstome · 2 years ago

Text

Walk with Me - Ch 1

Pairing: FBI Agent!Syverson x OFC, Drug Czar!August Walker x OFC

Chapter Summary: The stakeout, some revelations, a takedown of sorts. We're just meeting everyone here, folks.

Chapter Warnings: Drug use, mention of drug trafficking, mention of blow jobs, light dom/sub behavior, past relationship pining, cheating (-ish?)

Word Count: 3.1K

Masterlist: For full series Summary and Warnings

Spotify Playlist: Usually a song per POV section

Syverson

"He's on the move."

Agent Syverson watched all nine monitors with an intensity felt throughout the surveillance trailer. He had two agents inside the posh Miami nightclub wearing cameras and his tech had hacked into the security feed for views of the bar, near the DJ, and over the entrance to VIP. Through an earpiece, he advised Agent Ramos to shift right while he motioned for Agent Baylen to swap camera views on the top three monitors. Something had caught Syverson's attention and he wanted confirmation before deciding the next moves for his team.

When Ramos had panned far enough onto the dance floor, Syverson called for her to stop and had Baylen zoom in on the screen. Coupled with the cameras from the DJ booth, Syverson had what he needed.

He watched her body move with what seemed like reckless abandon, but if this was who he thought it was, those moves were anything but careless. There was a point and purpose to every swing and wave, every roll of her hips, every toss of her head.

"Sugar?" Syverson wasn't sure how the word slipped out because he was positive he only whispered it to himself in his head. But suddenly, eyes were on him and he felt his ire growing. He did not need this attention or the distraction.

"What was that, sir?" Agent Moore asked.

Did he ignore it? Wave it off? Pretend it never happened? If only one other person had heard it, maybe he could get away with it. But as it stood, all three agents in the trailer were looking at him expectantly.

"Could I get some damn sugar for my damn coffee?" he barked, a little harsher than even he meant it to come out.

"I thought you took your coffee black, sir," Moore spoke.

"Well not tonight, I guess." His stare shut them the rest of the way up and everyone put their focus back on the task at hand, which was all he wanted in the first place.

Now he could watch her in peace.

Her moves told him she was hunting and the poor sap desperate enough to stand next to her was going down. He knew exactly how it would feel, too, because he remembered those nights with her like it was yesterday.

Even so young he had fallen fast and hard. Maybe he was mistaken, but she acted like she couldn’t be without him, too. So he spent any free time he could find between farm chores, football practice, and family responsibilities to hold her close and kiss her as deep as he knew how at the time.

She seduced him right away, but prom was something special and he thought for sure she was the one forever. He never got the chance to tell her how he felt, however, because it had taken him the rest of senior year to figure it out and by then, she was gone, moved away with her family to take care of an ailing relative far enough away that long distance felt like never again.

He called, she wrote, they managed one clandestine meet up on borrowed funds, and then it was his turn to disappear when he enlisted, not knowing what else he wanted to do with his life when sports didn't pan out and farm life lost its appeal.

But he never stopped thinking about her and the way she moved. On the dance floor and later that night in the cool sheets of the bed at the hotel room he sprang for. And now here she was, all these years later, like a cold splash of water to his face.

"Sir?" he heard like a faraway dream in his ear. "Do you want us to take him?"

Suddenly, she wasn't alone. Sure the dance floor was crowded, but until that moment she hadn't been dancing with anyone in particular. When his real mark for the night stepped into view, Agent Syverson almost broke the back of the chair he was leaning on.

August Walker, one of Miami's most notorious drug kingpins, was standing in front of his high school sweetheart and watching her with as much intensity as Syverson was. Only, August Walker could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.

Syverson watched as she danced around Walker, who simply stood stock still on the floor, not giving one single fuck if he was interrupting anyone's flow. And when Walker grasped her arm the next time she moved in front of him, Syverson almost broke.

"Anyone know who this is?"

"It's in the file, sir. This is Francesca Beaumont. We think she's his newest mule."

His throat went dry as Agent Moore finished her statement and he couldn't scramble for the file folder on the table in front of him fast enough. Sure enough, there in the report were the name and the details in black and white. Her photo was stuck behind those of a few other known mules and he cursed himself for missing it. That's not the way he liked to start off when taking the lead on a long running case.

And no wonder the name didn't stick out for him. In school, she went by Frankie. And her last name was Malloy. Had she married somewhere over the years, he wondered to himself.

Fuck.

"Stand down. I know we want this guy, but have any of you actually seen him do anything illegal tonight? Some rule out there about not dancing on a dance floor?"

He watched as cameras panned to follow August Walker who was now leading his Frankie away from the flashing lights of the DJ booth and up the stairs to his secured VIP lounge.

"Someone get me everything we have on her."

August

Francesca wasn’t supposed to be in the club tonight, August knew that for sure. He’d been very clear with her.

In the weeks since he’d activated her, she’d usually taken his direction so well. If she stepped out of line unknowingly, she was always willing to take a note and do whatever he asked of her to change her behavior. She was so pliant. Just like he liked them.

Her first test trip was to Amsterdam. She didn’t question it when he told her had to fly out early, but he’d meet her there. The morning of her flight, he had called to let her know his assistant was dropping off an extra suitcase he needed her to bring. And when she arrived, she didn’t even bat an eye when she discovered he had already left.

At least he assumed she didn’t mind because he didn’t get a scathing voicemail or fuck-off text message and she had apparently followed the directions on the letter left in her suite to a tee. The bag was delivered without a hitch exactly where he’d asked her to drop it and as far as he knew, she’d enjoyed the rest of her weekend, albeit alone. She’d just been so excited to experience a new city, she told him when she got back and he visited her apartment in the very late evening hours, slinking in by the alley entrance and slipping his key in the lock.

That had actually been his first request of her. A key to her apartment, so he could come and go as he pleased. After the few dates he’d taken her on, treating her to lavish meals and luxury car rides, she hadn’t resisted at all. What would he possibly care to take from her place, not the lowliest of studio apartments, but certainly nothing he would normally let himself be caught dead in.

She was something else, though. She had a presence that did not fit her surroundings. She didn’t have the kind of money he did, hell she didn’t even have the kind of money some of his lower employees did, hence her meager living situation. But she glowed with the grace of a celebrity. Someone who deserved so much more than the hand he thought she’d been dealt. If she kept up the good work, he’d reward her. Bring her along in a more official capacity. Give her a larger stipend, move her into a place he wouldn’t mind being seen in. Maybe even replace one of his current regulars with her.

Yeah, he really wanted to replace one of his current regulars with her. If he let himself think too long about it, maybe all of them.

As it stood now, she was on probation with him, whether she knew it or not. The Tokyo trip had also been a success, but she almost blew it for him when she started asking Hideo too many questions over cocktails. Later in the hotel room, he made sure to remind her who was in charge and when she was allowed to speak. She had liked that, too, he could tell.

So her showing up like this just before their trip to Spain in a few days was a surprise. When he caught sight of her, he had Mateo drive Candace home. Candace wouldn’t have known Francesca from a hole in the wall, but since he was going to put his newest carrier in her place once again, he couldn’t have Candace watching.

Once he was sure they were gone, he rose from the plush velvet couch of the roped off VIP lounge area, taking note that the new guy, Will, had stepped into Mateo’s spot without hesitation. It pleased August to know that his employees knew exactly what he wanted and needed, and when.

Usually.

August headed down the steps leading to the dance floor. The music was loud, bordering on obnoxious for him but this is what the club scene called for and here is where he did most of his original business which had led fortuitously to his new business. So he ignored the cacophony and stalked across the floor, not so much pushing the revelers out of his way as willing them to step aside.

When he reached Francesca, he stood still in front of her and let her keep moving in that way that left him no choice but to stiffen. She smirked like she’d won some unspoken competition and twirled again, bouncing to the beat and stepping around him. He didn’t look back, just waited for her to return, because he knew she wasn’t dancing away from him. Not after breaking rank and showing up uninvited like this.

When she finally did appear in front of him again, he grabbed her arm and pulled her quickly into his chest so he could speak directly into her ear. There was no way he was going to shout over the music at her.

“What exactly are you doing here, pet? Get a little lonely?” He pulled back to stare down into her face, pleased to find a small hint of terror. If he couldn’t will his women into submission, what good were they?

He bent again, “Do you want to walk with me somewhere private where you can tell me what this is all about?”

She nodded and he turned to leave the throng, still gripping her arm tightly.

Francesca

I wanted to make sure he hadn't forgotten about me. I knew it was risky, showing up when I'd been specifically warned to stay away until our upcoming trip. But on top of my worry about that trip, I missed him. As much as I hated to admit it.

He awoke such a fire in me. Feelings that had been missing for so long. Lovers had come and gone. But no one ever measured up to my first young lustful love. Not until August.

He made me crazy. Made me second guess everything I knew about myself.

The first night we were together, I was on my hands and knees in front of him faster than I ever thought possible. Most men were careful with me. Handled me with kid gloves, like I would break if the wind blew wrong.

But not August. He'd approached me at this very club, in much the same way he did tonight. Walked straight up to me and waited for an opportunity to speak to me when he was ready, whether I was or not.

I probably would have come right there on the dance floor if he had touched me that night, but he didn't. Not immediately. He just watched me. I could feel his lustful gaze as I circled him on the floor, and I made sure to turn back to him over and over again. Every time I turned away, I'd remember the look I saw in his eyes, and I'd spin right back to him.

He knew, too. Knew the way the hunger in his eyes was affecting me, no matter how hard I tried to resist. I didn't want him thinking he had the kind of control over me I imagined giving him, even from that very first night.

When I finally let myself dance for him and him alone, I saw the self-assured smirk of a man who knew who his conquest was for the night and I closed my eyes like that would keep him from knowing every thought that crept in.

I wanted him, and he was going to have me.

He didn't even touch me as he led me off the dance floor that first night. I followed him gladly, excitement buzzing through me, electrifying my core. He only turned back once to make sure I was following him to his personal lounge on the upper level of the club.

I didn't care if every person in that club knew I was about to get fucked by August Walker.

I was proud of it. There were plenty of girls vying for his attention that night, and I needed to make sure I was who he wanted. But no matter how much I wanted him to take me then and there, he kept me on a hook.

Oh, I tasted him that night for sure. Felt his lips against mine and his tongue as it slipped inside my mouth after he showed me the tip. He was gentleman enough to get permission before he put the ecstasy tab in, so I can't even claim coercion of any sort. I can't claim disappointment either, though I thought he'd let me feel his cock in my pussy that night.

Instead, he kissed me until my head spun, and then he watched me drop to my knees before him. I could see from the bulge in his pants, he was hard, and because I still had yet to figure out the game he was playing that night, I thought pulling his zipper down and releasing his engorged cock was just a preamble to the main event.

But for that night, August only wanted to fuck my mouth and I let him.

The filthy words he called down to me while I slathered my saliva all over his dick only made me wetter, and my mouth watered for him, too. He knew the effect he was having on me, coupled with the drug that coursed through my veins, and I loved every second of it. How could I not?

I worshiped his cock for what felt like hours. Licking up and down his shaft, circling my mouth around his head, stroking his base with my hand and jerking him off into my mouth.

Every time he wove his fingers into my hair, I willed him to pull, begged him through the tears in my eyes to hold me fast and move my head however he wanted to. I almost cried when he let go, but as soon as he was done spooning the coke into each of his nostrils from the tiny vial on the chain around his neck, he put both of his hands right back on my head and pumped his cock deep down my throat, coming with a roar that told me I'd satisfied something he'd been missing for a while. I smiled internally with that knowledge.

The next few weeks had been a whirlwind of seduction, and I was having a hard time differentiating just who was doing the seducing. When he invited me to Amsterdam, I was so excited. I imagined what fucking him in a foreign country would feel like.

But it was like he knew just how to keep me hanging on, giving me just enough of a taste of him before the trip to keep me wanting more. He completely avoided me for the entire trip. Sent word the day before our scheduled departure that he had to leave early and then put me in charge of that extra suitcase. When I arrived, our hotel suite was empty, with not one piece of his belongings left behind for me to hold on to. I never even saw him there. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

I kept my wits about me, though. Kept my disappointment to myself. I wasn't about to let him know how much I had ached for him for those days I was alone. And I'd been away from him often enough here in the States. But there was something about missing the opportunity to have his cock deep inside me while watching the light of a sunset in a different sky that had me questioning just how deep I was with this man.

I made sure to keep him close in Tokyo. And there was no way I was giving up an opportunity to fuck August in Japan. I may have offended his business partner, but I really didn't care. I wanted that dinner meeting over and done so I could pour myself over him and take his mind off the women who were serving us.

I knew Hideo had chosen those girls for particular reasons, and I wasn't about to sit idly by and let them whisper and giggle and tease and taunt his attention away from me. They weren't the kind of woman August truly desired anyway; they were mousy and timid, even with their advances.

I knew he was angry with the way I comported myself in front of his associates, but it didn't stop him from letting us both work out our frustrations on one another for the rest of the trip.

So when he told me to stay away for a few days this time, I knew something was up and I was right. I knew her name was Candace, but I still didn't know much about her other than I was worried he was about to hand my seat to Spain over to her, and I couldn't let that happen.

Taglists

And so here I was, being led by a firm grip on a walk to his private office. Exactly where I wanted to be.

Chapter 2

Everything Henry: @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @kebabgirl67 @fvckinghenrycavill @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @feelmyroarrrr @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @dedicated-to-a-brit-and-a-scot @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @lizzystuffsthings

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Missing Tags: If you asked and you aren't here, believe me when I say I tried. I still don't know how to fix it when Dumblr won't let me tag someone. You can always turn on notifications or follow #walk with me.

#henry cavill #fbi agent!syverson x ofc #drug czar!august walker x ofc #syverson #syverson au #august walker #august walker au #syverson fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #captain syverson #walk with me #mine #deandoesthingstome

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sabraeal · 2 months ago

Text

to all the ghosts, Chapter 4

[Read on AO3]

Written for @kirayaykimura, who gets to receive all of my post-manga chapter soowon/lili ramblings. I am MANY DAYS late on this birthday fic, but thankfully I managed to squeeze it out before the crush of obiyukiweek!

As king, Soowon had been the conqueror. His armies served as Kouka’s sword and shield both, bringing kingdoms and despots to their knees, and yet—

Yet in the end it had been him prostrate on cold stone, his weakened body aching, nauseated from the effort of existing under the oppressive weight of the consort’s killing intent. He had been too proud to tremble, too stubborn to retch, but with every passing second his skin prickled with anticipation, certain that he could feel the sting of the guandao’s keen edge on the bared flesh of his neck. That even as he crouched there, ragged breaths painting the pavilion, the blade slipped between the segments of his spine, severing the tangled thread that kept him tied to this failing body.

It felt like mercy.

There was no room for warmongers in the world Yona meant to build, least of all broken men. Or so it had seemed, until the blade failed to fall. Until Soowon stood, facing the stiflingly silent crowd, and began to understand just what shape his punishment was meant to take.

Still, it comes as cold comfort that this is not the most desperate reunion he has attended on his knees.

Ice snakes down Soowon’s spine; an insidious chill, settling deep in his bones and seeping into every pale corner of his too-human flesh. His breath could mist in the air if enough of it could escape to make a difference. The queen might stand eye to eye with most men of Kouka, but she falls short of Hak’s looming inches, the strong set of her even armored shoulders lacking the imposing breadth of his. They aren’t armored now— at least, not that Soowon can see, swallowed up beneath the generous swath of her cloak— but she doesn’t need bronze or bone to protect her when her bearing is as implacable as any army he has ever met on the field.

Her reputation may be as bloody as his, her ruthless pragmatism memorialized in just as many poems, but there is no sword in her hand, no arrow’s point grazing the vulnerable column of his throat. The men in her shadow may be considered armed even without steel, but like him, the queen’s hands are harmless bare. Clean.

The same cannot be said for their conscience. He sees it in the tremble at the corner of her mouth, in the way her fingers stiffen instead of clench. She will not kill him, not today, but— only just.

“Your Majesty,” he manages, so even, more stall than statecraft. Manufactured space to think, to decide just how he would navigate this meeting on his knees and still maintain a modicum of Kouka’s authority. “To what do we—?”

“Princess Kouren!” Every trained hand races to touch its blade, but not a one of them manages to lap Lili. “Oh wait, no— Your Majesty! You’re a queen now, aren’t you? Or is that only after all this coronation stuff is over?”

The room is strung tight, blades quivering like struck strings in their sheathes, ready to fly at the barest strum— and all because of a slip of a girl, a mere streak of black and blue painting herself across the three steps it takes to throw her arms around Xing’s queen. It would be amusing, if the situation weren’t so deadly serious.

“Are you all right?” A ridiculous question when she’s the one with a half dozen blades pointed at her back— but Lili’s never once bothered to notice the danger she’s in, and Soowon can hardly expect her to start now. “You’ve been doing well, haven’t you? It’s been forever since we’ve seen you, and you never write…”

Those too-clean hands splay in the air, hovering mere inches from Lili’s shoulders; eyes that had seemed so cool mere breaths ago now sat wide and uncertain. Soowon may have first come to Xing as its conqueror, but still, he has never seen its queen so thoroughly routed. She might have anticipated steel and subtlety or iron and treachery, but Xing’s queen had not accounted for the unerring accuracy of Lili’s regard, as ruinous as any loosed arrow.

Were he a more feeling man, Soowon might pity her. Instead, he is only bemused by the Water Tribe’s wayward daughter and her penchant for taking ruthless royals beneath her wing. How fortunate that the war had not lingered on long enough for her to get it in her head to ride out towards Kai. There were few indignities Soowon had not learned to shoulder since he’d been cast down from this throne, but suffering through a simpering Chagol would have taxed even his tolerance.

“Lady Lili.” Fingers tremble as they press against Lili’s back, cutting perilous crests into the blue wave of her robe. Cautious, at first, then clenched, and with no more than a ragged sigh, Xing’s queen does not so much clasp as collapse around Kouka’s most stymieing noblewoman. “Forgive me. There has been so much to say— too much for mere letters. But I have been remiss in not making the attempt.”

“You have,” Lili agrees with her usual petulance, stepping back with a pout far more playful than any she’s ever swung in his direction. “I’ve had a lot going on too, you know! Yona made me her advisor, for one. And now my father’s talking about me taking over the headship, even though I’m definitely not general material.”

Xing’s queen slants her gaze over the thin slip of Lili’s shoulders, lingering significantly upon every gripped hilt. For a moment, Soowon is nearly certain that her mouth curls, but if it does, it is so subtle as to disappear between one blink and the next, more apparition than amusement. “I do recall a letter in which you imparted a similar sentiment.”

“Because it’s true.” Lili does not quite disentangle herself from the queen’s grip, but she does lean back, fixing the unerring arrow of her attention onto the masked man at the royal heels. “You’ve brought Vold with you? Is Tao here too, or—?”

“Princess Tao is in residence at the palace for Her Majesty’s coronation,” the man— this…Vold explains, cloth tugging across his mouth in a way that nearly implies a smile. “She will be glad to know you are in fine health, Lady Lili.”

“But shouldn’t you be with her?” A single glance at the guard to the queen’s other side is enough to convey she doesn’t recognize— or think much of— him. Just like every other man under thirty. “You’re one of her stars, aren’t you? If anyone’s going to follow Kouren around, I would have thought it’d be Yotaka.”

“I did not intend to make this an official, public visit.” The queen’s hands flutter back beneath the dark swath of her cloak, mouth tilting wryly. “And though there is no question of his loyalty, Yotaka is hardly the most…discreet of all my stars.”

To put it mildly. The war may seem like a lifetime ago, a calamity that happened in a different age, to a different man, but a wild storm of gray slumped between his soldiers stays vivid in his mind, a man wounded enough to still be bleeding through the bandages hidden beneath his robe— but still, his chin never dipped, never even trembled as he raised it to meet the gaze of the man certain to be his death. I always thought the son of a demon would have a more grotesque face.

“I had meant to only take Baram to meet you, but when my sister caught wind of my plans...” Another twitch at the corner of her lips, a ripple in the still lake that is Xing’s queen.

“I’m afraid Princess Tao was quite insistent I come along.” The masked man bows his head, humor hidden in every angle. “Part of her eagerness to renew your acquaintance, Lady Lili.”

“I’m excited to see her too! It’s been forever. But, wait” —Lili whips around with absolutely none of the accusation she would have leveled were he the recipient rather than Xing’s queen— “how did you know we were in Kyuu? We weren’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.”

“I received reports about a commotion in the market between a known swindler and some foreign woman.” One royal brow lifts, an invitation to fill in the rest of the details herself. “When I sent my men to investigate the issue, I was told that a young woman matching your description had left in the company a tall, soft-spoken man fair of both face and hair. Though we hadn’t known which of the Empress’s advisors would be sent with Lord Soowon, it seemed likely that you had both come ahead of your procession…”

“I…” Soowon would hesitate to call anything about Xing’s queen warm, but there is something like it in her eyes when Lili gapes, mouth opening and closing like the koi Joon-gi kept in his gardens. “But…”

“It seems, Lady Lili,” he says, deceptively bright. “Your confidence in our disguises was quite unfounded.”

If glares could kill, the one Lili whips at him would render his flesh to little more than a royal pile of ash. However it cannot, and he survives, offering her his most mild smile.

There is little that delights him, but Lili’s huff comes close, arms clamping shut over her chest with all the finality of the gates of paradise. “I wasn’t with him. He just showed up!”

The queen’s eyebrow lifts. “As you say.”

Her stare skips over Lili’s shoulder like a stone over still water, but it’s his stomach that sinks when it settles on him. It’s different than the last time they came face to face— him the benevolent conqueror and her a supplicant brought to her knees by little more than circumstance. Loathing and contempt had radiated from her as she knelt in her borrowed robe, both bust and bandages exposed as it hung from the bare bones of her shoulders. But now her eyes meet his, and they are not curious or caustic or conspiring but assessing. Less a sovereign surveying a threat, and more a monger at market, weighting the profit of a purchase against its loss.

It’s a relief when she finally turns it on Judoh instead.

“Forgive me my poor manners. I came here as a guest.” Xing’s queen draws to her full height, and even unhorsed, unarmored, she is every inch the fearful form that had cut across the plains of Kai. “Vold.”

The masked man straightens, eyes drawn to his queen like ore to a lodestone. “Your Majesty.”

“Talk to the proprietor. Have him bring a pot of his best blend. And whatever he considers the best of the inn’s offerings.” One large hand unfurls, benevolent smile never quite reaching her eyes. “There is much to discuss.”

Lili’s barely got her chopsticks around a slice of pork belly when Soowon just slides right out and asks, “To what do we owe the honor of Your Majesty’s attention?”

If she could have reached— which she can’t, not unless there’s some way to pass right through General Judoh and his impenetrable abs without another lecture— she would have put an elbow right into his side. Let the spur of it sink right into his squishy little tofu belly. Maybe then he’d finally learn a set of manners that didn’t end with him smiling over a steel edge.

Thankfully, Kouren is a reasonable person. Instead of telling him to mind his own business— like Lili would, if he tried to take that arch little tone with her— she simply smiles, folding her hands neatly over her lap. “I’m afraid that after her time in Xing, I found myself quite inspired by Yona’s example. When I heard that Lady Lili— and yourself, of course, Lord Soowon— were in Kyuu, I imagined that I might be able to surprise you in town so long as I could pass myself off as one of the townsfolk.”

“How charming.” Soowon’s eyes do that stupid squinch at the corners, the one meant to make him look harmless when all Lili gets is constipated. “My cousin will be honored to hear that you remember her so fondly.”

Kouren’s not silly enough for all this squinting and posturing— she’s a real queen, the kind that cleaves through injustice, that dons armor and commands the respect of her generals, that speaks and is listened to despite being born a daughter instead of a son. So when she answers Soowon, it’s head-on, straightforward and unerring as a spear. “That is her gift, I think. Being remembered fondly.”

Her father may have wanted her to be a wife rather than a general, but even Lili can’t miss the unspoken, unlike you. And Soowon certainly doesn’t, the silk of his spider’s smile stiffening where it’s spun across his face.

“Congratulations are in order, it seems, even if they are much overdue.” There is no twist when Kouren’s attention turns upon her— not even the slightest hint of torsion— but simply an incline of her chin. A nod almost, eliding into a hint of a smile. “I will have to compliment Her Majesty in the wisdom she has shown in the selection of her advisors the next time we speak.”

Lili squirms on her knees, hoping Kouren can’t make out the pleased flush spreading over her cheeks. “It’s really not that big a deal. I think I’m just the only Water Tribe member she knew besides my father.”

It’s the sort of humility that would get Kouka ladies fanning themselves, long sleeves fluttering as they rushed to titter and fawn. They’d be all-too eager to assure her that the empress would surely need a woman’s voice to keep her council comfortable, that somehow Yona might quail beneath the weight of a man’s opinion without another female to shore her up.

Kouren only frowns. “It is no easy matter to weed out tradition by the root, not even with the love and support of your people. To disband the council of generals and replace every voice on it…Her Majesty would not have chosen any one of them lightly. Least of all yours, Lady Lili.”

“Well sure, right, I know that. I was only…” Her teeth snap tight over, being polite. All those months in the palace might have gotten her brushed up on her bowing and blushing and composing poetry-perfect scraps of practiced humility, but no one in this audience will be impressed by it, least of all the woman who would have bled out to save her kingdom.

But it’s too late to protest now, too late to insist she does know her worth— how can she not when there’s a fool like Kan Tae-Jun seated beside her, barely knowing his left from his right let alone the price of rice? Oh, sure, he might have her beat when it comes to logistics, especially when it comes to supplying the remote villages in their most far-flung territories, but common sense—

“It was a necessary change,” Soowon says smoothly, that stupid squint still looming over his smile. “Keeping a council of generals would hardly lend much credence to my cousin’s new era of peace, after all.”

Kouren’s expression shutters with a speed meant to catch fingers on the sill. “You hardly need to tell me. For too long Kouka’s kings have allowed their warhawks to pick the carcass of this peninsula, playing at conquest when all they care for is plunder. Yona has done well to rid her ears of their whispering. If only the rulers before her had been as wise, they would have done it long ago.”

The barb’s so pointed Lili’s surprised it doesn’t actually draw blood. And yet Soowon doesn’t even flinch; no, he just sits there, that too-wide smile of his softening until his eyes lose their squint. Something real haunts the corners of it when he says, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Lili’s never been much for spirits— oh, she might let herself get a chill from a good story, or have her own imagination run wild when she’s strode halfway down a too-dark hall, but that’s for fun, not because she actually believes in that sort of stuff. But as Soowon settles back on his heels, less diplomat and more decoration, she could swear she sees through the edges of him, like a spirit caught in sunlight. That she’s watching him fade the longer she sits here, keeping her mouth shut.

He’d been Yona’s enemy once— and Kouren’s and Tao’s and maybe hers too, if she sat down and thought about it real hard, like she tries not to— but he’s also never expected her to perform for him, to play sweet Lady Lili and pour out tea and flattery while he does her the honor of tolerating her attention. And, well, that might be a weird way to make a friend, but that’s what he is whether she likes it or not, and a friend wouldn’t just let him shit all over himself without saying something.

She just wishes she could come up with something better than, “Ayura will be sad she missed you.”

Both queen and conqueror look up as one, blinking in tandem. It would be eerie, if she wasn’t so busy trying to sound normal, to notice. “I left her back at the castle with Yona. I mean, since we were already taking Judoh, it seemed a little...”

Redundant, that’s what Judoh called it, while Yona’s mouth pursed tight. But Hak had nodded, agreeing with whatever math generals did to decide these sorts of things, and she’d done the same. But it felt strange to say it now, like maybe she thought of her guards as completely interchangeable, not people but pawns she could swap out when it pleased her, no emotion whatsoever.

“Much,” she settles on, lamely.

“A pity,” Kouren says, and to Lili’s surprise, she’s sincere. “I had hoped to give my gratitude to all of you, when we next met. But I promise you, you will be safe here, even without both your retainers.”

Lili blinks. “O-oh, I didn’t mean to say that I…I mean, that you…” Ugh, Yona picked her to come here because she was supposed to be able to word better than her limp sheet of a cousin, and here she is, unable to string a sentence together that won’t cause a diplomatic incident. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It’s an honor for you to take such interest in us.”

She can’t bow over her hands like she should— at least, not without an awkward shimmy or knocking over her whole dinner— so she settles for a sedate bend at her shoulders, palms pressed tight to her thighs. It’s a pretty good compromise, in her opinion, but when she looks back up Soowon’s got his eyebrows all lifted— practically a guffaw when it comes to him— and Kouren’s got one corner of her mouth hitched up, like she’s considering a smile.

“It is the least I can do.” Kouren glances toward where Soowon sits pushing rice around in his bowl, trying to make it look touched, if not eaten. “Xing must have left you with a sour impression during your last visit. I do hope that you will for once get to see it as it is meant to be seen.”

Soowon shakes his head. “I could say the same for Kouka. If Xing had not helped with our efforts to rebuild, my cousin’s reign would not have started with such a stable foundation.”

Kouren waves a hand. “Think nothing of it. It was Xing’s great honor to help Her Majesty in her time of need. I would not have a country if Yona had not reached out her hand to me during mine.”

“You are too kind.” Lili nearly rolls her eyes at how practiced the words are, a reflex rather than any actual feeling on Soowon’s part. “Though I am sure that my cousin and her consort would be happy to receive you again, so you may see Kouka at its best.”

“I would like that. Very much.” Her mouth tilts, wry. “Perhaps we shall see after this coronation.”

“Yes.” Soowon’s fingers tighten on his chopsticks, smile stretched up to a squint. “I suppose we shall.”

#liliwon #soolili #wonlili #akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #my fic #future fic #to all the ghosts #any #this marks the first fic i've managed to complete post-covid #and god it took FOREVER. soowon did not want his POV to be written #but finally we're getting to the politics part of this fic #there's only some undercurrents here #but i think next chapter we'll be jumping into the thick of it #SO I THINK NOW. this fic likes to surprise me :/

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buffyfan145 · 3 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/buffyfan145/758636328461221888/i-honestly-feel-like-i-am-going-to-be-crying-for?source=share

This made me think of Sauron's equation with that one being who changed the entire course of his life: Morgoth and how much that could've influenced his later outlook on 'relationships'. It was mentioned by Tolkien in one of his letters that what made Sauron less evil initially was his strong sense of loyalty which came from a genuine place. And, for whatever it was worth, Sauron stayed loyal to Melkor for a long time. Whether he was drawn to the latter at first out of admiration, fear or a mere desire to manage things with more autonomy, remaining by Morgoth's side for a prolonged period of time would certainly have had its side effects. His failures - such as losing the Silmarils - would have earned Morgoth's ire for it was a relationship based on control and subjugation.

His words to Galadriel about a 'great, clenched fist releasing its grasp from his neck' after Morgoth's defeat have been interpreted by some as a tactic he employed to sway Galadriel to his side. Yet there also lies a possibility that there was a degree of sincerity in his words. It stands to reason for him to experience genuine relief after he was freed from his master's yoke and,yet, that bond had left its mark on him not unlike how abusive relationships mentally and emotionally impact us long after we're done and over with them.

What makes his deception of Celebrimbor more grave is that Sauron could've had a sincere relationship with him. They shared talents, skills and a mutual desire to fix and beautify ME. Brimby definitely trusted his friend Annatar for quite a while. Yet, Sauron messed it up because he, most likely, wanted to engage with relationships on his terms and he, more or less, borrowed Morgoth's toxic template of domination and servitude coupled with his need to be in control which proved to be ruinous for poor Brimby who defied him later on. This further implies that mayhaps this is the only kind of dynamics that Sauron understands,in most cases, for Melkor drilled it into him and he repeated the cycle. On that note, I'm so looking forward to seeing Annatar and Celebrimbor's scenes because I feel they'll be both heartbreaking and, yet, fascinating.

Now, I'm putting my shipping goggles on 👓

Galadriel was an exception for I see her as the only one before whom Sauron could be honest, even as he was trying to 'deceive' her. Her passionate spirit was worthy of admiration and she was not above using underhanded means to achieve her goals. Yet, she remained steadfast in her beliefs and was committed towards her purpose which is, by all means, a righteous one. There is enough reason for Sauron to view her as a kindred spirit because, in his perspective, his objective to heal Middle Earth was righteous and, like her, he too had been betrayed and cast away at that moment. He fumbled the bag when he said that saving and ruling is all the same to him but that can very well be interpreted as him being truthful to her instead of telling her what she wanted to here. That could explain his outburst after she rejected him because he had, as good as, laid out his heart bare before her and she turned him away. I wonder whether this anger plays a part in his treatment of Brimby and his actions in the face of the latter's resistance. Maybe he'll have a cynical mindset because he tried to be genuine once and it didn't work so maybe Morgoth's way was the right way, etc.

Galadriel's rejection of him would've certainly been frustrating on many levels because this was probably his only chance of having a relationship with someone on an equal footing which was what he needed. It's something that was never possible with Morgoth and will never be possible with anyone else in future. That could be another reason why he kept chasing her forever. But he made his choices, and she hers. As a result, while she ascended and broke free of what was holding her back, he sank further into the abyss. Reminds me of this little quote again: "The sun that lay on Lothlórien had no power to enlighten the shadow of that distant height."

And, now I have to go get some tissues. This is a colossal tragic mess in the making and I'm going to eat every morsel that's given.

This is such a great post!!! 😀 I agree with everything you said and Sauron really is continuing the cycle of abuse that was done to him. It's going to be hard to watch at times but I'm looking forward to seeing how they do this. This show opened my eyes so much to how tragic Sauron's story is and what he became as he fell and how he started off so high. Then poor Celebrimbor. He is a victim of this and Sauron is going to take out so much on him. And I see the same now too with Haladriel and how they were equals and could've worked if he really had repented and changed. Like you said it's such a tragic mess.

#asks

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burning-academia-if · 9 months ago

Text

10k+ Plays Bonus: Beck's Short Story

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Snapshots from the life of a boy where love wasn't enough.

CW: depression, suicide ideation, suicide attempt, forced hospitalization, systemic abuse, implied racism, death of family member

A/N: Thanks again?? for 10k plays (now 11k)?? This is both for that and because I'm planning on doing all the ROs backstories! Plan is for Zoe's to be after Chapter 2's release, Lars after Chapter 3, and Rhea after Chapter 4! Hope you enjoy! Also this one is arguably the roughest of all the back stories, so please mind the content warnings and take care of yourself!

The light hurt his eyes, but everything hurt. His lungs were still burning, reaching up into his throat. When he’d woken up, arm sore and bruised, and chest half caved in, the orderlies had done everything they could to ease him into the situation. He’d watched them, body collapsing under its own weight. They were a blur of faces. He’d gone back to sleep.

(He did not remember the true events of his first waking. It had not been a calm affair. There had been hands, needles jamming into skin, sobbed accusations. People had tried to talk, to soothe. Nothing had registered save for the feeling of freefall. It’d taken his second waking for a hollowed-out calm. He hadn’t spoken then. He hadn’t spoken for days.)

A familiar string tugged his heart awake. He raised his head, before slipping out of bed. It was all warm colors, not the white of hospitals. Bare feet cold against the tile, he stumbled forward, out the door and down the hall. Eyes watched him, but he didn’t register a thing. Instead, he walked past doors and a common area (filled with other teens and kids who saw him, but who he didn’t see, not yet). Then into another hall, and finally a door.

When he knocked, a woman’s voice called out and he opened it. It was a cold hug, the warmest kind he’d had in a year. The door slid closed behind him. The doctor raised her head.

Although she did not smile, her eyes were soft, “Beck Castro. I was waiting for you to feel better, before I talked to you.”

He worked his jaw, trying to remember the shape of his voice, “There’s death here.”

“Yes, there is.” She had dark hair and dark eyes and certifications hung off the wall. “I’m Dr. Ridge. I won’t make you talk, but since you’re here, I have something to give you.”

She reached into a drawer and he cautiously sat in a chair across from her at her desk. Whatever she grabbed, whatever she held out, sang out the song of death. He reached out a hand. A simple rosary fell from her hand. The beads were made of real roses. He’d know, he’d helped make it once upon a time.

The world was still. The wooden cross dangled from its chain. The image of an old woman knelt in prayer flashed through his mind. Humid heat, seeping into worn down buildings, the smell of salt and brine in the air.

The world was shattered. He pressed the rosary to his chest and cried until it hurt.

His favorite month of the year was the one spent in Puerto Rico. The cousins and aunts and uncles he’d see only then, extended family members he didn’t even know the words for and old family friends. Tastes like no where else. The candy like flavor of quenepas, the sweetness of local avocados, the coolness of a fresh cut coconut. His cousins would laugh, crying tourist, and he’d laugh and say he’d take all their food then.

Beck could exist in those moments forever, but his favorite part of each visit was seeing mamí again. He wasn’t sure whose grandmother she was officially, but she was a pseudo grandma to all the kids. Under five foot tall with white hair stark against brown skin and wrinkles that mapped out her entire life, she was the most loving, strictest woman ever.

The kids would duck in and out of her home, avoiding her in fear of her ire, only to come back the next day to help harvest the quenepas that grew in bunches around her house, or take to the kitchen to help with cooking or cleaning. Her home was the center of his family, and he’d grown up sitting on the floor of her living room, listening to her life stories.

It was during one of the summers there when he’d first kiss a girl, and the next summer kiss a boy. He’d quickly learn that he’d kiss anyone if he liked their heart enough. And when he’d walked back to mamí’s house, sweating from humid air and nerves over his newfound realization, she’d been sitting on the porch.

He hadn’t needed to say anything as she eyed him and said in Spanish, “Don’t let that boy break your heart.”

Beck didn’t know how she knew, but it made it easier. Months later, he’d find the courage to tell his parents, but it was only because Mami had reacted to it as she would with anyone before sending him in to set the table for dinner.

Mamí was also the first one to realize he could see ghosts. In the little town most his family lived in, was a small cemetery packed with large gravestones worn down by salt. When he’d walk back, groceries in hand, he’d feel the way death would sing and his gaze would turn. He’d stand at the edge of the gates, enraptured by their weeps and helpless to appease them.

She’d caught him on that same porch, and sometimes he believed she saw all the universe from right there. She’d said, “Lo ves los muertos. La triste sigue.”

“No estoy triste, estoy bien.” And why would he be sad, like all the dead that he saw? No, he wasn’t sad. He was bundled in the warmth of his family, he had the brightest smile of them all. He was too young to know, that only those whose heart bled sadness could ever see the dead.

Mamí told his parents, and his parents had proceeded to spend his early teens warning him not to let the Board know. His aptitude with magic was as easy as breathing, a feat rare for most teens. Where most would take their yearly aptitude tests starting at thirteen and ending at eighteen, the Board had requested he’d start at ten.

Every year, during the scheduled appointment, his dad would hesitate by the door when it was time to leave. He’d place a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Beck looked up at him, at the hair starting to thin around his head and the fine line of wrinkles tracing every second he’d laughed and smiled throughout his entire life. Beck couldn’t imagine growing old, but he also wished, during the moments he almost could, that his face would be the same map of joy.

That joy wasn’t there, in those moments, “It’s rare to see the dead, and the Council is always keeping an eye out. If the Board notices, they’ll report it. And if they do, you’re not—”

He could never finish the sentence, but Beck knew anyway, “If you want me to hide it, I’ll hide. I’m sure we’ll be ok, right?”

So he’d smile with the warmth of a morning sun and his dad would ease his grip and his mom would hurry them out before they were late, and it was all going to be ok. There was no ending in sight.

Once, during what he’d later learn to be his last visit to the island, his family had celebrated his birthday as they always had. Him and his cousins ran through the small streets of town until they made it to the empty beaches (the kind tourists would never find because the kind of town they lived in was too poor. Too broken down. Too weather worn, for any of them to ever love. But Beck loved it, and he always would. A blessing and a curse). Some would take off their shirts and others would dive into the water without bothering to change.

Beck’s voice, loud and bright, would call “You know the rules, whoever finds the most sand dollars gets the first of mamí’s mofongo.”

As if it was a special treat, they’d scatter and laugh and if they were lucky, they’d find one. By the time they were tired and warm from sun and laughter, they’d find a truth which had persisted for years, since they started this game. Beck’s hands were full of sand dollars, all unbroken and various shades.

When they’d rush back, they’d complain to mamí and ask how Beck always found so many, and she’d laugh and say it was because his heart was so bright it attracted many things. His sixteenth was different. After they came home and his grandmother laughed, she followed him to the cramped little bathroom with a sadness swirling in her dark brown eyes.

“El diablo vive en tú corazón, y yo también.” She’d said, pressing a hand to his heart and hers.

The devil lives in your heart, and mine as well.

In the years that followed he’d wonder what she’d meant.

Until the year came where he learned exactly what she meant.

His sixteenth year of life had been different. Not just because his family had made it a point to spend an extra month at the island for his birthday, or because the whole of society treated sixteen like it was special. It was because of the way his magic had started to settle in his chest.

Beck was as imperfect as any other teen boy, but it wasn’t the same imperfections as them. It was not violence or crude humor or fake bravado or shoving emotions into a box because they weren’t allowed to have them. It was him behind a glass, looking towards the rest of the world. It was him, spilling love into others and having love spilled into him, but his heart not holding it. It was him not recognizing the sound of his laugh, or taking a moment too long to register his face in the mirror.

This was not the kind of beast that should be named. It was not the color of the ocean during storm, or of his mom’s favorite jacket. It was not there, because his magic was as gold as the sun he molded himself into. If his magic looked warm, then so too was his heart. The two were reflections off each other. A basic fact everyone knew. The beast wasn’t there at all.

(It wasn’t there, because Beck was imperfect in his youth and believed things untrue. Afterall, how the fuck could it be there, when his life was everyone’s dream? No one was selfish, for being hunted by the beast. Beck was fucking selfish, because he obviously invited it in, this thing that wasn’t there at all. For all his kindness, Beck had never left spares for himself.)

Aptitude tests were different for all. Most years, Beck would focus on restoration, as well as general control points. Hovering items, moving them, shuffling multiple things at once, giving his magic form. It was more courtesy than anything.

“This is different.” Beck started, entering the room. There were items sitting on a table. His eyes swept across each one. A pendant on a silver chain, a coffee mug, and a book. All harmless enough, if he didn’t feel the sick hit him within seconds. “Did the board plan something specific for me this time, Mr. Solace?”

The man, always the picture of calm, said “Don’t fret, it’s quite simple. We all already know your skills, so there’s no point in doing the same thing for your remaining years.”

“Does it normally change for everyone at sixteen, or is it because it’s always been easy for me to use magic?” Beck ignored the subtle shift of his parents’ posture as they came to stand near the long table the Board was seated. His smile was as easy as always. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Just tell me what to do.”

“Each one of these is a magical item. All we ask for today is merely for you to attune yourself with them.” Mr. Solace inclined his head before moving towards the rest of the group. All eyes were on him as he made his way forward.

Each one had their own glow, a spilling of magic. Two were easily overcome by the third. The book was thin and small, and brightly colored. Death clung to it in every corner.

Beck went through the items in order, answering all questions asked to the best of his ability. The necklace had barely a drop of magic. The mug was much the same, although anyone who drank from it would be in a better mood. And then, the book.

He didn’t flinch away. Mamí had told him how she could see ghosts the day she noticed. She’d never been afraid, because some of the dead were her ancestors, and why would they ever want to hurt her? And then she’d pressed a palm to his forehead, and said it was wiser to be afraid of why he was able to see them at all.

With careful hands, he let his fingers skim the top cover. It hit him all at once. The world dimmed, color draining from his vision. His pulse picked up, rushing through his veins, packed with adrenaline. It took everything to focus.

“What do you feel?”

(Everything, all at once. The dead never held back.)

The ease of his posture didn’t shift, his expression remained the same as ever. He tilted his head, trying to see if there wasn’t anything underneath it all. But it was so thick with death. It poured down his throat, numbing his perception of anything else.

He let his hand fall away with a shake of his head as he turned towards the table with a furrow of his brow, “Nothing?”

There was a series of whispers, cascading from the four Board members. His parents’ retained a carefully neutral expression, avoiding giving anything away. It was the last man, with hair dark as night and an age that could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty who stood.

Mr. Temple. It took a second to retrieve the name of the man who’d never spoken to him before. Had never spared a glance. Now, he strode forward and came to a stop in front of Beck. Everyone went quiet.

“You feel nothing?” He asked and Beck nodded.

“There’s no magic.” And this time he felt confident. Magic felt closer to life. It held the same roots, breathed the same air. It could not, by extension, exist in the same realm of death. And so, he felt nothing.

But Mr. Temple reached out, and tore the cover off the book. All at once, everyone at the table threw jumped back. Beck’s eyes went wide as a scream tore through the air. A pair of hands, nothing but shadows, pulled themselves out from the pages. The room went dark. The form lunged, hands around Beck’s throat before he could blink.

It was impossible not to react. His parents shouted and Beck threw his hands out in a sea of golden light. The thing shrieked again, spilling vitriol. This was a different feeling than any other ghost he had ever laid eyes upon.

Then it was gone and Beck was breathing hard, sprawled on the ground. His throat hurt, bruise forming already in the form of hands. He stared at the ceiling, still washed out in color, mind racing to figure out what it was that’d happened. His fingers dug into the hard wood to ground himself. Mr. Temple did not look at him.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘beauty is just the beginning of terror’?’” Mr. Temple asked, with no expectation of an answer. His own magic seeped a bitter blue as it encased the whole room. The dead hissed, stumbling, still intact. “If a soul once made of beauty can become this, it’d be better for the soul to be destroyed without hope to return.”

Magic forced him back to his face and Beck stumbled. He breathed hard, a puppet on a string. The magic pushed him forward, towards the dead, “If we destroy it, does it pass on?”

The man frowned, “No.”

“Then I refuse.”

“Truly?” He said, before the wraith was on him again. Mr. Temple watched. “Even if it should kill you?”

It wanted his heart. To curl into and take shelter. To cry all of its rage away. To remember humanity. Beck’s heart, always open, always bleeding, did not fight it. If it could remember then—

Flashes of a mother, reading a book to her child. Flashes of a woman curled beside a man, stomach swollen, face pale and exhausted. Flashes of a home as warm and safe as Beck’s. Flashes of a home with nothing but blood, as she took her dying breath.

“I’m sorry,” Beck choked out, as though he killed her himself “I’m sorry, I—”

Hands reached out to touch nothing. He felt it, when the dead died again. Ice sliced through his veins and he gave a strangled cry. He curled up, buried his face in his hands and wept. Mr. Temple stood over him, and his parents tried to rush forward. Hands grabbed them, held them back.

Mr. Temple shook his head, “I shouldn’t have been surprised, with a family like yours.”

�� The damnation rang louder than the pain.

“My parents didn’t know.” Was the first thing Beck said as they were locked in Mr. Temple’s office. “I knew for a long time, but I didn’t tell them. I always thought—they were harmless. Sometimes I’d see them, and they were only ever sad. I didn’t think it mattered, that they were there.”

“What you saw wasn’t a ghost, it was a wraith. They’re nothing but shells of what once was.” Mr. Temple shook his head slowly, void eyes passing over his expression. “More importantly, are you aware of the punishment for lying about your abilities?”

Beck, alone in a room of no colors with only a dying lamp for light, refused to flinch, “No, I’m not, but leave my family out of it. I’m willing to do anything.”

He leaned forward, a slow grin overtaking him, “If you were willing to do anything, you would have slaughtered that wraith. Your refusal is why you’re here with me in the first place. No matter, you’ll learn.”

The cost of learning, was almost as severe as the cost of refusing.

Almost.

But not quite.

It came in waves, during those days.

(Don’t speak it out loud.)

The expectations on him dragged him down. The eyes on him watching, noting each refusal. Every disappointment.

(Don’t speak it out loud. He was not a monster. He was just a gift to one.)

Later, he’d learned of how his parents fought for him. Later, he’d learn the costs placed on them were much the same as the ones placed on him. But that wasn’t until it was almost too late. So, his parents would take him to teachers meant for those close with death, and they’d turn away at the last second. The wraiths would come and he’d grit his teeth and think again and again he would not destroy a soul.

(Was it steadfast morals or. Spite and rage he never though he could feel or. Or was it the thing without name?)

His teachers thought his parents were to blame for all the bruises on Beck. It was an easy, messy explanation. They looked like hands around his neck, fingers gripping his arms, scratches all over his body. Magic could heal all wounds, if physical. Magic could not erase the memories of what’d been done.

If he refused to heal himself or be healed, they didn’t make him return until he was better. They’d never let a hurt child go against the wraiths. But he was growing older, his magic stronger, and he’d need to learn to handle them on his own. That’s all this was.

The dead felt it and he felt them. He pressed himself against his bedroom window, and listened to their song. If his magic was just a little stronger, he’d hear them crystal clear. If he didn’t stop himself, he thought he might hear the dead of the entire world. Listening to them was always a balm. Regardless of it all, they were out there. Guardian angels, until they finally could move on.

And so his year went. The wraiths would hunger for his heart in their rage and the other magicians would watch and only step in when he was close to death. They’d ask him again and again why he’d refuse. His magic was so strong, a flick of his wrist could destroy these husks for good. And he’d bite his lip, and think this damage to his body was better then erasing an entire existence.

His parents would reach out—

(They’d raze the place to the ground if they could. But a hurt child is better than a dead child, isn’t it? A hurt child they can see is better than a hurt child taken away from them for all eternity.)

—and he’d never flinch away, although maybe it was preferable to the smile still on his face.

The dead would keep calling, and soon he’d know their song by heart. He’d dodge all the questions asked by teachers and adults about his wounds and it’d keep going. And going. And going.

And he’d keep living, despite it all.

And then, as the dawn of his seventeenth birthday approached, spent in his bedroom because leaving the boundaries of Mr. Temple’s jurisdiction was not allowed, his parents knocked on the door. He raised his head and there they stood. No longer the old version of themselves who hovered over him and showered him with the endless affection all teens found annoying. They did not cross the threshold into the inside.

His dad didn’t talk, as though his mouth was sewn shut. His mom was the one who took a deep breath, “Beck…Titi Catalina called. It’s about mamí.”

Beck stared out his window, breath fogging the glass. He’d never spent his birthday month so cold before, “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

From the reflection, he could see the wobble of her lips. He turned and rose and held out his arms and the three collapsed together, as though death was connecting them again, instead of driving them apart.

“If you manage to destroy a wraith, I’ll let you say your goodbyes.” For the first time since this all started, he was willing to believe the smoke and mirrors. Mamí, who had been the only one to see his heart in all ways. Who’d tell him stories of her youth, and sing old songs long forgotten, who’d drive him and his cousins out the house to finish chores. He owed her a goodbye.

He walked into the room with nothing but a table and a birthday card. Wraiths sealed themselves away in the strangest things until their rage was remembered and woke them again. Mr. Temple stood behind the desk. Beck walked forward.

When Mr. Temple ripped the card, the wraith was free. The void in his eyes was vaster than even the one in Beck’s own heart.

He raised his hands. A chill ran through his body, heart wrenching itself in all directions. Had he been a soul magician, he would not have been able to go against his beliefs like this. But his magic responded even as his whole body threatened to be sick.

To say goodbye, he told himself, but the void remained and Beck knew. There was nothing he could do, for that promise to be true.

The wraith had once been a boy his age. He’d done sports and fought with his parents as fiercely as he loved them. He had a habit of tapping his fingers against his thighs, and his death had been from trying to pull a stranger out of the way of a drunk driver who’d gone off the road. He hadn’t saved them. He’d died for nothing.

And Beck, with his magic glowing fierce, broke the most sacred rule of all as he pressed his hands into its body and gathered up this boy into his heart and gave those memories back. Remember. Remember. Remember.

Blood spilled from his nose, as he collapsed to his knees. The wraith knew his face again, and it all slipped away from him. From wraith to ghost, from damned to lost. A shadow fell over where Beck laid. Not from the ghost, but from a very living man. It was the last thing Beck saw.

They erased the ghost anyway, right before he could move on. Beck hadn’t expected any different, as he sat locked away, waiting for the call from his parents, that Mamí was gone.

If he closed his eyes, he could be beneath the sea again.

The sadness existed long before his affinity with death, of course. Mamí had known, it had taken plenty of her family from her. From the first time she met the boy, presented when he was a mere babe asleep in his mother’s arm, she’d known. From one generation to the next, it’d take someone from them.

In her deathbed, she remembered the boy who’d held his little cousin’s hands to help them learn to walk. He’d go out of his way to get milk from the store and bring it to her, just like he’d do for any stranger. When she’d seen him set against the sunlight, eyes staring at a dead thing, she knew for certain.

All her life she’d wondered a cure for sadness when it had no source. What was in Beck’s own heart was not something even he let himself see. Set against a deepening sunset, he looked like how her brother once did, and she wondered if Beck had seen his ghost, too. Like calls to like, after all. Her brother had never wanted anyone to feel what he’d felt up until he was gone.

On her deathbed, she knew she’d failed him. His parents knew they failed him, too, as they sat next to her in the hospital.

(But Beck, who loved more then anything, was always going to make the choice he did. Yes, what was done to him sped up the inevitable, but it was still inevitable. This is not an uncommon story. Mamí, and Beck’s parents, and Beck himself did not fail. They all only tried to love and protect each other, even though the odds were never in their favor.)

When Mamí took her last breath, so too, did Beck.

Beck didn’t ask for details of that night he could hardly remember. He had sessions with Dr. Ridge every other day, who did not like his easy smiles and laughs. The younger kids, however, adored him. He was practically the babysitter of this amalgamation of small children, all of who should not be here, but were.

Initially, they thought his circumstances were due to all the corrupt powers that be in certain sections of the Magician’s Council. Yes, he’d said, and no. This made his stay longer, which suited him just fine. He settled in well, telling stories to kids, and playing games and watching shows with those closer to his age.

They’d ask what had been done to him, and he hadn’t ever answered with the whole truth. His parents had rushed home, and refused to leave his side for days when they arrived at the facility. They had questions, so many questions, and just as many apologies and confessions.

He never confessed to his parents, but during one of his sessions he’d stared at his hands and said, “I thought if I filled up my heart with love, I’d be able to chase the devil away.”

“If love could heal everything, I think so many more would still be alive.”

Beck acknowledged his heart, now that it had, for a brief moment, stopped beating. He didn’t know when the sadness had first taken root, because he’d never dared look it in the eyes. Now, as the months bled into each other, he accepted it was there. Maybe it always would be. It’d be alright, he’d only take its hand when it started to cry.

Life kept moving. He studied and kept up with classes and tutored the other kids and made them breakfast and became deemed the group mom. His parents would visit every weekend, and no one else ever came.

At some point, he’d gone from seventeen to eighteen, and he tapped the calendar on Dr. Ritcher’s wall, “I age out next week. It’s time for me to go home and figure everything out.”

“You’ve done a lot of figuring out here.” She stated, and he laughed the kind of laugh she always frowned at. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” he didn’t hesitate, “Maybe things will end up the same as before, but I know what I want to do. I’m going to Vales Grove.”

It was common sense to protest. His parents had asked if he was still being threatened, even here, his dad ready to do what he should have done in the first place. But Beck, with a heart of emotions and a head full of memories that didn’t belong to him, knew there were things he needed to figure it out. He owed it to the dead. They’d been the ones to save him in the end.

“Are you sure about this?”

“If I go willingly, I’ll appear complacent, won’t I? And Vales Grove University has so many eyes on it, it doesn’t just belong to the Board. Even if it did, after what Mr. Temple did, they’ve been in shambles trying to find a replacement after his sentence. If there’s a safe time to find answers, it’s while they’re all a mess, right? Because I just need to understand why—” There were so many endings to that. But Dr. Ridge knew them, so he only closed his eyes and took a breath.

She didn’t judge him any of those reasons. She merely clicked her pen and asked, “Before session is over, what flavor do you want your Going Home Cake to be?”

Beck was finally making it home again. One day, he’d make it to mamí’s grave, too.

#BA: bonus content #ch: beck #I wasn't sobbing writing the ending what #also would you believe me if I said I cut like 2k words sorry it's so long

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leggerefiore · 1 year ago

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Since you seem to be doing a lot of villain posting, how about this: Villains of your choice with an S/O that fully supports their evil team's goals. Why S/O would feel this way is up to you, but they don't think their lover needs to change; the world does.

nssnns in a way I think I established that with Maxie's and Archie's s/os but not as strongly

cw: supporting these dudes at their worst, angst in lysandre's and cyrus's parts,

characters: Lysandre, Cyrus, Maxie, Archie

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ He was aware his ideals were difficult for most to comprehend. Like a strong brew of coffee, most could not bear the intensity of what he believed was best for the world. The Kalosian man simply could not allow for things to continue as they were, however. Greedy, cruel people sought to harm other people and pokemon; to take away the beauty of this world he felt so passionately about. It only made sense that with his passion you, his partner, were well aware of his plans. You were second only to him in Team Flare, even. Even Malva did not dare argue against you, lest she risk the ire of a certain giant.

☕️ The discussion of his plans was something he did without any concerns of your rejecting them. Lysandre had been with you for so long and felt certain that you would understand his ideals even if no one else could. He needed to preserve this world's beauty by committing the ultimate sacrifice. There would be no more struggling over resources, nor would those with ill intentions exist to cause further harm. It would be an unfortunate burden on him forever, however.

☕️ The manner which you came to feel this way may not have been entirely known to Lysandre, but he had heard many different reasons from his members to have an idea. There was an urge to pry into it from him, curious as to what had hurt you so deeply as your caring lover, but he resisted. Forcing one to recount painful things was not something he wished to do. Yet, knowing that something out there had caused you such grave pain spurred him deeper into his plans and ideals. For you, he would easily set the world aflame.

☕️ Admittedly, you have very little to do with the reawakening of the ancient weapon. Team Flare's scientists were the ones who tirelessly worked to bring it out. You, however, were there to comfort and console him through the ups and downs of his operations. Your unwavering support and reassurance made the burden of what he would have to do a bit lighter. It was not long until Geosenge was a mess as the ultimate weapon bloomed in its centre. His hand grasped your own as he watched from the lab. Soon, everything would change forever.

☕️ When everything failed, it felt as if the world had ended for you, but no one else. Lysandre left to unknown status in the rubble of the laboratory as you were forced to live in the world that viewed him as a madman of horrid ideals. Team Flare was remarked a horrible stain on Kalos's already troubled history, and you were left alone and waiting for the day you may see Lysandre again. Desperately, you wished to believe him alive and out in the world. Until that day came, you would continue to hold on to his ideals in his stead.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Nearly all of his team supports what twisting of the truths he fed to them. Claims of making a better world were eaten up eagerly and believed almost unquestionably, even from his highest of commanders. Saturn had not a clue what his intentions for this new world were, and Mars and Jupiter especially did not. You, however, did. Not that Cyrus would have you involved in Team Galactic officially, but it was well understood you had authority that was only directly surpassed by the Galactic Boss himself.

☄️ You were well aware of his true intentions. He was not lying about creating a world he believed to be superior to this one, but it was nothing for Team Galactic. It was all for himself… And, you, too, he supposed. This world held suffering and strife due to how such an incomplete thing as spirit remains. Cyrus had spoken of these things to you in complete confidence that you would understand. There was still mild surprise on his part when you expressed agreement with his plans. Truthfully, a small amount of doubt had dwelled within him. The way you had cupped his cheeks and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips told him everything he needed to know.

☄️ You were kindred souls in a way. This world was a cruel and unkind place that was drowned in petty discourse and strife that simply seemed impossible to ever settle. While Cyrus knew not the details that had brought you to the point of wishing spirit gone just as he had, he silently acknowledged the suffering and pain you must have gone through. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was the thought of you in any kind of pain. His original plans had been to keep you ignorant and unaware of his actions, truthfully.

☄️ Ultimately, it helps put him at ease knowing you would unfaltering help him towards his ultimate goal. Cyrus being able to confide in you released some of the burden on him. Plans were more accurately discussed and considered while raking over books of Sinnoh's myths. He felt certain that everything would go to plan, as you both soon had found yourselves at Spear Pillar with the Red Chain in his possession. One look at you reminder him of his certainty as he forced forth both the legendary pokemon of Sinnoh.

☄️ When the dust had settled and Cyrus vanished into the Distortion World, you felt empty. Perhaps even emptier than he claimed to be. Cynthia had spoken to you afterward, attempting to find out more about what Cyrus was doing. She had told you he had chosen to stay in the dimension. You begged her to let you join him, but she simply refused, promising to help you in any way she could. Then, to even more of your upset, one of his commanders decided to make themselves boss of Team Galactic. You quickly quit, uninterested in anything else but Cyrus and his goals. Somehow, you would find your way to him and help him finish the world you both desired.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 The Magma Leader had many supporters. His belief in bettering humanity by providing more land for resources was something noble. Scientists and trainers easily rallied under him as they worked tirelessly in the goal of awakening the super-ancient pokemon Groudon to do their bidding. You, as his partner, were naturally involved in his work. One of his admins, you helped him as he moved along the region to investigate possible leads. Your position was certainly high there, but not overly so as to be unfair to others.

🪨 Maxie was not at all shy about his plans. He and Archie breaking apart from how passionate and dedicated he was to them, even. You had likely heard them before most people had due to your closeness. It was hard to disagree with him. More land did seem like a reasonable way to solve numerous crises that would arise if they had not already. His confidence in his plans easily convinced you, too, alongside just wanting to support him.

🪨 His dedication and planning were something admirable in your eyes. The way he led Team Magma as a firm and capable leader was mostly what led you to support him, outside of finding his concerns about the bettering of humanity something noble. Maxie felt at ease to have your full support, especially when you voiced your utmost trust in him. He hated to consider the possibility of you turning against him and, yet it was something that crossed his mind many times before speaking with you about his plans.

🪨 It was often you aided in whatever research you could to figure out a way to awaken the legendary pokemon from its slumber. Many missions were worked with you at his side for ease of communication and improvisation where it may be required. Your unyielding support bolstered his confidence. It was not long until the Red Orb was in Team Magma's possession alongside a stolen submarine. Soon, he would depart to the seafloor to awaken the slumbering beast for his bidding. Your praises lauded him even deeper into his convictions.

🪨 With everything that followed revolving around Groudon's awakening and the endless drought it brought, you felt confused. Tabitha's subsequent demands and panic about the readings made you horrified at what you had helped bring about. Maxie himself in terror at the idea of mass extinction. When a child had to fix the horrible situation your team had done, there was more salt in your wounds. It was hard to accept all that had happened, but you were forced to. Maxie's goals subsequently shifted to something more reasonable as he changed the direction of Team Magma after it all ended. You remained at his side, still eager to nurture the better side of his ambitions.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Archie had a lot of people on his side. His charisma and genuineness, easily attracting many to his side and believing in his plans of awakening Kyogre to solve the problem that was causing him distress. It was almost impossible for him not have you involved in Team Aqua in some way. Even if you did not have an official title, being the leader's partner held enough authority in general. You did, however, being an admin like Shelly and Matt were. There was certainly some favouritism towards you, but not enough to really warrant any bad feelings among the members. Everyone did know to be respectful to you, though.

💧 The Aqua Leader had told you about his plans before he even had a firm grasp on his end goal. His worries about the ocean growing polluted and uninhabitable for the pokemon alongside just wishing to aid the creatures was something that came from a genuinely kind place. It ended up driving apart he and Maxie, so he leaned more on to you. His plans became solidified and seemingly reasonable enough. Kyogre would turn this world back to a pure state, something obviously needed. It was hard to tell him 'no', too. His smile far too convincing.

💧 Archie was pure hearted in his intentions. You felt it entirely. He hated how humanity had become apathetic to their own effects on this planet and wished to put an end to it to protect nature and pokemon. A certain sadness in his eyes reflected out the turmoil he felt from seeing cruelty that obviously haunted him. There was belief in you that it was kindness that drove him to, what must have seemed to an outsider, such extreme measures. Archie was comforted by the fact you understood his wishes truly, that he had so much support from you and his entire team.

💧 You were by his side through the thick and thin of his missions, aiding him where and when Matt and Shelly could not. Helping with the research into Kyogre late into the nights. Archie could not believe how lucky he was to have you as his partner. The solution of the Blue Orb was soon in your hands, and plans of securing a submarine brewing in the team's plans. He squeezed you into a tight hug as he thanked you endlessly for your support through of all of this. It would not be long until Kyogre's power purified this world.

💧 When the downpour began and Shelly panicked, you knew something was horribly wrong. When Archie re-emerged and was told of the imminent world flooding. All of you felt terrified about what had been unleashed. When a child somehow came to the world's rescue, you could watch the cogs turning in the Aqua Leader's head. After the storm died down and Kyogre was calmed, you could watch as he stood firm and took accountability for his actions. You felt your own responsibility, too, having so thoughtlessly supporting him. The restructuring of Team Aqua's purpose had your full support, and Archie shifting gears for his goals. Now, you felt more aware to call him out, too.

#pokemon x reader #lysandre x reader #cyrus x reader #maxie x reader #archie x reader #pokemon lysandre x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon archie x reader #lysandre/reader #cyrus/reader #maxie/reader #archie/reader #pokemon/reader

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goitale · 1 month ago

Note

for jesstra song recommendations:

— goddess by s.j. tucker

— jenny (i wanna ruin our friendship) by studio killers

— butch 4 butch by rio romeo

— i wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red

— hallow’s eve masquerade by beetlebug

— skeleton song by kate nash

hope this helps🫡

BET OKAY HEHEHEE þis might take a while and itll be super long so ima just... plop a read more down before i type out þe masses :3 (UPDATE: IT GETS SUPER LONG)

tysm for þe ask/recommendations!!! <3

goddess by s.j. tucker: love the guitar actually!!! simple and soft like petras love for jesse for real,,,,&&3&:& þis is SO jesstra actually. like immensely, even. its so "i wanna adventure with my bestfriend , but its gay ^_^" HEHEHE !! 100% recommended!!!

jenny (i wanna ruin our friendship) by studio killers: very synthy idk þe genre BUT VERY JESSTRA FR!! þe overall theme of þe story represents þem very well 100% recommended !!!! HHEHE now im gonna be plagued wiþ jesstra þoughts i just realized . ruh roh

butch 4 butch by rio romeo: OKAY BEFORE I LISTEN i actually was planning to listen to more rio romeo anyways TY FOR REMINDING ME !!! okay þe yaps: aigh þe starting piano is js so beau-...WHAT THE HELL ive been trying to find this song for ages holy shat TYSM STARSHADY WHAT.....the jesstra,,...i love rio romeos "crooked" singing it fits þe piano so much i love.!!!!iwjsosjskd þis one is going on þe list þis is such a rare event GUYS LISTEN TO RIO ROMEO RN /VPOS!!!! sighs as i move on, sadly not able to listen to it on loop forever...

i wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red: holy cow þe immediate feelings of like,,,, old þoughts þat have reappeared for a long time and just wont leave,,,, AND THEN THE??? BACKGROUND VOCALS WHAT.... þis feels like walking into petra's mind whatt þe hell!?!?!?? (also i love i can tell you probably favorite petra wiþ þese HEHE) i like þis song alot,,, chat its so jesstracore PLS LISTEN!!! 100% recommended fr!!!! irs so deep yet also soft-spoken at þe same time i want to be it...list aswell....(TWO??! a miracle!!!) jjhhehhdjhdfdh jesstra,,,, AND THE !! EXTRA INSTRUMENTS WHEN THE NARRATOR KISSES THE MENTIONDED HANNAH WTH ITS SO MUSICAL MASTERPIECE,,,,... chat its a winner gyys ITS AWINNER okay i have to calm down and move on./silly

hallow's eve masquerade by beetlebug: !!!! off þe bat, þe simple instruments and softness is so familiar....&$&:&:&: its like jesse and petra go to a cool down and dance tobether,,,;and its so cute and gay,,, and they didnt even realize it was eacjogher þey danced wiþ,,,,,&&383&38!38!3!38!:!,/pos SOSOOSO LOVELY!!! jejejjdkdj i wang to hold jesse and petra in my hands as inwatch þem smile at eachoþer I LOVE RJEM...100% recommended EEHHE

skeleton song by kate nash: HLP þe violin to þe snap of percussion rlly took me off guard,,, ough itd so raw??/pos jhjejdd rhis song is so beautiful what. !!!! and þe lyrics is ofc jesstracore eeheeh !! ough it gets so messy where þe lyrics almost become useless holy,,... ijhehdjd þe violin,,,..,,.,,&&2!::&:& AND THE NOTHER VIOLINjjjdjdnnf its so like??? honest yet also so secretive its so rawly jesstra i lvoe þis. alot!!! 100% recommended chat PLS LISTEN TO ALL THE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC OF THE WORLD RAHHH

and that's the end! wow þat was so. ieejnejdjeeehehe þeyre dancing in my little head. doing a little jam. a boogie, even . and i lofe tjem.

again TYSM FKR THE SONGS!!! and youre welcome jesstra song yearners for also seeing þe recommendations i get ehehee i love þe internet!!!!!

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chromotps · 1 year ago

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Hello! Been in the OP fandom for more than a decade (i miss the days where ace/luffy were a normal ship) and finding fics have been difficult.

Do you have any luffy/ace fic recommendations? Wishing you a good night!

hello! I wish I had been around for early acelu days... I was reading OP fic back then, but it was mostly zo/san 😅. I get what you mean, it's tough to find stuff for them these days that's not just luffy-harem stuff (which is fine! just not what I'm looking for) or ooc

I prefer fics that are mostly sweet and not too angsty, so my list won't include some of the ones that are really bittersweet/dark/endgame-tragic, even though they're beautifully written. I'm sure if you ask another acelu fan, you'd get a completely different list... I'm just a big weenie! 😭😂

I'm also really disorganized, so I'm probably forgetting a bunch!!! I need to keep better bookmarks omg

SFW Fics:

spinning on that dizzy edge by to-a-merrier-world (wayward_wolves) fav fav fav (helps that this was sort of a gift? based on some art I drew;;? hhh i love it so much) A sweet!!! and playful, relaxed scene between Luffy and Ace—who's joined the Stawhats!

this short fic by 002yb a really lovely, atmospheric piece of writing about the boys just being cute and speaking through touch

forget me not by 002yb a touch more bittersweet, but I loved how insightful this little look at Ace's last night with Luffy in Goa was

to be deserving by 002yb (after acelu week I need to have a separate section for 002yb!! tbh consider this a blanket rec for all their fics) adorable!! very nuanced, quick look at some courtship (or lack thereof) (but hope for some in the future?) between ace and luffy in an omegaverse AU

Bridesmaid Blues by Anonymous so much fun!! a rom-com style take on Luffy and Ace eloping in canon. Hilarious, and just makes me adore all the characters even more

In Your Heart Shall Burn by kayura_sanada oh my god. so it's a fix-it fic that involves a mysterious mirror and wishes. the tone feels just like canon with maybe a hint more bittersweet hopefulness, and the heartfelt moments between ace and luffy in this MELTED ME INTO PIECES. this will be one of my forever favorites.

oxytocin by ruche Gen fic but the author has other great shippy acelu work; this one is, post-marineford-ace-lives scene with Ace being worried and grateful for Luffy... the characterization is amazing

Near Death Experiences by monch_monch (WIP) This is a reincarnation AU, and it's got one of my absolute favorite acelu scenes in one of its flashbacks... I love everything about this fic—the way the other characters are brought in, and how cute and heartfelt Ace and Luffy are... I can't compliment it enough

The Same As You by PeachyStud (WIP) (jksgfhd oops i put this is sfw when the latest chapters have some messing around in it, but... i'll just leave it here) This one's a very sweet and fun modern AU—I reread it when I just need some feel good acelu fluff.

Next Stop, Everywhere by NewWonder This fic is the 2nd part of an "Ace lives and sails with Luffy" series, but it's my favorite of the 3 parts because it focuses a lot on Ace getting to work through his heartache 😭

Together Again by Swinky Swanks (SpobSpucci) A sweet, short piece about when Ace visits Luffy in canon

I'll Always Want You by PeachyStud This is part 1 of another "Ace lives in canon" series—this fic focuses on Luffy asking Ace to join his crew during their 2 years training and is SO cute and lovely. Part 2 is also a treat (and rated M 👀)

Arrangements by Sully-van I feel a little crazy for including an FF.net story on here, but this little royalty/arranged marriage AU just made me smile.

Find the Hat by authenticaussie funny, slightly bittersweet AU where luffy's a ghost in ace's university library. i know, unusual concept, but a quick, fun read

(Ir)Responsible by oumriel (WIP!!!!! probably permanently from the looks of things) okay I have to recommend this one—it's a modern AU with drama/slow burn, and some incredibly heart-warming moments and really interesting characterizations. it does end on a heart-breaking cliffhanger, but... acelu seems to be a little bit cursed with WIPs, in the end, haha

Sleeping Habits by RainyCatharsis surprisingly fluffy soulmate AU where a soulmate who's died stays in their partner's dreams until they're both ready to move on. short and sweet!

on brotherhood by LadyCrimsonAndBlack another gen fic; age-swap! older Luffy runs into Whitebeard and makes sure Ace is happy on his crew

Lock; Key by Anonymous (SFW.... for now. since there's only 1 chapter up) very interesting modern, omegaverse AU with cool worldbuilding

NSFW Fics:

Hatchling by Anonymous good old-fashioned "not too loud or dad will hear us" modern AU incest. haha. really, this one is a nice mix of cute and dirtyhot, with a looooot of teasing smug ace

and what do they say about dreams by ruche uhh. a smut fic that... focuses on Ace's narcolepsy? it's surprisingly cute and funny—mind the tags, but I really enjoyed it!

Tearjerker by necroesthe OKAY so I love a lot of Necro's acelu fics... They do tend to skew darker, so that's a good thing to remember if you go browsing. This fic, though, is an adorable and fun and hot modern AU, with Ace thinking Luffy looks cute when he cries.

for the asking by irrelevant another modern AU, I love the relaxed dialogue and vibe of this one. There's something about Ace and Luffy acting like dumb brothers while also being devoted to each other that gets me every time.

You're Built from Motorcycle Exhaust, Cigarette Smoke, and Starlight by Novicecomics Modern AU, really atmospheric story about biker!Ace and Luffy going on a little adventure and being in love

born hungry by ruche hard to summarize... i guess, modern AU, drunk/troubled ace has surprisingly sweet sex with luffy. this author always captures such a like, darkly funny, wry attitude with ace, and their luffy is a treat. still good to check the tags!

the blood of my brother by fizzyren another maybe odd one. uh. short summary is, acelu period sex with trans luffy. i'm not usually into those kinds of fics but this one got me down, what can i say

Lake Pontchartrain by necroesthe definitely read the tags for some of these dead dove recs i'm sneaking in here. anyway uh. the first chapter in this is, modern au, preteen luffy catches ace watching porn aaaaand then there's fallout

Virtue by necroesthe ditto above w the tags. um. 15yo luffy wants to ride ace. i'll add, necro's darker fics are more psychological-hot to me than like, silly-yummy-smut hot? if that makes any sense haha

I'd also like to recommend my own Once Piece fics... I think they're all pretty sweet, and not too bad if I do say so myself. :3c

Anyway!! Hope this helps! And pls feel free to tell me your thoughts on any of em............. 👀

#acelu #you asked me a thing #i've read... a lot of fic for them at this point #i just wish there was more that explored their devotion and even like #obsession with each other #edit: updated 02-08-24!#i've also got a slight bone to pick #with any fic that characterizes ace as legitimately mean toward luffy once they're older than like. 12 #i mean. the man literally died to protect him. ffs

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