#anyways enjoy!! And GO READ THE FIC!!!!

[nekrosmos]

I know 0 things about Rugby but I had to put Price in situations after reading this fic by @on-a-lucky-tide , the man was made for tiny shorts, come on

[moeblob]

Yeah! I haven't read any fics focusing on them but I have seen that they exist! And also there's like a five sentence interaction in a fic I read ages ago that lives rent free in my brain. I think about it all the time when I draw Sixty.

[ceescedasticity]

O_o

That's

That's not what trigger warnings are for

I mean I guess it is theoretically possible for someone to be triggered by bad writing

I think it would take some really bizarre trauma/circumstances of trauma to do that but. Theoretically possible.

But, um. You probably just want to say warning.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[arkaniske]

Say it like you Mean It

AO3 Link \\\ Chapter Six: Language of Flowers.

4700 words \ SFW \ Jayvik Beta read by @kitcatkim

Summary: Five times Jayce brought flowers for Viktor and one time Viktor brought flowers for Jayce.

The language of flowers was an unnecessary invention. That had been Viktor’s belief for most of his life, a sentiment born out of practicality. Flowers were ephemeral, delicate things, wilting long before their meanings could take root. Why rely on something so transient to convey emotions when words carefully chosen and expertly delivered, could convey so much more?

Chapter One: Daffodils \\\ Chapter Two: SunflowersChapter Three: Bluebells \\\ Chapter Four: GardeniasChapter Five: Camellia \\\ Chapter Six: Red CamelliasChapter Seven: Language of Flowers

The language of flowers was an unnecessary invention. That had been Viktor’s belief for most of his life, a sentiment born out of practicality. Flowers were ephemeral, delicate things, wilting long before their meanings could take root. Why rely on something so transient to convey emotions when words carefully chosen and expertly delivered, could convey so much more? Of course, Viktor understood the sentimental value of a rose, but it was not one he had felt tug at his own heart.

That was, of course, until Jayce Talis made his grand appearance. The language of flowers had become unavoidable, inescapable, even. It had wound its way into Viktor’s life with every bloom his partner had left in his wake, like roots taking hold of his heart. Each offering had been a puzzle wrapped in fragrance and colour.

Viktor really loves puzzles.

It was no surprise, then, that when Jayce handed him the first flower Viktor had found himself drawn to the mystery of it all. At first, it had been nothing more than a simple curiosity. The flower had come out of nowhere but as Jayce had rambled on about finished projects and breakthroughs, Viktor had picked up on a carefully slipped-in word. Symbolism. Jayce, the Golden Boy of Piltover, Man of Progress, caring about the symbolism of a flower. Not just that, he cared about what it would mean should it be gifted to Viktor.

This piqued Viktor’s interest.

As more flowers followed, each one layered with intentions, Viktor had realised this was more than just a fleeting whim. It was more than just his partner’s latest obsession bleeding into their everyday life. There was care to it, depth even. Jayce was desperately trying to speak to him and all Viktor had to do was solve the riddle presented to him.

And that is what led him here, to the book now resting in his hands.

It was an old thing, the spine cracked and the pages worn thin, a rare relic of a life he hadn’t brought himself to think of in many years. Among the few possessions he had kept from his mother’s passing, this book had lingered in his collection. She had been sentimental to her core, always finding beauty in small things—pressed flowers between book pages, trinkets collected from the markets, a well-worn book on flora she swore by. He still found comfort in creating space for her memory in his life, to know that she could still guide him even in her absence.

The book stayed. No matter how tall the walls he built around his heart, the softness he had inherited from her still found its way through. The memories of her delicate fingers thumbing through the pages, a faint smile on her lips as she recited the name of the flower, its uses and, at last, its meaning. He remembered her spending hours writing in the margins of the book as she learned the meaning of a new bloom. Back then, he had dismissed it as one of her whims, a charming distraction to occupy her. He realised now it had been one of her ways of connecting with the world—quiet, deliberate, and deeply meaningful.

Now, the book, heavy in his hands and filled with meanings that seemed to whisper gently back at him, was forcing him to reconsider what he thought he knew of flora. Each flower Jayce had given him had nudged open a door he hadn’t realised was locked, and the book had become a guide through the uncharted territory Jayce had created.

His mother would have laughed softly at him, perhaps given him a loving tease about his sudden interest in something he once had no time for. She would have called it fate, or something equally sentimental, always eager to romanticise the quiet threads of connection that wove through life. Viktor didn’t believe much in fate, but as his thumb brushed the entry of a red camellia, he couldn’t deny that perhaps… His mother had seen truths he once had overlooked.

The words were staring back at him. Unyielding love. His mother’s handwriting, looping and intricate, filled in the meaning of the flower in the margins.

A daring flower for a daring heart. The kind of love that can change everything, if you’re brave enough for it.

Perhaps he could find it in his sentimental heart to believe in fate like his mother would have done. His gaze drifted over to the bouquet beside him. Vivid and unapologetic, their message impossible to ignore. Like an invitation to feel more. Even now, Viktor couldn’t help the faint pull at his emotions over Jayce’s boldness. Leaving no room for doubt anymore.

There was only space for Viktor to respond.

\\\

The sound of the lab door creaking announced Jayce’s arrival, his steps hesitant but unmistakable. Viktor didn’t glance up immediately, though the sound tugged faintly at the corner of his thoughts. He was sitting by their shared desk, eyes focused on the book in his hands as if the scribbled words could bring him a last moment of comfort.

“You are late.” Viktor broke the silence without looking up, his tone carrying a deliberate neutrality. His fingers slid down to the edge of the page as if the texture might anchor his scattered thoughts. The shuffling footsteps faltered, a momentary hitch that Viktor caught before he turned the page.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that…” Jayce answered, his voice softer than usual. “Didn’t sleep great.”

Viktor rose from the chair to face Jayce. He finally allowed himself to glance over to his partner standing on opposite side of the room. It was easy to spot the nervous tension in Jayce’s shoulders, the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty around the room. Viktor followed that flicker, noting the way it returned over and over to the bouquet of camellias resting on the desk. His heart gave a quiet, inexplicable tug at the sight of him. Ah, there it is, Viktor thought, the weight of things unsaid.

“Did the flowers keep you awake?” Viktor asked lightly, a subtle fracture in their charade. It was the first direct acknowledgement of the flowers’ meaning, a quiet revelation that he understood their weight, and now Jayce knew that he knew.

Jayce’s reaction didn’t disappoint. His ears turned a telltale red and he quickly shook his head. “No! No, I—uh, I just…” Viktor watched as Jayce stuttered through his words, trying his very best to come up with an excuse. In the end, he gave up, mouth shutting closed. “Maybe…” Jayce’s voice was so quiet Viktor barely caught it. His partner’s nervous energy filled the space between them like static energy of an overcharged power regulator.

“Hm…” Viktor hummed, a low sound that carried more weight than it should. He held his steady gaze on Jayce, watching the man all but squirm under it. For a moment he expected amusement to grow in his chest but no—instead he found himself overwhelmed with endearment. It was disarming, how someone so bold and unyielding like Jayce could falter so entirely in matters of the heart.

The soft thud of Viktor closing the book was enough to snap Jayce’s attention back to him. His eyes narrowing at the worn cover as if it might explain itself. Viktor studied him silently, watching the realization slowly take hold. Last time he had been subtle like this it had taken a moment. But he could wait.

Viktor waited.

Jayce stared.

Viktor waited some more, allowing himself the faintest of smirks. Jayce all but gasped loudly, breaking the fragile quiet. For a moment, it looked like he had entirely shut down, his thoughts scrambling for purchase as though Viktor had short-circuited him. He watched the realisation dawn on Jayce like the slow bloom of a flower. His partner’s lips parted as if to speak, then closed again and Viktor could see the gears turning, piecing together what was in front of him.

“Is that—?” Jayce trailed off, his words catching in his throat as his mind seemed to race ahead of his mouth. “Is flowers? Book on flowers?” The phrase sounded ridiculous as he said it and Viktor allowed a smile to crack his neutral expression. “It is.” His voice remained calm. “Ah, more specifically symbolic meanings.” His calm delivery only making Jayce’s reaction so much more delightful.

Jayce blinked rapidly, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “And you’ve been reading it?” His voice climbed a pitch, “Like—actually reading it?”

“I have.” Viktor acknowledged with a subtle nod. “It belonged to my mother. She always had her way of finding meanings in the smallest things, an appreciation for connections others might overlook. It has been… Useful in navigating, well, you.” Viktor’s eyes flickered to the flowers once more. Vivid against the muted tones of the lab. He had to remind himself to slow his breath.

Jayce’s gaze darted to the flowers, then to the book and finally to Viktor’s eyes. His throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Does that mean…?” The question died halfway, as if finishing it might make the situation heavier. Viktor’s sharp eyes caught the slight tremble to his partner’s fingers.

“It means,” Viktor began, his voice softening to soothe Jayce’s worry, “that I have been paying attention, Jayce. Perhaps more than you realised.”

Jayce’s nervous laugh was almost a relief in the tense air between them. “A-ah… That’s… That’s good, right?” He asked with as much confidence he could muster, voice still holding a light tremble to it as if testing the weight of Viktor’s words.

There was something so profoundly endearing in Jayce’s nervous energy, how someone so bold and confident in the public eye could falter so completely here, in the quiet space between them. How out there he could be everyone’s charming Jayce but in here? In the soft silence of their lab, between petals and golden thread? This was a side of Jayce only meant for Viktor’s eyes.

“Good?” Viktor echoed; he felt the amusement linger in his tone. Even now, Jayce was standing with no flowers to hide behind and he wanted to know if he did good. “I would think so, considering the effort you have put in it.”

Jayce blinked, head tilting. Viktor could only imagine the thoughts going through his head, searching for the effort it had taken him to deliver flowers. Gods he’s precious when confused, Viktor tried not to smile at his own thoughts. Jayce shook his head before speaking; “I wouldn’t say it was that much effort-“

With a simple raise of his eyebrow Viktor cut off whatever dismissing statement Jayce was about to say. “Daffodils, sunflowers, bluebells, gardenias…” Viktor continued by subtly gesturing to the red blooms next to him. “You have gifted me quite the collection. Each one with a meaning, each one deliberate. It has not gone unnoticed.”

“Oh…uh- I didn’t think you would…” Jayce answered, shifting in his place as his thumb started rubbing comforting little circles into his own palm. “I-I mean. I wasn’t sure… I thought you might find it dumb or- I don’t know? Too much? Not enough, maybe…”

“Not enough?” Viktor stared at him in disbelief. Did they go to the same event? Did Jayce not see the pride which Viktor carried his patterns? He quite literally walked the halls of the gala like a trademarked Talis just for Jayce. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to say any of that, however. “Jayce, you gave me a Gardenia. That is not subtle. That is, in fact, quite a message.”

Jayce’s lips parted, as though he meant to speak, but nothing came out. Viktor allowed himself a small smirk. He had spent countless hours parsing the meanings Jayce had gifted him, the hidden confessions wrapped in petals and scent. It had been a puzzle, yes, but one layered with tenderness and vulnerability. He preferred to be composed, methodical even, but Jayce always had a way of disarming him. Of making every moment feeling alive.

Viktor allowed the moment of silence between them to stretch, watching the ever-blushing Jayce stare back at him. It pulled at his heart, striking something tender within him. How many times had Jayce worn his heart on his sleeve, unguarded and vulnerable, even when he didn’t realise it? And how often had Viktor sidestepped the invitation to meet him halfway in fear of hoping too much? In desperation to protect his own sentimental heart?

Jayce was already standing halfway waiting. All Viktor had to do was to follow the bond that tethered them together.

“You,” Viktor began, his voice quieter now as he found himself nervously tracing fingers across the spine of his book, “make even the smallest thing feel important. Brighter, warmer—like they matter more because you touched it. It is… eh, infuriating, in a way.”

Jayce opened his mouth, Viktor assumed to apologise. “Infuriating,” he quickly continued before the other man had a chance to speak, “because… It leaves no space to hide. No corner to retreat to. Everything you do, every flower or every look or every touch, it demands attention. Demands feeling.” Viktor paused as he could feel himself getting flustered with the vulnerability of the moment. Exposed. Nervous. Was this how Jayce felt every time he’d brought a flower? Every time he’d let his heart show? He looked at Jayce carefully. His heart stuttered. Jayce was looking at him like he was hanging the moon and stars with every word. More feelings to be demanded. He felt unsteady.

“Even as I told myself I preferred my solitude, you… made it impossible. You, Jayce. Are impossible not to feel. Everything you do. Everything you are. I-“ It was Viktor’s turn to have his sentence trail off. He felt his own breath grow heavy in his chest, and for just a moment, he considered retreating, drawing back to the safety of quiet gestures and unsaid truth. But he knew, no matter where he went, no matter how tall the walls around his heart might grow—He would always seek Jayce out in the end.

“You are extraordinary.”

The words left Viktors lips before he could even think, aching with affection for his partner. Jayce’s breath hitched loudly with the gentle confession, his eyes searching Viktor’s face with an intensity that felt like gravity, pulling Viktor closer even as he fought to keep his composure. He could so easily give in, cross the room and find himself by Jayce’s side but—no. Viktor had a plan, and he was determined not to let Jayce derail him from delivering the confession he intended to give his partner.

Viktor took a deep breath before he turned slightly to the side to comfortably place the book on their desk. The motion revealing something hiding behind his frame. A small bouquet resting on the edge of the table.

Jayce’s attention was immediately locked on the flowers, eyes wide with surprise and something Viktor couldn’t quite read. The arrangement was modest but purposeful. Delicate Lily of the Valley, soft blues of Forget-Me-Not and the bold red of a Chrysanthemum. Viktor looked from Jayce and over to the blooms, his heart beating like a hummingbird in his chest.

“Viktor—I…” Jayce said his name like a plea, voice so thick with emotion Viktor wasn’t sure if the man was about to laugh or cry. His partner’s expression almost twisted into pain from yearning, he couldn’t ignore the light tremble to his frame either. Jayce was just about to crumble.

No more hiding behind walls, petals, or cautious words. No more.

“I have spent some time thinking of how to give back to you.” Viktor said, his voice soft, steadier than he felt. “How…To speak a language you have already mastered.” He carefully picked up the bouquet, holding it as if it was something precious. Viktor’s gaze met Jayce’s as the words hung in the air between them. The warmth in his partner’s eyes made his chest ache with the distance between them.

 “I believe it is my turn, now.” Viktor stepped closer.

“Lily of the Valley,” Viktor began. His gaze fell to the white blooms nestled in the bouquet, white bells arching gracefully along slender green stems. “They are for sweetness, for returning to happiness. For the joy you have brought into my life, Jayce.” Although he had never heard his mother speak the words aloud, he could almost hear her voice now, gently reciting the lily’s entry as if she was beside him. A quiet kind of joy, the kind that fills the spaces you didn’t know were empty. A reminder that true happiness often whispers instead of shouts.

He took another step, cane tapping softly against the ground. Drawn to the warmth and presence of the man before him, Viktor continued. “Forget-Me-Not,” His voice felt raw with emotions, “they hold the meaning of always remembering you. Of how even in your absence, your presence lingers with me.”

The tiny blue blossoms seemed impossibly delicate as he turned the bouquet slightly, letting the light catch the soft hues. This one he had heard his mother speak once, her voice soft in his mind as he reminded himself. A flower for the memories that cling to us, for when we are apart but still hold each other. To hold this flower and say, ‘Not for a moment will I forget you, ever.’

He swallowed, his golden eyes meeting Jayce’s fully now. The man stood still; his eyes fixed on Viktor with awe. “Even when you are not here… you are.”

His eyes lowered to the deepest hue of the bouquet, his thumb lightly tracing the bold red petals as if they might lend him the courage to continue. Viktor took his final step, coming to a halt before Jayce, close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from him like the sun itself. He had closed the distance. Now he just needed the words. “And these…” His breath caught, and for the first time, he felt himself break just a little under the weight of the flowers. For a love that demands courage. It does not come subtly, but boldly, asking you to risk everything—but it is worth everything. “Red Chrysanthemums.” The words left him as a little more than a whisper, the name heavy on his tongue. “They mean—” He paused, heat rising unbidden to his face as his chest tightened. He had prepared for this, every word carefully chosen, every thought rehearsed. It should have been simple. The meaning of the red bloom stuck somewhere between his chest and throat, and he couldn’t understand why. He couldn’t have come this far just to go still, could he? He felt the flower bloom in his heart. The meaning burned warmer than any ember could.

I love you.

“I love you.”

Viktor’s eyes widened at the rough tone of Jayce’s voice as he spoke. His attention snapped back to the man in front of him only to have his heart stutter. Jayce was looking at him with a smile so pure, so brilliant, it was almost too much to bear. It was the kind of joy that seemed to overflow, unrestrained, pooling in the corners of his eyes as if a single blink would release the tears clinging on to his lashes. “I love you,” Jayce said again, the words tumbling from his lips like they had been locked away for too long, finally free. His voice cracked, but he didn’t seem to care. “I love you—Viktor— I-” Viktor’s breath caught in his chest, his mind spinning as his body moved before he could think better of it. The flowers in his hands slipped from his grasp, forgotten as they fell to the floor. His cane meeting the same fate as he let it go, his hand suddenly too preoccupied with something far more important. He closed the space between them in a single purposeful step and reached for Jayce. His hand found purchase at the collar of Jayce’s shirt and there was no resistance as he pulled the other man close with desperation. Viktor’s lips crashed against Jayce’s in a kiss unrestrained and unapologetically raw. It was though all the emotions Viktor had kept locked at bay, all the feelings he had neglected to voice, spilled forth in one singular act. Jayce let out a surprised, breathless sound that quickly melted into something deeper. One hand instinctively gripping Viktor’s waist while the other found the back of his head, fingers threading into the soft curls at the base of his neck. Viktor melted. The kiss was everything and nothing like he had imagined—messy, uncoordinated and yet so profoundly grounding it made his head spin. Jayce’s lips were soft and warm, moving against his own with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of what they both felt. Viktor tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He poured into it everything he had no words for, a silent confession of his heart. The fingers curling in Jayce’s collar became a plea to never leave, his other hand coming to rest at the man’s jaw as a promise to cherish him, the kiss becoming a promise to nurture whatever might grow between them.

Jayce pressed closer, his broad hand splaying over Viktor’s back, pulling him in like they couldn’t possibly be close enough. The heat between their bodies burning bright with the shared affection. Viktor felt ablaze with every touch, every press of lips—It wasn’t just the wall of petals Jayce had burned down but the very walls around Viktor’s sentimental heart. Jayce was keeping him so warm. So at home. Viktor couldn’t imagine a world where he felt cold or alone again.

Viktor had half a mind to chase after Jayce as the man pulled away, instead he was soothed with small butterfly light kisses to his cheekbone and right above his upper lip. Warmth lingering long after his partner’s lips left, and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle of joy.

“Please say it back.”

Jayce’s voice, thick with emotion, broke the quiet. His breath ghosting against Viktor’s lips as he spoke.

Viktor opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to meet Jayce’s pleading gaze. A flicker of amusement danced in his own as he let a smile curl over his lips. “Eh, flowers not enough for you now?” he teased gently, his voice softer than what usually weaved through his playfulness.

“Please.” Jayce repeated, his trembling, his eyes shining with something vulnerable that Viktor felt his heart twist.

The teasing fell away quickly as Viktor let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing against Jayce’s cheek, wiping away a tear neither of them acknowledged.

“I love you.” He said simply, but his voice carried all the weight of the moment, all the meaning the flowers and kisses couldn’t convey.

Jayce’s eyes fluttered shut, a laugh slipping through his parted lips, half a sob and half relief. “Viktor—I…” He began, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His large frame trembling ever so slightly with relief. Viktor surged forward, cutting him off with another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, an affirmation wrapped in tenderness. His hand slipping from Jayce’s collar and coming to rest over his heart, feeling the steady and strong beat beneath his palm. He could feel his partner soften in his hands, melting into the moment like he’d found the place he belonged. It almost made him weep with how soft it all was. How deeply comforting it was to find the soul that mirrored your own.

The kiss stayed soft and light, every moment deliberate and unhurried. Viktor tilted his head slightly, his nose brushing against Jayce’s cheek as he savoured the closeness. It was as though time had slowed, the world reduced to just them and the quiet, electric hum of their connection.

Between the press of lips, Viktor caught faint murmurs—soft, barely audible whispers that sent a rush of warmth over him.

“I love you—I love y—love,” Jayce muttered, the words slipping free like a mantra, unbidden but true.

Viktor exhaled against Jayce’s mouth, a sound that carried equal parts affection and quiet disbelief. He allowed himself to pause, just briefly, to take in the sight of the man before him. His partner’s eyes were shut, lashes brushing against his cheeks and a flush painted his skin, vibrant and full of life. It was staggering, raw and beautiful in a way Viktor couldn’t put into words.

Jayce’s lips found his again, and Viktor couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that spilled between them. “You are relentless.” Viktor murmured as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. Jayce pulled back just enough to meet Viktor’s gaze. The amber of his eyes eaten up by the blacks of his pupils. “I mean it,” his voice was low now, hand brushing against Viktor’s as it rested over his chest, interlocking their fingers. “Every time. I mean it.” It was so honest. “I believe you.” Viktor answered, he had no other choice but to believe Jayce. How could he not? Every action, every glance, every flower had led them here, to this moment. Viktor didn’t just believe Jayce, he felt the love. It was rolling off his partner like waves of water to drown in, to submerge in and never return to the surface. Their foreheads came to a rest, soft breaths sharing the air between them as they simply basked in each other’s orbit. Neither spoke, silence filled with something vibrant, something alive. When their eyes met, the sheer joy reflected in Jayce’s gaze made Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile. Jayce broke into a grin first, wide and unrestrained, and Viktor couldn’t help but mirror it, a quiet laugh escaping him as the weight of the moment gave away to something lighter. Jayce’s shoulder shook with a soft, bubbling laughter, and Viktor let himself lean into the joy. His own chuckles joining the sound. “You are amazing.” Jayce said between breaths, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face. “I mean it, Viktor. The flowers—I—” Viktor’s smile softened, a warm glow settling over his features. “Mm, well, I cannot take full credit. Julianna helped.”

Jayce blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, his expression shifting into surprise. “Wait—you know Julianna?” Viktor’s smirk returned, playful and sharp. “Of course. You think I would entrust something as delicate as your feelings just to anyone?” Jayce sputtered, torn between laughing and looking scandalised. “I—she never said anything! Did you… Did you plan this with her?” Viktor chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Plan? No, not exactly. She was eh… Enthusiastic in the supply of flowers.” He admitted, his voice carrying a faint note of pride as he continued, “but I chose them. Their meanings, their purpose—those were mine.”

He watched as his partner’s eyes shifted from surprise to something softer, almost awestruck in nature. Jayce’s cheeks flushed deeper as his gaze darted between Viktor’s eyes and the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Gods,” Jayce whispered, “I’m so in love with you.” Before Viktor could respond Jayce leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with laughter and warmth. Their smiles growing so wide it broke through the kiss, leaving them both simply basking in the joy of each other. “You are unyielding,” Viktor murmured again, amusement and affection weaving through his words like golden thread on a tailored lapel.

“You’re breathtaking.” Jayce replied with a grin, words light enough to be carried on petals and stems. The language of flowers had once been nothing more than a charming indulgence, fragile, fleeting and impractical. But now, Viktor understood. It wasn’t about the flowers themselves, or the meanings written beside their names in the margins of old books. It was about the hands that chose them, the care that carried them, the courage it took to offer them. The flowers would wilt, their petals falling away, but what they had carried—the weight of emotions, of affection, of love—that would remain. It would take root in the space they had created, growing into something more enduring that either of them could imagine. Viktor smiled as Jayce’s soft chuckle filled the room. Yes, he thought, sometimes even a practical heart could bloom.

[secondbeatsongs]

when you're into the Big Ship™ in a Big Fandom™, you have the luxury of having an OTP - a real One True Pairing, where you can read about just them for ages, and you will never run out of fics, and everything is perfect and beautiful and nothing hurts

but when you go to a smaller fandom, you'd better pray to whatever god you worship that someone else in this room ships the same thing that you do, and that if they do, they're writing more than late-night crackfic, because you're on thin fucking ice!

and how small is your small fandom? is it less than 100 fics? maybe even...less than 20 fics?

welp, then it's time to make peace with that god and either open up a text document or learn how to ship everything, because it's swim or drown babey! and your ship is sinking fast

anyway all of this is to say that after hanging out in small fandoms and shipping less-common pairings for a while, going back into a Big Huge Fandom™ is wild because suddenly it's like...wait, why didn't I ship these people again? I don't remember. why was I only sticking to one ship in this fandom?? boring of me, honestly. these guys should make out.

[jadewritesficshere]

Sitting Pretty

This is just pure filth like barely a plot ok 😫🥴

Eddie Munson x Female!reader

18+ONLY

Warnings: pet names (baby, pretty girl), slight degradation and condescending language (use of slut) (this really isn't degradation in my mind but that's cause I'm used to a lot worse so technically it is but), boot riding, squirting

Eddie dropped the box on the coffee table with a loud thud. It landed next to the other boxes he had carried, and the one you had. After a long day of work, he was tired. He wanted to sit down, relax, and do absolutely nothing. Of course, when you called and said you needed help moving boxes, he came. He knew he was entirely fucked. Wrapped around your fingers. You could tell him to jump and he'd ask how high.

Eddie pushed a strand of hair out of his face, it briefly getting caught on his fingers, making him shake his hand to get it unstuck. He glared at the partially grey hair still wound around his fingers (you said it made him look distinguished and metal. He couldn't complain too much at that). You set your own box on the table and smiled at him,"Thanks Eds, I know you're tired. It means a lot to me you would do this." Eddie hummed,"mhm. What is this stuff anyways?" "Oh, my uncle and aunt were getting rid of a bunch of stuff, so they gave it to my parents, who got rid of more stuff, aaaannnd dumped it on me," you shrugged," I'll go through it and see if there is anything good, then send it to the secondhand store."

Together, you and Eddie started going through the boxes. Eddie pretended to be wounded finding a dungeon master's guide, you found a harmonica and attempted to play a Corroded Coffin song (which had Eddie wheeze laughing and joking about adding a harmonica solo to their next single), he had tried on a pink jacket at your insistence while you had put on a hat that didn't fit (both of you traded items and agreed they looked better on each other then yourselves before promptly tossing the items back in the box), and then you struck gold.

You pulled out a pair of light brown leather cowboy boots. The intricate stitching on the side had caught your eye at the bottom of the box. The tips of the shoes slightly pointed and squared off. You blink at them and hand them to Eddie. Eddie looks at them before scoffing," Nope, those will squish my feet. You see the ends of them?" You roll your eyes," Eddie, if they hurt people's feet why would cowboys wear them? They work on their feet all day!" Eddie was tempted to tease you and say cowboys aren't real, but then you pout at him. The pout making your lips stand out caused him to hesitate. "Please?" He sighed and couldn't help but give you a quick kiss before grumbling and sitting to put the boots on. He could hear your faint cheers as he sat on the recliner.

Your focus was on the box in front of you until you heard Eddie clear his throat and ask,"Well, what do ya think?" You turned and-

Damn.

Eddie stood there with his hands on his hips. Your eyes trailed over him. His curly hair was frizzy from the humidity and a long day of working and sweating at the auto shop. His skin pale, save for a smear of oil on his cheekbone. His tank top showed off his arms beautifully, muscles straining, his bicep wrapped from a new tattoo he had gotten. The tank top tight against his skin, showing you his waist. You could see the bump at his belly button where his piercing was. His jeans were slightly loose, the only light wash pair he owned that he threw on when he hadn't done the laundry. Those stupid cowboy boots sat on his feet, the slight heel giving him extra height. He turned and held his arms out, striking a few poses. They weren't heels, but they made his ass pop (God, now you wanted to see him in heels). The light jeans making his ass look bigger, perfect to hold. Slap even.

"Ya know, they actually are kinda comfortable," Eddie turned back to face you with a smile," they don't- oof!" Eddie lands on the recliner with a grunt from you pushing him. He glares at you," you have to quit doing that! You're gonna strain my back or some shit." "Hm...stop being so fuckable then," you climb on top of his lap and lean close to his ear to whisper," besides, you like it." Eddie clears his throat and grasps your hips. You roll your hips slightly into his, watching him inhale sharply. The scruff of his unshaved jaw beckons you forward, kissing it lightly before trailing down his neck.

You nip and suck at his neck, smirking as he tilts his head to give you better access. His hands that firmly grasp your hips, shift to grab your ass instead. You hum as you pull back, staring at the glistening neck and the lovely purple mark you left. It may be childish to leave a hickey, but you couldn't help but want to mark Eddie up, adding shades of purple and red near his existing tattoos. Eddie's eyes are blown, his pale face flushed a deep red. You shift on top of him, rolling your hips into his again, feeling his hardening length. The feeling of you grinding against him makes him groan. Unbuttoning his jeans, you awkwardly try to unzip them, leaning back into Eddie's hands. He takes that moment to squeeze your ass. You whimper at the feeling and lean forward to kiss him, thoughts of removing his pants forgotten.

His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but still so plush against yours. Your mouths move in tandem, tongues darting out. Eddie licks into your mouth, groaning as he takes control. He sucks on the tip of your tongue before pulling back. Both of you taking deep breaths. "Take these off baby," Eddie mumbles, tugging at the hem of your shorts. You nod and clamber off him.

You push your shorts and panties down, balancing a hand on Eddie's knee as you step out of them. You go to get back on Eddie but he stops you," Now hold on, baby." You let out a whine in annoyance. Eddie chuckles and clicks his tongue at you," You seem all pent up, what's got you like this?" "You, now let me on-" "Nah, I think it's something else. Like my boots, Baby?" You nod emphatically, attempting to straddle Eddie again, but he puts his leg out in front of you. The sole of his boot presses against your stomach, and he pushes you back lightly. "Prove it pretty girl."

You pause and tilt your head slightly before grasping Eddie's boot covered ankle. Eddie nods to his foot and taps your stomach with the sole. You step back and bend at the hips, eyes locked with Eddie's, and kiss the tip of the boot. He chuckles and motions you with a finger to continue. You give the boot another kiss, and another. The leather firm against your mouth. Eddie smirks," You can do better then that." "I'm not licking the boot." You stand up and drop Eddie's foot with a thud. Eddie relaxes back spreading his legs, "Who said anything about licking? What's that saying...save a horse, ride a cowboy?"

You blink at him as your mouth falls open. Eddie taps the boot against the hardwood ground, causing clicks to echo. "Go on pretty girl." You can feel your arousal slowly drip down your thighs at the thought of Eddie's request. It was demeaning, dirty, and damn if it didn't delight you. You slowly kneel at Eddie's feet, lowering yourself until your core hit the leather.

The fabric was stiff and slightly rough against your pussy. Your arousal dripping onto the boot, causing it to slicken and make it easier to move. You look up from where you're situated to look at Eddie. You can't help the moan that escapes at the site of him. The once slightly baggy jeans are now very filled out from his bulge. One hand resting on it, squeezing lightly. The top of his unbuttoned jeans showing off his happy trail. The opal belly button piercing glinting in the light. The tattoo of the dragon above the jewelry moving with every deep breath he takes. A hickey on his pec from last week. The rest of his tattoos scattered about, glistening from sweat. The scruff on his jaw and neck. The grey hairs at his temples. The smirk on his face, even though it is flushed. The demeaning look he gives you.

You grind against the boot, faltering slightly under his gaze. "Look at you, sitting pretty," Eddie coos at you, patting your head. He knows you hate that, making you feel small. Stupid. "Such a good slut, making my boots all wet." His words make you clench around nothing, throbbing with want.

You buck your hips quicker against his boot. You shift angles slightly and moan as the boot rubs against your clit. The sensation is too much. The pleasure invades your brain, coherent thoughts gone. You feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. A tingly warmth spreading out from your core. "Fuck I'm-" your breath hitches and your hips fumble losing rhythm. "Come for me baby," Eddie grasps your jaw firmly, tilting your head up to face him," Drench my boots like the good slut you are, pretty girl." You gasp as the pressure builds to a crescendo. Your eyes close and you moan head falling back in pleasure. Lights flash behind your eyes as euphoria spreads throughout your limbs. You distantly feel the wetness gush as your hips buck wantonly. Your brain goes fuzzy with static from euphoria. You briefly hear Eddie moan a fuck.

You come back down to earth, loosening your grip on Eddie's thighs. You hadn't even realized you were gripping them. You scoot away from his boot, still on your knees. The light brown leather is soaked, turning a dark brown. A puddle of your release is on the boot, making you feel warm from embarrassment.

"Fucking hell...you squirted," Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. You stand on shaky legs, Eddie helping hold you in place. You glance down at the puddle slowly dripping off his shoe and onto the floor. "Can I ride you now?" You ask saccharinely.

"You're gonna have to give me a minute," Eddie's eyes dart away from yours, clearing his throat. He shifts and you glance at the movement. His jeans are slightly loose again. The light denim jeans having turned dark at a wet spot. "Made me come like a fucking teenager," Eddie stands grabbing your hand. He tugs on your arm, leading you towards the bedroom.

You were definitely keeping the cowboy boots.

[waitineedaname]

something that will never fail to be amusing to me is when an mdzs college au needs the name of a professor, and then suddenly shen qingqiu is there

[hailsatanacab]

chapter three!!

did you guys survive chapter 2? Danny did!! if only barely 😬

there's markedly less gore in this chapter, thank goodness, and now Alfred gets to explain what on earth he was thinking about signing a contract like that??? Alfred??? Explain???

[crescentfool]

What are your ryomina headcanons? I've loved these two since I played P3 FES, and I'm so excited to get back into the fandom^^

hi!! thank you so much for the ask, welcome back to the p3 fandom, it's always a delight to see new and old ryomina fans alike! 🥺💛💙

as for headcanons, here's a "few" i that i tend to come back to a lot! my interpretations of them are influenced from both the source material and other's fanworks, so i've linked to them as i saw fit! hcs in no particular order under the cut because oops this got long (900 word bullet point list, mentions of reload content up to 1/1)

minato's hair is dyed blue (hair originally brown, you can see it in his roots!) and he has a beauty mark on under his left eye. i like mirror imagery and there's definitely a few arts i've rb'd that portray them this way :) (e.g. this one by feliichu and this one by marasschino)

as far as i'm concerned the bathhouse scene from the manga where ryoji's hair down = similar shape to minato? that is canon to me. this art from xierru is a fun depiction of hair down ryoji :D

ryoji is homeless. everyone say thank you foxmulder_whereartthou for this awesome fic it's why i have the headcanon! but like seriously. we have no idea where ryoji lives and i could believe this.

minato dying at the end of the game is sad to an outsider's POV BUT!!! ryomina gets to be together in death for the rest of their lives (this illustration from mafuwara is a gorgeous representation of them as nyx avatar + the seal)!

speaking of the seal, they are like telepathically communicating to me in the great seal together. (mymp3 had a comic wip with this. give it a looksie :D)

ryoji likes cuddling with minato because he's warm :) (something something orpheus has fire affinity, minato is warm by extension and ryoji is cold because he's death)

ryoji's camera roll is filled with pictures of minato! ryoji... loves life, to me. and i feel that photography and journaling are perfect ways of expressing gratitude and capturing the moments in life that are most important to you :3

my other favorite activity for these two is stargazing- i feel like it's something they could appreciate either in life or death (looking at the stars from the great seal...)! they do a bit of this in the fic eurydice's vow by crescentmoontea (P5R spoilers, takes place in third sem it's a very fun fic concept).

between ryoji and minato i feel like ryoji was the one who fell in love first- and it doesn't really click in place for minato that he loves ryoji until december hits (appriser reveal + ryoji transforming into thanatos). its about the realization that ryoji was with him for his whole life and that he gets him like no one else does.

ryoji is like a sad and wet puppy who is so scared minato won't like him back. he is so scared of being rejected by minato to me like. this boy straight up deflates after he does his "i know i said i wanted us to be friends, but... i actually want to be something more." / "what about you?" on 12/1 ???

AND SPEAKING of wet puppy ryoji. ryoji is like. every animal in the world to me. he's a bird. he's a cat. etc. and also ryoji knows every language in the world ever and uses it to express his love for minato. see this fic from superheroics to see what i mean.

both of them are lactose intolerant. "this isn't lactose, it's milk!" i definitely think ryoji would make himself sick eating ice cream and milk he doesn't know what lactose is. (i made a silly poll about this once and the tags were very entertaining.)

i see minato as transmasc or nonbinary depending on the day (schrodinger's headcanons babey they're simultaneously true and not true at the same time!!). either way he's not cis to me and ryoji is like. His Gender. anyway go read this fic by nail_gun for t4t ryomina :D !

ryomina are WEIRD GUYS TO ME!!! they are so strange and they understand each other better than anyone else because of the circumstances of their relationship!!! if you asked them to do the "i wonder what i taste like" meme i think they'd start biting each other (affectionate) tbh but that's just me.

after ryoji gives minato the music box in 12/31 on reload, minato listens to the music box every night in january. this boy has insomnia and also chronic illness to me (things that housing death does to you). but i think he finds comfort in the melody and memories he made with ryoji.

in general, i think it's fun to imagine minato taking ryoji to places and show him things he's interested in! i feel that ryoji takes a lot of interest in minato's life, this isn't really a hc because in reload, minato DOES give ryoji a tour of the school (11/9) and possibly port island (11/12). but ITS CUTE OK! (tangentially related fanwork: this series of doodles from vinnigami: 1, 2, and 3)

not a hc but minato's kindness is like the backbone of their relationship and i think we would not have the ryomina we know and love today if minato wasn't such a kind soul. oh minato.... we can learn so much from you... like ryoji did!

anyway! that's all the hcs that i could think of, thank you for the ask! i had a lot of fun answering this, these two mean a lot to me 💛💙

i hope you don't mind the links to the fanart and fanfic as well, the fanwork people have made for ryomina have really made an imprint on me! if you want to see more of them, i definitely recommend looking through my tag for them because oh. i got a lot of them reblogged alright 😂 (<- SOOO NORMAL)

[kalofi]

zl fic idea

hii everyone i wrote something yesterday about an au idea i had for zolu and. i thought i'd share it here since its a bit too messy and disjointed in places to post on like. ao3 or something.

4.7k words, warning for temporary major character death but do not worry all will be fixed in due time. i'll put the rest under the cut

ok i have an idea for an au thats like kind of reincarnation but like reality displacement but like. okay just listen.

so we start at laughtale. its a couple years into the future from where we are in canon the strawhats are achieving their dreams luffy is about to find the one piece theres a big battle happening between them and the blackbeard pirates and whoever the fuck else is there idc. the rest of the strawhats are fighting the bb crew while luffy and zoro head off to find the one piece and also end up fighting black beard himself. luffy and zoro atp r like basically a thing but they never talk about it cuz theyre luffy and zoro and they kind of just exist with each other but like. theyre basically in love and everyone knows it. anyway they go off together luffy has the one piece almost in his grasp blackbeard attacks they fight its a big battle blood is shed bones are broken uumm in my mind luffy and zoro are like teaming up against bb bc his devil fruit is lowk broken and op and like ok theres gear5 too but i didnt rly consider that so lets just assume bb’s devil fruit can negate gear5 somehow or luffy exhausts it before bb is fully defeated. 

finally theyre able to knock bb down and hes out and theyre both tired and worn but they DID IT and the one piece is luffys and theyre facing each other grinning ear to ear and zoros saying “you ready, king of the pirates?” and luffy laughs and goes “not just yet zoro, i still gotta-“ and then theres a spear piercing right through his chest. and in the next moment its gone. 

theres a gaping hole through his captain and theres blood, theres so much blood and luffy’s still smiling like he hasnt realized it yet, like it hasnt even registered. zoros ears are ringing and he doesnt know what to make of whats hes seeing because its just not real, it CANT be. 

he looks over luffy’s shoulder and blackbeard is on the ground with his hand outstretched , black energy coiling back into his form and he’s laughing and laughing with bloodstained teeth. hes fucking laughing. one moment zoro is still standing parallel to luffy and the next hes in front of blackbeard and the mans head is rolling through the dirt and gravel, wado dripping crimson, a terrible gap toothed grin still stretching the man’s cheeks. 

zoro is breathing heavy, hes trembling and hes almost mesmerized by the blood pooling around a lacerated neck— then he’s remembering luffy and turning around and calling his name and he can see right through him theres a HOLE right through him and he chokes and stumbles and rushes to his side right as luffy starts to crumple to the floor . catches him and lowers him gently and doesnt know what to say. 

hes still shaking but cant move his mouth and everything is muffled, the sounds from the battle outside are distant and they dont matter but what does he do. what does he do. 

he snaps out of it when luffy gently calls his name. a strong “zoro,” like hes not fazed at all. like there isnt blood soaking into zoros clothes. 

his brain kickstarts and he’s speaking. saying things like “youre ok you’ll be ok” and “choppers right outside i’ll just call him and he’ll fix you right up” and “you always bounce back, right captain?” and hes thinking “dont die please dont fucking die. not now, not when we’re this close please dont fucking die” and hes silently praying to all the gods he doesnt believe in but luffy calls his name again and his mouth clicks shut. luffys saying it’ll be fine, that he had fun. that hes proud to have made it this far with all of them. and those sound a lot like parting words so zoro’s shaking his head no but luffy is still smiling. hes saying that hes glad he had zoro, that he made him happy. hes saying to tell everyone he’s glad they met, that hes glad they all had each other, that he knows theyll be just fine . 

zoro wants to say that luffy should tell that to them himself, when hes wrapped up and recovering and alive but his mouth is glued shut again and he feels that interrupting luffy now would be cursing him to death, like his words are the only thing keeping him tethered here, he just needs to get him to keep talking to stay awake. 

he tries to smile but it comes out ugly and wrong and he feels his lip wobble so he drops it. he settles on rubbing his thumb on luffys shoulder. something to keep him here. 

so he rubs and luffy talks little things until he cant anymore. until his eyes grow dull and his skin loses its warmth and still zoro rubs and he rubs.

—

thats how law finds them. zoro hunched over a body that should never be as still as it is. and its really no surprise hes there, hes been gunning for the one piece since the time he could captain a ship (or a submarine) but it all feels so wrong. 

zoro either doesnt notice him or doesnt care, but either way the man doesnt acknowledge law until he’s right behind him. its not like law can say anything to announce himself either, not after seeing the state of the body that zoros currently holding. the body that used to be luffy’s. hes still processing it all when the other man(the one whos alive) finally speaks. 

zoro asks if hes got a devil fruit. less of a question and more of a statement, but he should know anyway since theyve spent considerable time together and hes literally seen him use it. law cant unstick his jaw so he hums in affirmation. “and you can switch stuffs’ places?” another hum. “what about time.” 

that makes law pause. “what?” his voice comes out stronger than he feels. 

“what about time? can you switch things in time?” by this point law has awakened his devil fruit or some shit dont sweat the logistics but hes never tried anything of that sort so he kind of stumbles “im not- maybe? ive never attempted-“ zoro interrupts “send me back” 

“what?” 

“send me back so i can fix this. you can do that, right.” it clicks. law would pity zoro if he didnt know any better, instead he just feels mounting despair and resignation. 

he may not be crew, but he knew luffy too, he was allied with the man for fucks sake, and this just feels- wrong. he sighs, a tired, heavy thing. 

“what about your crew?” its useless. zoros as stubborn as his captain, with arguably a handful more screws loose. “it wont matter. they’ll never know because i’ll make sure this doesnt happen.” he still hasnt turned around. law doesnt know what expression hes making and hes sure he never wants to find out. 

hes ready to deny it, cut his losses and head for the one piece himself (hes not heartless, but if he stands here any longer and has to look at. well. he think he might never be able to move again) but then he really thinks about it. could he? would it even be possible? surely this isnt the way things were supposed to go, surely this isnt right. luffys never been one who was supposed to die just like that, like this, law knows that much. he thinks hes going to regret this, but he counts it as one last thank you for everything luffy did for him. 

youre gonna owe me big time strawhat-ya. if i even remember this, that is. 

he puffs a breath “i can try. i cant- promise anything but. i think we both know this,” he makes a vague, weak gesture, “isnt right.” 

zoro doesnt say anything, law didnt expect him to. he just bows his head slightly and law takes that as the acknowledgment it is. 

he brings his hand up, “dont do anything stupid, zoro-ya. or, at least, make it stupid enough to bring him back.” 

he positions his fingers in way so familiar, but the weight of it now is nearly unbearable.

room.

shambles

—

zoro’s world shatters, differently than before, and then theres nothing.

—

he wakes up in bed, bleary eyed and a pounding headache assaulting his senses. his alarm clock is going off which only adds to the drumbeat against his eyes. he grumbles and whacks around aimlessly to shut it off. the silence lasts a moment before his eyes fly open and he jolts up, sheets pooling around his waist. luffy. where was he? where was zoro? did the crew find him and take him back to the ship? did law fail? but this didnt look like chopper’s office.

he looks around to find hes in a room hes never seen before in his life, yet he instinctively knows is his. it all feels so wrong, like he doesnt belong in his own skin. he scratches lightly at his arm. he needs to go to work. 

work?

what the fuck is happening. 

its like his mind is at war with itself, one truth trying to dominate over the other. he trained at sensei’s dojo. he aged out of foster care. he was a swordsman, he was the first mate of the strawhat pirates. he didnt go to college, hes working construction. he made a promise, and kuina died. kuina…died. huh. his captain, his luffy, someone he knew so intimately and who knew him in turn. hes never met someone with that name his entire life. he needs to go to work, he needs to find his crew. 

he doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

without his permission his legs stand him right up and he moves confusedly, surely, to the bathroom he didnt know he had. his reflection stares back at him in the mirror and its him, of course it is, he doesnt know why he expected someone else, but hes also…different. he has both function of his eyes, first of all. a scar in the same place as before but its light and healed over and doesnt seem to have blinded him like it once did. his hair is green, sure, but black roots peek out from underneath the familiar shade. hes grown stubble, he should shave. he needs to go to work. 

hes so confused, but his body moves like its been doing this its whole life. as far as zoro knows, it has. 

he continues getting ready, mind still at odds, and makes himself a cup of coffee (in his own kitchen. his own kitchen? the state of it leaves less to be desired. sanji would surely skin him alive) before tucking into his shoes, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out the door. he seems to live in a single room apartment, and a crummy one at that. his legs move him faster, he has to go to work, he cant be late again (again?).

his car is parked outside the building, he has no fucking clue what it is but he unlocks it all the same and settles in. he feels like he shouldnt be operating this sort of machinery. franky would know better than him how it must work. he starts it up and backs out. trusting his gut to get him where he needs to be. he should be more concerned, he should be frantic and inconsolable, his captain was dead in his arms and now hes? what? going to lay some bricks or some shit? but he finds that part of him dulled in favor of following whatever mundanity this body is pushing him towards. 

uumm whatever whatever he arrives at work eventually i dont know how construction jobs work are there offices or something. idc thats not the point. johnny and yosaku are there and zoro is surprised to see them since, as far as he knows, the last time they were with each other was at arlong park which was years ago for him. but the two greet him like this is a daily occurence, like theyve been working together for years. and zoro thinks, knows, they must have. but this is good, this is great fucking news actually because until now theres been no confirmation if zoro was here alone (wherever “here” is) but now his proof is right in front of him because if johnny and yosaku are here, and they exist the same as from before, then that must mean everyone else is here too right? he clings onto this hope with both hands trembling. 

nami, usopp, the cook and chopper and robin and franky, brook, jinbe and fuck. fuck, luffy. theyve got to be here somewhere, zoro just has to find them. hes not sure if they remember things like he does but hes got to try because they are his as much as he has always been theirs and they should all exist together as it has always been. 

so then yeah he finishes his shift because its what hes ‘supposed’ to do but he doesnt go home. he drives around aimlessly before pulling into a random lot and pulling out his phone (theres no snail attached to it. weird.) he doesnt even know where to begin. hes not usually the one coming up with plans, he just goes where theres blood need to be shed. but no one seems to be in any danger here except for maybe himself, and its not like he has his swords anyway- shit. fuck did he still have wado? he must have right? he knows there was a kuina that existed here too, he knows because he remembers. and she, well she wasnt around anymore so he must have wado. he must. with shaking fingers he pushes that aside for now, though barely. he needs to find luffy, but he wouldnt even know where to start. luffy could probably find the rest of their crew by simply wandering around and happening upon them, thats how he did it before. but zoro has no idea where he’d be, he doesnt even know where he is. nami or robin would be a good bet to at least form a plan, but he wouldnt know how to find them either. 

is there even a coco village here? would robin still be part of baroque works? he needs someone who has a defined location that he could google or something (what the hell is google?). usopp would be at syrup village right? shit. is there even a drum island? these are all too broad, he needs something specific. specific…..a place with an identifiable name, somewhere smaller that would be easier to stake out…

a lightbulb goes off. 

fucking shit he thinks. of course. of fucking course it would come down to the cook. 

he types in “baratie” to his maps and a location pops up, just 27 minutes from where he is now. he hasnt eaten yet either, so he figures thats killing two birds with one stone. he taps the address, backs out of the lot and drives. 

(if it takes him nearly an hour to get there thats nobodys business but his own)

he pulls up to the building about a quarter after 7. it seems packed enough already, but if memory serves him right then that was just par for the course for baratie. he parks, gets out and locks his car, then shoves his hands in his pocket and resigns himself to another oncoming migraine hes sure to get upon interacting with the man hes certain is waiting somewhere inside. 

the tables are full, the host tells him, he slips a 20 from his wallet and suddenly (of course) theyre more than willing to serve him. 

he gets settled in a far and somewhat isolated booth and a waiter comes up to him, but he cuts the man off as hes introducing himself and says “you got a blonde working here? stupid ass side part with a weird eyebrow? goes by sanji” the waiter looks shocked and put off by his rudeness but quickly collects himself and says “we might. depends on whos asking” zoro snorts “just tell him hes got someone who wants to talk to him,” he cringes at this next part, tries to smile but knows it comes off as a sneer. hes not sure if he still has conquerors haki wherever he happens to be now, but he tries to channel that energy the same way he would if he were in battle and says “tell him im a fan.” the waiters eyes widen, in fear or surprise zoros not sure (most likely a mix of both) before he nods and scurries across the floor, weaving in between patrons and coworkers alike until he disappears behind the double doors to the kitchen. 

zoro sits with his arms crossed and skims through the menu out of boredom and impatience. its a couple minutes before he sees a familiar head of blonde hair emerge from across the way. a smile climbs onto his face despite himself. sure, the guy annoyed him to hell and back and their…friendship (if you could really call it that) was a tumultuous one, but it was good to see someone familiar nonetheless. he schools his expression before the blonde can spot him. a few moments pass before hes standing right in front of zoro, his stupid suit primped and pressed as always, and a cautious look on his face. 

“you asked for me?” his tone is the one he only reserves for men who he deems not worth his time. zoro grits his teeth but says “yeah, theres something ive gotta discuss with you.” 

hes never been one for tact, forever blunt unlike his swords. 

sanji quirks a brow “i dont plan on talking about anything with anyone unless theyre a paying customer” zoro feels his eyebrow twitch but grabs his menu nonetheless and points to a random item without looking “i’ll have this then, and whatever booze you got.” sanji leans in to see what hes pointing to before his one visible eye widens and a grin slowly overtakes his previously unaffected face. 

he speaks condescendingly. “wonderful choice sir, coming right up.” before zoro can get another word in he grabs the menu out of his hand, spins on his heel, and marches back to the kitchen. 

zoro clenches his fists and does his best not to grind his teeth into a fine dust. no matter where they are or what displacement in time the fucking curly brow never fails to be absolutely insufferable. at least this way though, zoro knows its him for real. 

its another 20 minutes before the shit cook reemerges from the back with a platter and a mug in his hand. he steps up to zoros table and places the plate and cup down in front of him with a smug look. zoro has no idea what the fuck hes looking at on his plate. he doesnt have time to question it before sanji plops down in the booth seat across from him, disregarding all previous faux-professionale and asking “so what do you want” zoro tears his eyes away from his plate and looks into sanji’s, trying to convey as much emotion, as much urgency as he possibly can. 

“luffy needs us. and we have to find him” whatever the cook was expecting him to say, it definitely wasnt that. the other man regards him more warily now, looking him up and down with a tense frown before replying “i dont know what the hell youre talking about. and i dont appreciate being mocked or having my time wasted” he goes to stand up but zoro grabs his wrist, yanking him back down unceremoniously. 

he blinks before rounding back on zoro, flaring his nostrils in a way zoro knows means hes about to get himself in deep shit “oi, what the fuck do you think youre-“ he doesnt let him finish “im not mocking you. this isnt some stupid prank or whatever youre thinking. and despite how much i would enjoy punching your teeth in right now im not looking for a fight either.” 

the cook still looks affronted but seems to actually be listening. zoro continues “look, i dont know what the fuck is going on. i was at laughtale with you and the others, with luffy, and then i woke up and now im here and i dont know how but this is all wrong. its all wrong but i need to find luffy and fuck, i cant do it alone. i need your help to find him. find everyone.” the blondes eye is wide, but he blinks and its gone. he looks more tired than zoro has ever seen him 

“im not paid enough for this shit. i dont know why i even-“ he looks like hes getting ready to leave again but zoro is desperate at this point so he blurts out whatever he thinks will convince the other man hes not bullshitting.

“we met you here, at the baratie. me and nami and usopp and luffy. luffy busted through one of your walls so your old man punished him by making him wash dishes. i dont, i dont know what luffy said to you, or how he convinced you to join us, but he changed your life like he did mine. we sailed together, and we had each others backs no matter how much we got on each others nerves. you were our cook. i was our swordsman. luffy was our captain and youd do anything to help him, i know you would, same as me. youre a pervert and an asshole and a damn annoyance, but youre strong. i could still kick your ass though” if the cook’s eyebrow could go any higher hes sure itd be clear off his forehead by now. 

“and you- your dream. you wanted to find the all blue.” he stalls there, engine sputtering. zoro doesnt know what else to say, so he snaps his mouth shut. 

the blonde is still gaping at him like a fish, but he mouths the phrase “all blue” like hes been searching for it his whole life, like he always knew but just never had the words. 

he blinks. 

then he blinks again, rapidly. there are tears pooling in his eyes. his mouth flaps for a moment before he seems to finally be able to push out words. 

“you- zoro?” he sounds small. he sounds hopeful. zoro grins. 

“yeah, yeah its me.” sanji stares at him a moment, then looks around, as if hes seeing everything with clear eyes for the very first time. zoro figures he might as well be. 

“holy shit. holy shit.” 

zoro laughs, a rough thing. theres a ball in his throat that he cant seem to dislodge. “nice to have you back, curly brow” sanji’s gaze snaps back to him before he scowls and tries wiping away the tears that are now streaking down his cheeks. its useless though, it seems they cant stop. zoro laughs again at the sorry state of the asshole in front of him, this time more full and genuine. he feels so relieved he doesnt know what to do with himself. 

“yeah yeah, whatever dick head.” sanji grumbles. zoro quiets down, glances away, lets him have his moment. “fuck, mosshead, im still on the clock and you unload all this on me? how the hell am i supposed to finish the rest of my shift?” his words are sharp but he doesnt sound angry at all. in fact, when zoro turns back to look, hes smiling. 

“you remember now though, dont you?” he has to be sure. 

“what does it look like, dumbass? think im tearin’ up cuz of pollen or some shit?” the cook rolls his eye. theyre both silent for a moment, trapped in their own heads, before he speaks up again. “so, what now?” zoro doesnt even have to think before he answers “we find everyone else, obviously.” “well no shit, but how?” zoro glances to the side. ���i was hoping youd figure that out” sanji stares before bursting out laughing. zoro scowls and hunches into his shoulders. 

“of course!” sanji cackles “of course your dumbass wouldnt know what to do! you probably just typed in the most recognizable place you could remember and hoped one of us would be there!” zoro doesn’t answer, because yes thats what he fucking did, but it worked didnt it? he doesnt see whats so funny. 

“fuck you.” 

he wants nothing more than to bash that smarmy mouth in, but the familiar egging settles something in his soul. sanji gasps a few breaths before calming down, now wiping tears from his eyes for a completely different reason. 

“alright alright, well lets figure this out then, yeah? we figure out how we got here then we can figure out how to get back right? simple enough” 

zoro nods, “law was-“ he stops. remembers dull eyes and clammy skin and wrong wrong wrong. he shakes his head, “no, no we cant” sanji looks at him confused. 

“we cant go back,” zoro presses, “not until i fix things. i promised i would” the other man seems to pick up on his panic and his mood dampens, becomes more serious. “promised what?” 

zoros never been one to sugarcoat, but now he wishes he could find a way to soften the blow hes about to deal. he inhales, pushes the breath out. says, “luffy died, sanji.” the fact the hes actually using the other mans name seems to fly right over his head in favor of the first part. “what?” zoro huffs, is he really gonna make him say it again? “luffy di-“ sanji interrupts, angry now, fists clenched and whitened from the pressure “i heard what you said. but what do you mean.” 

he doesnt want to have to tell sanji what happened, doesnt want to talk about it at all, wants to slice it up into small enough pieces that it very well may have never existed.

he told law the others wouldn't have to know, that he would make sure of it, but he's realizing now just how unrealistic that is. as much faith as zoro places in his own abilities, he's aware he's only one man.

and, he figures, if there's anyone i can trust enough to share a burden heavy as this with, might as well be the one who's strength i'd count on just as much as my own.

sanji cant help if he doesnt know what went down once they got separated at laughtale, so zoro sets his shoulders, clenches his fists, prepares himself like hes riding into a battle he knows he has no chance of winning—hes the first mate for fucks sake—and resigns himself to filling the other man in on every horrible detail

by the end, the cook looks much the same as zoro feels, pale-faced and shaky. he runs a trembling hand through his hair and clenches his eye shut. “fuck mosshead, thats…” he doesnt bother finishing, and zoro stays silent—already knowing just how much of a shitty situation it is that theyve found themselves in.

—

(btw the reason sanji was so smug about what zoro randomly chose on the menu is bc its one of their most expensive dishes. even upon regaining his memories he still makes zoro pay it cuz hes an asshole like that. business is business 😁)

uuummm i dont feel like detailing the rest basically my idea is that they work together to try and track down all the members as well as law, since hes also a part of this. i dont know how or when or in what order but i do know finding luffy would come last. so yes its zolu but for a majority of it more in spirit than anything. maybe i can throw in some luffy pov of him living with ace and sabo . he knows something is off but cant place his finger on what. he knows something is missing but hes got his brothers with him so what else could he possibly need? etc etc. you get the idea

[jenna-louise-jamie]

thinking about yassen gregorovich instead of sleeping (because i love him) and how he is a catalyst. yassen stabbs ash -> ash kills john rider -> ian rider raises alex -> yassen kills ian rider -> mi6 blackmails alex into becoming a teenage spy.

i have so many thoughts that i can't properly articulate. obviously this is a simplified chain of events, but yassen and his choices set off a chain reaction of the world's most unfortunate dominos. especially when you read russian roulette. to be clear im not necessarily trying to blame him for everything because that feels very mean. he was also just a 14 year old kid when everything in his life went wrong, just like alex. only difference being yassen literally had no one.

i think i should write an essay about this because i haven't even gotten into my thoughts about what yassen and alex's dynamic would look like past eagle strike. i would imagine it'd be similar to ellie and joel from the last of us part 2.

where obviously yassen loves alex and alex on some level cares for yassen back but struggles to reconcile that with the fact that yassen is responsible for his uncle's death. a very unforgivable act. it would be so messy and complicated and angsty, because on one hand here is an adult who truly cares about him and has a connection with him through his father. yassen could tell alex about john, and trust that yassen truly wants whats best for him. but he killed ian, and he cannot take that back.

while alex reels from those feelings, yassen is also trying to reconcile his love of alex with the knowledge that he on some level is responsible for the suffering alex endured at the hands of mi6. and possibly even the fact that alex's godfather is the one who killed john and helen.

[mrghostrat]

I feel like I say it everytime but honestly fucking my god that chapter man. Look at them!!! Again so thankful for how you write Crowleys asexuality, I feel like it's the first time I've seen it portrayed in a way that fits if that makes sense Also eternally grateful for the way you add NSFW skips and how your footnotes link back to the text, it makes a world of difference (like I cannot explain how the footnote thing improves my experience thank you thank you)

i am SO grateful for all the love for my ace experience. it's so cool and validating to have so many people relating to this crowley 😭 and that even the people who don't relate to it are still enjoying his narrative. thank you

[benevolenterrancy]

*glances at svsss' vol 4 worth of extras, aka 'the whump and smut pile'* you haven't seen anything yet

You guys are seriously taking an axe to my self-control;;; I'm trying to make this series last longer than a single month!! I'm trying to savour things!!! I'm trying to read something else and give the series a bit of breathing room before I pick up the last book but I want the "whump and smut pile" I want that so much I feel like a dog that's getting a treat waved in front of its face .·´¯`(；´д｀)´¯`·.

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #44: Zuko and Katara meet Hotaru

This time around, my Patrons chose these two scenes from the prompt I offered them... and that prompt was "Hotaru", our tiny firefly herself <3 drawing her continues to be a challenge pertaining how to ever make babies look cute, but I hope she looks alright this time!

These two moments take place not too far from the other, but it's worth noting that Katara and Zuko don't get to see Hotaru at the exact same time. Thus, I figured I'd take advantage of the opportunity... and draw Sokka and Azula introducing their little one to their respective siblings. This will be an emotional chapter (lots of those coming up), but I do hope that these moments of happiness will be a good way to soothe the pains caused by our very intense angst from the current chapters... to be specific, this is chapter 378, so we're not that far away!! Just gotta wait a bit longer!

A part of me took joy in this specific prompt... the fandom has an abundance of "uncle Sokka" and "aunt Azula" content, be it with them together or not, while Zuko and Katara (also while together or not) happen to be the ones who become parents first. This often relegates their siblings to a secondary role, and too often there's either implications or outright accusations that these two just aren't fit for parenting. I don't really remember seeing much, if any, content where Zuko and Katara are the uncle and aunt instead... thus, I figured this would be a fun switch-up that, ultimately, doesn't mean any of these four aren't fit for parenting (Zuko's already a dad, Katara will be a mother someday in the future!)! It just means that Zuko and Katara get to bond with little Hotaru and be supportive siblings! And everyone's happy and wholesome in the process!

At any rate! I hope you guys like it, and as ever, if you'd like to be part of the creative process behind these pieces, a $1 pledge makes you eligible for suggesting art prompts and voting for the winner, as well as reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before the next chapter releases!

[rking200]

It's Sunday, and Chapter 14 of The Red Room has been posted! A lot has lead up to this moment, so follow Hank's perspective of the evening and enjoy <3

Featuring a beautifully intimate render by @connor-sent-by-cyberlife! This chapter also officially pushes this fic past 100k words!

The Red Room (111850 words) by rking200 Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Original Chloe | RT600, Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Stalking, Vomiting, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Hank Anderson, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor is a Mess (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Missing Persons, Abduction, Manipulation, Death Threats, Mental Health Issues, Zlatko didn't do it, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Sex at some point Summary: Connor Stern is a law school dropout who dreams of making it big in the music industry. He manages to get into a special apprenticeship program with the musical genius Elijah Kamski and, despite working two jobs and struggling to stay afloat, feels like his dream is finally within his grasp. When Hank Anderson stumbles into the lounge Connor performs at, The Red Room, he becomes entranced with him. As Hank falls in love with Connor's voice, he ends up entangled with conflicting emotions and delicate situations. Slowly, his nights are filled with Connor's songs and his closeness, even if he feels he doesn't deserve it. They reach several roadblocks along the way of getting closer, some more dangerous than others. A collaboration written alongside Connor-sent-by-Cyberlife for the Reverse Big Bang 2024, told with a POV alternating between Hank and Connor. Chapters added weekly.