#im not a good author

[whitewolfluvr]

ch1 Sealed with a kiss (jayvik x reader)

Summary:

After months at the Late Latte Cafe, your routine had become predictable—making coffee, jotting orders, and chatting with customers. You never imagined two of those customers were the brightest minds at the academy—or that they’d become your friends. Jayce’s booming laugh and easy charm made him impossible to miss, while Viktor’s quiet wit and sharp focus drew you in more subtly. Simple interactions grew into saved tables, shared jokes, and conversations you looked forward to more than you’d admit. Soon, it wasn’t just friendship. Every glance, touch, and late-night talk felt charged, like something unspoken was waiting to surface. And part of you didn’t want it to stop.

The undercity was always shrouded in a haze of gray, a suffocating mix of smog and shadows that seemed to cling to every surface. The streets were a labyrinth of narrow alleys and crumbling buildings, their foundations long eroded by neglect and desperation. This was where you grew up, where survival wasn’t guaranteed, and every step was taken with caution.

You remembered waking up to the hum of machinery, the clanging of metal echoing through the thin walls of what you called your apartment. It wasn’t much but it was home and that was all you needed. The air always smelled of oil, rust and another more distinct smell, one that you couldn’t put a name to but a scent you’d grown used to nonetheless. Now that you thought about it, it was most likely the smell of the smog. The one bane of your existence and the thing that set you back as soon as you came out the womb much like many other Zaunites.

The only Zaunites that weren’t set back as much by the smog were the rich ones and Janna knows you weren’t one of those. Your pathetic ragged clothes and constant dirt on your face were clear distinctions of your socioeconomic status and you were certainly not rich at all.

Your father worked in the factories, his hands constantly stained with grease and exhaustion. He always came home late, carrying the weight of the day on his slumped shoulders, but he’d still manage to put on a tired smile when he saw you.

“How’s my little Zaunite scholar?” he’d ask, his voice tinged with pride. He was a very proud Zaunite and although you never understood why you knew his pride in Zaun wasn’t entirely unaccounted for. Zaun did accomplish many things and through the danger of living here the people still survived and even sometimes thrived.

You’d show him the notes you’d scribbled on scraps of paper, equations and ideas you barely understood but wanted to learn. He’d ruffle your hair, tell you that you were destined for more than this place, that you’d make it out one day. His belief in you was unwavering, even when you doubted yourself.

The undercity was harsh, but it taught you resilience. You learned how to navigate its dangers, how to keep your head down while quietly dreaming of a life beyond the grime and shadows. The undercity wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind, a constant reminder of where you came from and how far you wanted to go.

You’d learned early on to read people, to gauge intent in a glance or a gesture. It was a skill that had kept you safe, but also one that made you hyper-aware of the divide between those who thrived in the undercity and those who merely survived. For you, survival had always been about keeping your head down, staying out of trouble, and planning for a future that felt impossibly far away.

When the opportunity came to attend the academy in Piltover, it felt like a lifeline. Your father had worked tirelessly to make it happen, sacrificing more than you’d ever know to give you a chance at something better. The day you left, he’d hugged you tightly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re going to make me proud, kid,” he’d said, and those words were the last he’d ever said to you before he passed away in your first year at the Academy.

Now, as you stood behind the counter at the Late Latte Cafe, the memories of the undercity felt like a distant echo, though they were never far from your mind. The warm, golden light streaming through the windows and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee were a stark contrast to the world you’d left behind. Here, the hum of espresso machines and the murmur of conversation were your new soundtrack, a soothing rhythm that brought a sense of normalcy to your days.

The door chimed softly, pulling you from your thoughts. A pair of customers walked in, their presence commanding attention even before they reached the counter. As you looked at them you felt a sense of DeJa’Vu as though you’d seen them someplace, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

One of them was tall and broad-shouldered, his confident stride and easy smile making him hard to ignore. The other was leaner, his movements measured and deliberate, a sharpness in his gaze that seemed to take in everything at once.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the slight flutter of nerves their presence brought.

The taller one spoke first, his tone warm and friendly. “Two Americanos please. Busy day ahead.”

The other simply nodded, his attention briefly flickering to the menu before settling back on you. There was something about the way he looked at you, as if he were trying to read through you, into your soul.

You prepared their order quickly, handing them the cups with a practiced smile. “Good luck with your day,” you said, and they both offered brief thanks before heading to a table by the window.

It was a fleeting interaction, one that lasted only moments, but it lingered in your mind long after they’d sat down. Something about them felt different, though you couldn’t quite place why. Shaking off the thought, you turned your attention back to the counter, wiping it down as the morning rush began to pick up.

Later, as you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment, the day’s events replayed in your mind. You should have been focusing on your biology project for university, the one that had been looming over you for weeks. Instead, your thoughts kept drifting back to the two customers, their presence as vivid in your memory as it had been in the cafe.

The undercity had taught you to read people, to notice the small details that others might miss. And something about those two told you they weren’t just ordinary patrons. You pushed the thought aside, opening your laptop and forcing yourself to concentrate on the work in front of you. There were deadlines to meet, goals to achieve, and you weren’t about to let anything distract you from the future you’d worked so hard to build.

Still, as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the images of their faces flashed in your mind—the warmth in one’s smile, the intensity in the other’s gaze. You shook your head, trying to focus. You couldn’t afford distractions, not now. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if that brief encounter was the start of something more significant. For now, though, all you could do was wait and see.

guys pls dont shit on this its my first jayvik fic and i promise chapters will get longer they wont stay short omg TwT

[sadagios]

GRIA: yes, my boyfriend doesnt remember me but we ARE getting back together

GRIA: ok so maybe he does remember . but hes just acting coy right? hahahaha ... RIGHT....?

[auden-dahn]

"D-Don't worry about me! Focus on helping the little one, okay?" 🌠 panel redraw of @laikascomet

[inkskinned]

i wrote an interactive poem for my girlfriend in 3 parts. she said you need to read it.

go here: take only the final quiz or take all 3. i don't mind. it's sad, though. this is a poem about choice. about fate and mental illness and how love fits inside of all of it. this is a poem about a long dark hallway. mostly this is a poem about mango sushi rolls.

good luck. i love you. despite it all, i'm hopeful.

[choccy-milky]

how to scare a goody two-shoes ravenclaw 👵🏻

[saragrosie]

Discooooooooooooooooooo

[gayeddieagenda]

when buck knocks, eddie lets him in.

[angelscriptures]

When your moots keep writing banger after banger

[yourfavouritefae]

an angel loses its wings every time someone calls jane austen and the brontë sisters romance authors or that they even wrote the same genre. like. austen books are so satirical if you just know how to read and at least wuthering heights and jane eyre are so deep in moral and religious and philosophical questions (that austen books also kind of are but they do it in such a different way!) and they’re only been classified as romance because saying eg. that religion can be wrong or that men should not have absolute power over other’s lifes and that people can grow and change and forgive and become better together was maybe too radical in the 1840s. and i mean they have some themes in common but then i could also call star wars romance movies because they have romance in them.

[bugtypebaker]

oh devil's minion..... we're really in it now

once every 2 years i'm compelled to frantically draw the vampire armand for a month straight ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

2nd doodle is a wip inspired by that one alice fic by @divineatrophy that i'll post eventually

[reallybadblackoutpoems]

protect your family from lead in your home (2020) - united states environmental protection agency

"im so full of lead paint yum"

[hitsuyou-fukaketsu]

But Jiang Cheng is proud and competitive to a fault, and it’s been driving him mad not to be able to beat one man in single combat. To finally have him at the other end of his sword is both thrilling and immensely satisfying. And to see him so sprawled out on the ground – braced on his elbows like an ordinary person, undignified, chest rising and falling with exertion – makes this petty little victory taste sweeter than anything. Jiang Cheng holds his gaze a moment longer, then tips his chin up with the point of his sword. “Well?” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

This Is Not A Courtship (Said the Bridesgroom to the Suitor) by @midnightsnapdragon

[moraent-keys]

New uh. New jambound chapter today.. how we feelin yall?

[nibbelraz]

THANK YOU @neatnete FOR TALKING WITH ME ABOUT ORV AND SVSSS

Thinking about Plotter and Bingge doing monthly meetings with wine to discuss how they weren't chosen by their readers and have to talk it out while all the kkomas and Bingge's wives hang out.

Han Sooyoung and Shang Qinghua being friends as they make fun of their readers and protagonists.

Kim Dokja seeing how tragic and interesting Shen Jiu is, Bingge new to this type of heartbreak while Plotter has lived a very long time to understand and move on.

And of course Uriel and Liu Mingyan being THE BEST of friends writing fics about everything together ✨️

[unexpectedgeese]

Han Sooyoung showed up for 500 chapters and spent every single one of them assembling cults. she loooves to walk into a room and go 'hi I'm here to solve all your problems and I have the answer to every question you've ever asked, all you have to do is trust me ^_^' and the whole time she is rolled outta bed eyes crusty no clean jeans no money in the wallet style LYING. the avatar skill can take whatever memories it wants but it can never take away the fact that she is a LYING ASS BITCH WITH NO GAME. I want her to throw a lit cigarette at me.

[fraycreations]

Silver Bloodstains by @blueisquitetired

‘Yes! Yes. I- I forgot almost everything, you must forgive me. You are…’ He paused. ‘…my former host?’ ‘ Brother. ’ Emmet corrected, pulling his twin to his forehead once again. ‘I am your brother.’