#this needs more fan fiction

[trypo-p]

Things that TF2 Fanfictions need to do

Not make Soldier look like a complete villain in EVERY fic. I'm so tired of this.

Actually include Demoman

Give Heavy a personality outside of "I love this Doktor!"

Not completely baby Pyro. Pyro isn't a child. Sure they have childlike whimsy but they aren't an actual child.

Include Sniper into the "Scout needs a Dad" trope.

Make Engineer swear more

Give Sniper more of a personality outside of being a loner. Sure he is a loner but he can also be outgoing!

Oblivious Miss Pauling. Also not making her whole personality "girl boss" she's got personality too!!!

Bottom Heavy. Do I have to elaborate.

Awkward Top Scout. We know how things went with Zhanna.

Make Spy more disgusting. "He's fancy and a gentleman" he publicly pisses on walls too and this is canon.

Please make Spy more awkward. He seems smart but he really isn't the smartest. Have you heard ANY of the voice lines he says after dominating someone? They're goofy as hell and I love them

Medic having a personality outside of being gay. We know he's fruity but he's got a bit more to him than fruit.

Sniper is a nerd about his job. He has an apricot air freshener in his van + he makes the code word between him and Spy "apricot". We need more nerdy Sniper.

[imfinereallyy]

some of us, and I’m not naming names, need to start being properly tagged on fics.

Angst: Is it me?

No.

Unhappy Ending: Is it me?

……it’s not Angst.

[llennel]

fic by @smatterbrained

[twynte]

mumscarian for the soul mayhaps?

absolutely!

I am weary with contending! by Anonymous [M, 338k]

Grian and Mumbo are assigned to kill Scar, a rich and powerful figure living in isolation. It’s a lot harder than either of them expected it to be.

I'm sure all mumscarian truthers have indulged in this one, but it's so so so good the rec list wouldn't be complete w/o it

It Isn't Over, It's Just Begun by Hypno_Cat [M, 38k]

It begins, as it will end, and as it will begin again, with Grian having an idea bigger than he can manage alone. Or, Before, During, and After.

Watching Each Other's Backs by GoldenPaca [T, 9k]

It's the end of the world and Mumbo, Grian and Scar soon find that they can't stay in one place for long. With no other choice but to roam the desolate wasteland that used to be their hometown, they have to rely on each other to keep themselves safe and sane. Along the way, they might just discover firsthand that comfort and love do go hand in hand with each other.

it's not belief. it's faith. by Anonymous [M, 11k]

"We've got a new friend!" Mumbo gapes at him disbelievingly. “He could easily murder you in your sleep, Scar!” Otherwise known as when Scar takes in yet another stray in the form of a traumatized, recently ex-cultist Grian, and Mumbo doesn’t exactly approve...at first. Somehow, though, the prickly avian manages to worm his way into both of their hearts.

Hands in Fate (Our Fates are in Our Hands) by Atherixx [33k]

Scar had given up on finding his soulmate.

the best things come in threes by HitheePrithee [T, 13k]

Mumbo Jumbo isn't in the Jaeger when Grian and Scar fight, however much he wishes he could be. Which means he has to watch them fall apart without him. He thinks of how things were, how Grian and Scar used to be, and wishes there was something, anything, he could do.

Or, a Pacific Rim AU in which Mumbo is a Jaeger Tech, Grian and Scar are Jaeger Pilots, and there really actually is a simple solution to their problems, if only everyone would talk to each other.

[resurrectionist3]

Watched Heretic (2024) again.

Took a couple notes.

Took 9 pages of notes.

Notes include bangers such as:

Damn this guy’s handwriting is ass

HE IS AN ALLY! HE LOVES THE GAYS!! Also hehe he said hornyyyy

I think he really likes The Hollies, guys…

I think he really likes Radiohead, guys…

I think he really likes Lana del Rey, guys…

I think he has a humiliation kink, guys…

Sister Barnes was right all along. W thought process

He is so full of pee.

THAT PIE IS SO FUCKING DIABOLICAL THATS SO FUCKING DISGUSTING CHAT

He called her an NPC. L take.

AY YO!! BRO, THE SPRINKLER WENT OFF RIGHT AS SHE SAID CONTROL AND HE FUCKING CAME I SWEAR HE DID!

Bro is such a FREAK

Mhm. Stinky mr. breed from erotic.

Reed for sure has a landline. He is such a smelly liar, but i do need him biblically.

Yo, he needs to fuck or something. Fuck and Relax.

Let me know if i should share more. Also tell me your favourite note.

[gambeast]

More Beast!!!!

[spicy-dragon]

I love all your headcanons and opinions and art about Zoro and Sanji's sex life!! Do you have any smut you've written?

Thank you!!!!

I don’t have anything that’s finished, but as per usual I have about a million wips

So here’s a part of a wip I’ve been writing where Zoro gets turned into a woman and zosan end up in a fucked up situationship 👇

“You need to get laid.”

Sanji hurled the wooden spoon at his head. Zoro reached up and caught it from the air before it made contact, bringing it to his mouth to drag his tongue through the sauce coating the end. It was perfect, of course. That didn’t stop him from eyeing the cook as he licked his lips and offering,

“Tastes a little sweet.” —just to watch the way the other man bristled at the jab.

“Maybe to someone with the taste buds of a mutated sea cucumber!” He snarled, slamming the lid back into the pot with a loud clang and turning down the flame. “And what I do in private is none of your business, so back off unless you want me to knock you through that wall.”

The threat was as empty as they came. Sanji had already made it abundantly clear where Zoro currently fell on his inane fighting spectrum. Despite the strong words, he’d no more raise a polished shoe to Zoro right now than he would roundhouse kick Nami for asking the time of day—a thought that pricked up Zoro’s spine in an uncomfortable way. It had only been a few days, but he was already itching for the normality of their fights. A day spent without Sanji trying to cave his skull in was a day he spent bored. He needed the thrum of a good fight, the exertion that came only from being pitted against someone who matched your strength. That brief moment in time where Sanji’s head was filled with nothing but him. If the cook wouldn’t fight him, he’d have to get his fill another way. Zoro’s determination returned two-fold, and the words were leaving his mouth before he could reconsider what a bad idea this was.

“I’ll fuck you,” Zoro said, downing the last mouthful of sake from the bottle. “Probably be the first time you’ve ever actually touched a woman.”

Sanji whipped around, cigarette crunched between his teeth as he bristled.

“Listen you stupid Neanderthal, I—” The rest of the insult was choked off as Sanji’s mouth clamped shut, eyes going comically wide as he registered Zoro’s proposition for what it was. “What?”

“I said I’ll fuck you.” The empty sake bottle clinked as Zoro set it down, pushing his seat back to stand from the table. “Or more accurately, I’ll let you fuck me.”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WANT TO FUCK YOU?” The screech of Sanji’s voice shot so loud Zoro was almost worried the others would hear it from wherever they were on the island. It was laughable, the way Sanji shook with barely contained rage, as though Zoro hadn’t felt the burning gaze on him any time his back was turned. As though Sanji hadn’t made it painfully obvious he no longer knew where to look when Zoro was in the room.

“Everything about how you’ve been acting the past days makes me think that.”

Sanji dropped his gaze to the floor under the pretense of glaring at the wood, but Zoro could see the embarrassment flickering through his expression. He wrapped his hand around Kitetsu, sliding the sword free from its holster, still sheathed in its saya, and angled the blade beneath the cook’s chin. Sanji jolted at the touch, gaze darting back up to Zoro as he continued,

“You can’t look at me because you’re attracted to me.”

Sanji opened his mouth as if to deny it, but no words escaped. He clamped his jaw back down around silence that was as good as a confession. The furrow between his eyebrows deepened, but his eyes flickered down Zoro once, and he took the expression for what it was. Interest. Zoro smirked.

“Here’s the thing, Cook.” He pressed forward with Kitetsu, tilting Sanji’s head further up so he was looking down his nose to keep his gaze. The easy compliance was new, and it gave Zoro a little thrill to have Sanji at the end of his sword, obeying the minute pressure without so much as a protest. “I’m not gonna be a woman forever.” He tilted his head to the side, giving the cook’s chin a gentle tap with the tip of his blade. “You still gonna be able to look me in the eye after you’ve been inside me?”

Sanji blushed. It was immensely gratifying to watch the bright red color flood his cheeks to the tips of his ears, even as his face pulled into an irritated scowl. However he didn’t respond, and as the silence lapsed the answer became clear, even if it wasn’t the one Zoro wanted to hear.

He began drawing Kitetsu back. Not worth it if Sanji was going to freak out the moment he was back to normal. Not worth it if it would only make things weird for the crew. Not worth it no matter how much disappointment curled like a dying plant in Zoro’s chest. Before he could withdraw the sword entirely, Sanji’s hand shot up to wrap around it, gritting his teeth as he met Zoro’s gaze with a stubborn glare.

“I can look you in the eye. Now, and later,” he hissed.

Fire ignited in Zoro’s chest like someone had struck a match and dropped it in there. He grinned, wide and feral as he yanked Kitetsu back, dragging the cook with it into his space. He slid the blade back into place alongside the other two and curled his free hand into Sanji’s tie to pull him in even closer.

“Big talk, Curly. You want to put your money where your mouth is?”

Sanji glared at him for just a moment longer, face still flushed red, before he flicked his cigarette to the side and crushed their mouths together.

Zoro grabbed a fistful of his suit jacket, pulling him even closer as Sanji’s hands slid up his neck and into his hair. His mouth tasted like ash and the bordelaise sauce he’d been making for dinner, the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne invaded Zoro’s senses as Sanji kissed him again and again. It was everything Zoro had never let himself imagine.

Sanji pushed him until his back hit the edge of the table and Zoro allowed himself to be lifted onto it, spreading his legs so Sanji could slip in between them. He fisted a hand through blonde hair as the cook broke away from his mouth to press a hot kiss against his jaw, then his ear, working down to his neck. Pleasure struck electric all the way down to his toes as Sanji opened his mouth to suck hard on his skin.

“You gonna fuck me right here in your precious kitchen?” He goaded.

“Of course not.” Sanji hissed, pulling back away from his skin. “First of all, we eat here, that's disgusting. Second of all, I’m a gentleman. I would never bed a woman somewhere so uncomfortable.”

Zoro clenched his grip in Sanji’s hair, tugging sharply at the roots to earn a wince.

“I’m not a woman, Curly.”

Sanji hissed, wrapping his hand around Zoro’s to relieve the pressure on his scalp.

“You are in all but name right now,” he spat. “Isn’t that the point of this?”

Zoro ignored the prick of pain in his chest, pushed it back and away behind the part of him that was aching for more of Sanji’s touch. To have this man willing and wanting beneath his fingers.

“Fair enough,” he hooked one leg around Sanji’s waist pulling their bodies flush together so he could watch the way the cook’s expression crumbled at the unexpected friction. “Romance me then, Gentleman.”

“You’re such a fucking brute.” Sanji seethed, but he surged forward for another kiss, licking into Zoro’s mouth as he cupped his face to tip it back.

Zoro’s whole body was on fire, the arousal pooling low in his stomach felt different than he was used to. Not entirely alien, but unfamiliar enough that it made him dizzy. He hooked his other leg around the cook’s waist, rolling his hips to explore the sensation. Sanji broke the kiss with a gasp, grinding back against him, and the burst of pleasure had Zoro pitching forward to press his forehead to the cook’s shoulder.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Sanji groaned. “Come on.”

The second he shifted like he was going to pull away Zoro clamped down his grip, stubbornly dragging him back in. The thought of separating from Sanji long enough to leave the galley, cross the deck, and reach the men’s cabin wasn’t appealing in the slightest. He tipped his head up, leaning in so he could press his lips against Sanji’s ear and speak low into it.

“Let’s just do it here.”

Pressed together as they were, it was impossible for Sanji to hide the shiver that ran up his spine and when he spoke again it was through clenched teeth.

“God, you’re so lazy.” His weight shifted forward against Zoro, and for a second he thought the cook was giving up. Instead, he slid his hands under Zoro’s thighs to hoist him up. Zoro startled, barely biting back a very unmanly yelp. He braced his hands on Sanji’s shoulders to keep his balance as he leaned back. At this angle, he was looking down on Sanji, disheveled hair falling across his face as he smirked in a way that felt downright sinful. “I’ll just do all the work, shall I?”

There was a sarcastic lilt to his voice, but he moved towards the door of the galley. Maybe under different circumstances Zoro would have objected to the manhandling, but it kept the cook close and freed him up to taste the milky white skin he’d dreamt about one too many times.

“If you’re offering.”

He leaned in to kiss the soft skin just below Sanji’s ear, opening his mouth to suck and nibble along his neck. He was only vaguely aware of the change in scenery as the cook kicked the door open and they made it outside, the cool sea air caressing his overheated skin.

“No marks,” Sanji growled, and Zoro released the patch of skin from between his teeth.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone asking questions or making assumptions.”

Zoro hummed, sliding his fingers into the knot of Sanji’s tie to work it loose, a sly smile making its way onto his face.

“So it’s okay if it’s somewhere no one will see?” He asked, popping open the first few buttons of Sanji’s dress shirt and slipping his hand beneath the fabric to expose the beginning of his collar bone. He was pleased to see the red of his flush making its way all the way down his chest.

“I didn’t say that,” he hissed, but carrying Zoro as he was, he was in no position to stop it as Zoro leaned in to nip at his clavicle, running his tongue along the skin there before latching onto a spot at the base of his neck with a hard suck.

“Zoro,” the cook warned, but the hitch in his breath and the way his steps faltered only urged him on. He grazed his teeth against the spot, testing his limits before continuing to suck on his skin.

“Zoro,” he tried again, growling it through clenched teeth. Zoro released the spot, only to pull his shirt further askew and mouth his way down to a new patch of skin.

Sanji slammed him against the door to the men’s cabin, fisting a hand in his hair to tear his head back and kiss him fiercly.

“You are absolutely infuriating,” he hissed in between kisses.

Zoro grinned into the kiss, catching the cook’s bottom lip between his teeth to give it a sharp nip. He reached back, groping for the handle, the door swung open and they stumbled inside.

Sanji only stopped kissing him long enough to set him back on his feet before raising both hands to catch his face and pull him back in.

Zoro popped open the buttons of his suit jacket, sliding his hands up to push the heavy material off his shoulders. Sanji’s hands left his face to tear it the rest of the way off without breaking the kiss, before gripping the bottom of his shirt. His hands twitched, making an aborted move upward only to release his shirt and settle back on his hips to tug him closer. Zoro felt a bubble of amusement rise in his chest as he recognized the hesitation for what it was. The love-cook, afraid to go to second base. Zoro broke the kiss with a low chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Sanji murmured.

“Aren’t you being too much of a gentleman right now?” Zoro asked.

“Huh?” He asked dumbly, and Zoro tapped a finger against the hand pressed unmoving against his waist.

“Your hands haven’t left the safe zones.”

Sanji froze, a startlingly flustered look crossing his face that made Zoro want to laugh out loud just to piss him off. Instead, he placed a hand on Sanji’s chest, pushing him back enough that they were no longer touching. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head in one fluid movement. Sanji gaped at him as he tossed the shirt carelessly to the side, planting his hands on his hips.

“We’re gonna have sex, Cook. You’re allowed to touch me.”

Sanji sighed, covering his beet red face with his hands.

“This isn’t fucking fair.”

Zoro chuckled, stepping towards him and Sanji startled, snapping his head up as his eyes flicked comically from Zoro’s face down to his bare chest and back again. When he was close enough, he reached out a hand to press it flat against Sanji’s chest, leaning in just enough to watch how his eyes flickered with anticipation. Then Zoro hooked his foot around the back of the cook’s ankle to pull his leg out from under him and shoved him back. Sanji flailed, tripping on the edge of the depression in the floor and falling hard onto the couch behind him.

“Fucking hell!” He shouted, scrambling up onto his elbows to spit at him like an angry cat. “What was that for?!”

Zoro stepped forward, pressing his boot against the front of Sanji’s pants. The cook jolted, tipping his head forward to try and hide the full body shiver that ran through him.

“You’re so easy to manipulate like this,” Zoro taunted, shifting forward to put more pressure against Sanji’s groin. “It’s amazing no one’s taken advantage of you yet.”

“Fuck you,” Sanji hissed, the venom of it lessened by the audible tremor in his voice.

“I already said you could,” he teased, drawing his foot away from Sanji’s crotch.

He sat down on the edge of the couch area, lifting one leg so he could work his boot off, then the other, dropping them both to the floor with a heavy thunk. Sanji watched him with dark eyes as he slid to the couch, reaching out to grab the loose knot of his tie and pulled it the rest of the way off. He fumbled with the tiny buttons of Sanji’s dress shirt, revealing more skin at an absolutely infuriating pace. He was tempted to just rip the thing open, if only to see how much the cook would let him get away with. However, woman or not that move was likely to piss him off and Zoro wasn’t risking this. Not when he was burning beneath his skin and Sanji’s fingers deftly joined his own to hastily finish opening his shirt so Zoro could drag it off him.

[effortlesslytired]

I ended up writing a small drabble to go with my post that you can find here. I did originally post this drabble in the comments, but I wanted to post an actual link to ao3 since I decided to upload it on there.

The original ask: "If anyone has a fic where Aziraphale finds out how/why Crowley fell and it’s soul crushing with a happy ending. "

I couldn’t find anything I specifically liked or wanted, but to stress that this is not me saying I still won’t read fics that are recommended to me. Please I am begging, send me fic recommendations!

[brionysea]

I know it's just the inverse of their s1 dynamic where jinx resents caitlyn's very existence while caitlyn routinely forgets that jinx exists, and cait then declaring jinx her mortal enemy while jinx easily evades her little fan club that's tearing the undercity apart looking for her and generally doesn't care IS very funny. but man what do you mean jinx and caitlyn didn't even get to beat the crap out of each other. what about women's wrongs

[nehswritesstuffs]

polite

This thing needs to get out in the world please go and be free my problematic LawSan be freeeeeee~

4723 words; this is the first fic I had begun writing where the Straw Hats refer to Law as Traffy so you can see me working through that a little bit; remember kids: inhaling smoke/vapor microparticles is bad to do in real life because it fucks you up real bad but these are blorbos from the comic/cartoon they don’t live by the rules of reality; I’ve been looking over this thing for a while so if there’s anything that slipped please forgive me my eyes go cross at these words at this point

polite; Sanji cooks dinner and Law wants to thank him, properly. [modern AU; contains naughty times]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

There was no question that Law’s life was more eventful now that he was socially entangled with the Straw Hats. Unfortunately, he had enjoyed how his life was before: he had literally three close friends, a little over a dozen close acquaintances, and his dog. Everything was contained, he could trust everyone, and he would go home to his apartment to find the fuzzy ball with nothing in its brain other than lint ready to be adorable. There had been literally nothing missing from his life—nothing that he felt he wanted out of the world from what it could give anyhow—and things were likely better that way.

Except now, when he came home, there were often unauthorized people there, let in only Nika-knew-how. Why the Straw Hat Gang (which was, unfortunately, not the weirdest collection of people he knew with such a descriptor) thought they had full use of his apartment, he did not know, but it was getting fucking ridiculous as he would come home to multiple people with fewer braincells than his dog wandering about the place. Tonight was no different as he came in to find Onigiri bouncing around merrily on the carpet while Zoro was sleeping on his couch, Nami was watching his TV, and Sanji was using his kitchen to feed Luffy and Usopp.

“Give me five good reasons why I shouldn’t call the police,” Law droned, his voice clearly bored. “One for each of you, come on.”

“Don’t be so stingy, Traffy,” Nami said. “We’re not breaking anything.”

“Yeah,” Usopp added, mouth full of food. “Also, Onigiri’s fine, we don’t even have anyone looking for us, and Franky’s not trying to improve your alarm clock.”

“Oh, and ACAB,” Luffy nodded. Law pinched the bridge of his nose—he did not need this after eighteen hours in the trauma center. “You know we’re right.”

“I’m not in the mood; get out,” he demanded. “Some of us have jobs to recover from, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘cause you’re ‘an adult’ and ‘a functioning member of society’,” Usopp groaned. He and Luffy went to grab Zoro, dragging the half-awake moss-head out of the apartment with Nami not far behind. Sanji went to leave as well, only for Law to grab him by the upper arm.

“Not you—you’re helping me clean up after you take whatever you left in the oven out.”

“Want me gone, want me here; make up your fucking mind,” Sanji scoffed. “Oh, Nami-swan! I’ll be around later! Have to make sure Traffy’s kitchen isn’t mildly sloppy.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Nami said as she closed the apartment door. Onigiri whimpered as he put his paws up on the door, wanting the other people to come back. Four seconds of that and he was frolicking around the apartment again, seemingly forgotten the others.

“What do you have in the oven?” Law wondered. Sanji shrugged and went back into the kitchen, with Law sitting down at the island bar.

“I didn’t have a lot to work with, and Nami wasn’t hungry, so I had slipped into a store on the way here and picked up stuff to make a casserole,” Sanji replied. He chuckled as Law raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a casserole.”

“Not in a long time,” Law admitted. He watched as Sanji took the casserole out of the oven; the glass dish showed the noodles and sauce, as well as some unidentified vegetables and meat. The top was coated in golden-brown breadcrumbs and it smelled nostalgic. “Doesn’t look like your normal dishes.”

“Bunch of heavy carbs; fills Luffy up fairly well,” the blond shrugged. He pulled out a serving spoon and a pair of plates, scooping out two servings and passing one to Law. “A lot can be said about what some consider ‘peasant food’, you know?”

“No shit.” Law took the fork that Sanji offered and muttered thanks under his breath before shoving a forkful of the casserole in his mouth. Was it the best food for him to eat? Probably not by a longshot, but a warm, comforting feeling crept through him as he ate, allowing his shoulders to relax and the throbbing in his head to fade. A few bites and he stopped, staring at Sanji with a sense of realization. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”

“I knew you were late from work, so I figured it might be the first meal you’ve had all day. Correct?”

“I… uh… yeah… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it; my job is literally to make sure people are fed. I’d be a pretty shitty cook if I did otherwise.”

Law grunted through his casserole and nodded. Part of him went back to watching his parents make the dish, his foster adult, and eventually his friends and him figuring out the recipe for themselves. Canned condensed soup was involved, a move that he had thought was certain would horrify the Straw Hat chef, but it seemed to not bother him at all. He took his own plate and sat next to Law, using a fork and knife to gather the noodly concoction and eat.

“What…?”

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s something, asshole. Why the fuck are you staring?”

“You have table manners—the rest of them don’t.”

“Nami-swan and Robin-chan can make finger-foods look delicate, but you’re right about the rest of them,” Sanji scowled. He ate another bite of casserole and a shudder overtook him. “None of them can eat with any sort of decorum.”

“Decorum? That’s a strong word.”

“It’s the word I’ve got.” He let Law eat some more before continuing. “You know… that’s part of why I love cooking for the ladies so much—they know how to hold themselves… sort of like you.”

“You saying I eat like a girl?”

“I’m saying you’re fucking polite; the idiots are appreciative, yeah, but they’re never polite. Can’t you take a compliment?”

“You used my kitchen without my permission, not to mention committed breaking and entering.”

“We have a key. It’s not breaking and entering when you have a key.”

“You all are exhausting.” Law rested his face in his hand, cheekbone nestled into the palm, as he leaned with his elbow on the countertop. “You, uh, usually make riceballs when you’re over here—why the change of pace?”

“Like I said: it would fill Luffy, and I’d still be able to save you a portion since it reheats and keeps well.” Now done with his own food, Sanji went back to the dish and began to portion out the rest in some resealable containers—where did those come from? “I’ll feel better knowing these are around; you’re too damn skinny.”

“I’m fine.”

“I can see your ribs through your scrubs, and Shachi told me none of them can get you to eat worth a damn. Fuck off.”

“You’re not my mother. Why should you care?”

“Idiot.” Sanji finished putting the leftovers away and put water in the pan to soak before sulking over towards the balcony. Law could see him from his chair, tapping his foot and fidgeting as he tried not to pace in lieu of a cigarette—ah, he fucked it up, didn’t he? Yeah, he was getting pretty sick of the Straw Hats just dropping into his life unannounced and usually with trouble trailing behind them, but at the same time… the man did have dinner waiting for him when he got home from work…

Figuring it was only fair, Law finished his food, partially loaded up the dishwasher, and went digging around in his room. Once he found the crushed, open packet of cigarettes, he brought them out onto the balcony and held them out towards Sanji, who stared.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Not often, but enough.” He waited until Sanji took one before grabbing one of his own, putting it between his lips as Sanji flicked on a lighter. Law leaned down and lit the end of his cigarette with the same flame Sanji was using to light his with, their faces close enough for him to see the blush on the blond’s cheeks with the light from the flame and the distant streetlamp.

“Th-thanks,” Sanji mumbled, closing the lighter.

“Thank you for dinner.” Law inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before letting it all out his nose. Sanji was almost slackjawed watching him—not many people had seen him smoke before, let alone any of the Straw Hats. “Now look who’s staring.”

“A-Again… I didn’t think you smoked.”

“You put me in a nostalgic mood with that meal,” he replied. When his smoking conspirator said nothing, he continued, “This was the brand the idiot who fostered me smoked; sometimes it takes me years to finish a pack.”

“This is the brand I smoke.”

“Lucky.”

Another silence.

“I… didn’t know you were also in the system.”

“That much actually surprises me, with how much our collective idiots talk.” Sanji scoffed at that—yeah, they both had some prime idiots in their lives, didn’t they? “Eight years—the last five was a series of group homes until Penguin became a legal adult and took Shachi, Bepo and me out, which was hard. The first three…” He took the cigarette from his lips and watched the smoke curl off the end. “Let’s just say it was a different kind of hard.”

“Aged out after ten in the back of the geezer’s restaurant and just never left,” Sanji admitted. He then thought for a moment. “Must’ve been a hell of a guy if he gets a doctor to smoke.”

“Surgeon, and…” Law wanted to agree, but it was… complicated. “He tried. I can’t fault him for trying.”

“No, I guess not.” Putting his hands in his pockets, Sanji leaned on the balcony rail and shrugged in an attempt to seem aloof. It made Law think back to his tweenaged years, tramping about as he and Cora tried to run from their demons. Nights curled up in a tent or the back of the station wagon; days going from hospital to hospital in an attempt to cure what the third rate hacks refused; growing close despite the arm’s length distance; the pain of living every day, though pulling it together because that was all either of them could do for one another. Through the smoke and the colored streetlights, the other man resembled Cora more than he wanted to admit, though at the same time…

No, Law couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Cora was not only the man who saved him all those years ago, but he went around introducing the two of them as father and son. Very few truly believed it, mind, but he still did it to avoid questions. It didn’t change the burning way which he missed him some days… one of the many ways Doffy missed him, he was certain…

…except Cora was dead, Sanji was alive, and Law wanted to thank him properly for making him dinner. He wondered if the man in front of him ever slipped out of his careful, measured Eastern accent into something that sounded like home and what it would take to make that happen. What did he feel like underneath those carefully-curated shirts and slacks and suits? How did he sound when he was the one being cared for through careful ministrations? Would his mouth turn even filthier in the face of affection? Was he really as limber as everyone joked? Did he taste just like the cigarettes and cheap wine of his hazy memories or was there more to it than that? He watched him stub out the cigarette on the building brick and toss the tarred filter in the heavy flowerpot Law used as an ashtray—the younger man sure could suck them down…

Law swallowed hard; oh shit.

“Please tell me how to thank you for dinner,” he requested, voice threatening to crack. Sanji looked at him with one curled eyebrow raised.

“I cook for my friends all the time. It’s fine.”

“No, I want to be polite and thank you…” He inhaled deeply on the cigarette and caged Sanji in against the balcony rail, leaning down to press their lips together so that he could exhale in the other man’s mouth. A wisp of smoke fluttered between them as Law pulled away, watching as Sanji flushed a deep pink as he finally let go of his breath and smoke came pouring from his mouth and nostrils, enveloping him in a dizzying, hazy halo. “…properly.”

It was a moment before Sanji’s brain began to function again, it having shorted out the moment Law kissed him. He watched as it was the older man’s turn to extinguish his cigarette, amber eyes flashing in the dim city night with something uncertain… something he wasn’t even sure Law himself understood. Hesitating, he calculated the risks involved with continuing, all of his math pointing towards one singular answer: the night was already full of surprises, and he wasn’t going to learn what they were by leaving now.

“I keep my men to a high standard,” Sanji bluffed. “Do you think you’re ready to meet and exceed them?”

“I know who is in your friend circle—that bar is on the sidewalk underneath us.”

“Not that low, but low enough for you if you play your cards right.” A slight breeze carried off the rest of the smoke and now the blond was Just Sanji again, though it was a Sanji who knew that possibilities were presenting themselves and he didn’t hate it. Sanji left the railing and went back to the door, pausing to look back at Law with a smirk. “Let’s get that kitchen cleaned up and then we’ll talk.”

Law nodded silently, following Sanji inside his own apartment as his anticipation began to build. He shucked off his scrubs and let them drop to the floor; Onigiri went to sniff the pile, yelped, and stumbled away. Now in just his sleeveless undershirt and a pair of oversized basketball shorts, Law moved around the kitchen with Sanji almost effortlessly, wiping counters and placing varied spices and utensils back where they belonged. A glance here, a light touch there, and the electricity between them only built. Once the dishwasher was set for a delayed start and Onigiri’s kibble and water refilled, the pair looked at one another knowing that they had put it off long enough. They stood close enough to smell the remaining smoke still clinging to their skin and clothes, not nearly as strong but still the same scent that was pulling them together.

When it was clear Sanji was not going to budge, Law made the first move, ducking down to kiss the shorter man, the action almost timid. He tilted the blond’s chin up gently, making sure their faces met despite the eleven centimeters between them. Cigarettes, yes, but none of the cheap wine and instant noodles he remembered(?), he imagined(?); instead he could taste the casserole and something else as their tongues scraped together, frankly surprised anything other than the ashy smoker’s aftertaste was present, let alone detectable. As he broke the kiss, his nose brushed against the other man’s hair; unlike his mouth, the hair smelled exactly the same, with the sweet, cloying scent that the specific cigarette brand left behind.

“Are you going to continue to be a creep, Traffy, or are you going to invite me to some place more manageable?” Sanji quipped. He watched as the almost-drunk expression on Law’s face darkened before he swallowed and tried to wet his tongue.

“Tonight, please,” he hoarsely half-whispered, “use my real name. Call me Law. You can’t call me anything else… not tonight.”

Something clicked in Sanji’s brain and he nodded once. “Do you have something that you want to call me?” He watched as Law seemed to consider the notion, turning it over in his head before letting out one quiet word, voice dry and hushed.

“Cora.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Sanji considered this, then nodded. “I don’t know what the fuck this is about, Law, but don’t make me regret it.”

Taking that as all he needed, Law grabbed Sanji by the wrist and dragged him through his apartment to his bedroom, nearly throwing the other man onto the bed. He was almost immediately on top of him, putting hungry kisses on his neck as he pawed at the shirt and tie. The blond shoved him off in order to loosen his tie, a ruffled expression on his face.

“This is Doskoi—hold on,” he scolded. Sanji took off his tie and rolled it carefully, putting it in his jacket pocket, which then ended up draped on a nearby chair. His belt was treated in the same way, getting tucked into another pocket. “Not all of us go around in clothes that can be tossed on the floor, you know.”

“Work clothes,” Law defended. He sat on the bed awkwardly, the temptation to palm himself through his shorts very real. Sanji looked at him in the vanity mirror, catching the almost predatory look in the older man’s eyes.

“So… Cora.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “Who was he?”

“That… it’s not important.”

“Did he love you back?”

“I…” He swallowed, guilt blooming in his gut. “I don’t know.”

Of course, Law had not forgotten the last time he’d seen Cora. That abandoned warehouse, getting shoved in the crate; the very last thing he saw before the lid closed was Cora’s beaten face. He said he loved him, sure, but it was the first time those words had been said with any form of sincerity in years—he wanted more, craved more, and yet that night Doflamingo coldly took out all his rage and hostility on his brother. Law always wanted to ask why and how, tempted to go back to the corpse and see if it was really lifeless or just barely hanging on.

Surely he would have been caught had he did, right? If not by Doflamingo’s gang, then by the cop who drove them away. Cora-san had been a cop himself, well, right up until they went off-grid. That was how his younger self knew the man whisking him away from certain death in an organized crime ring could be trusted. No cops, no alternate crime bosses; just the two of them. Cora simply took him for himself and ran.

He never looked back and yet that was all Law could do.

“Anything that’s off the table?” Sanji asked, now in just his underwear. Damn, he was skinny. Law shrugged.

“Like…?”

“What are you not into?” Sanji’s lips pursed at the silence that met him. “Okay… what are you into?”

“I… erm…” Law just shrugged, still awkward. Sanji simply came over and tugged his shirt over his head, exposing his chest and back tattoos. He sat and traced one of the shoulder ones with a finger, attempting to parse out how to begin.

“Do you need to be called a good boy?”

He bit his lower lip—it was a start.

“How about a bad boy?”

It was subtle, but he bit down harder.

“Okay… then how about this: you gotta be on top, or bottom?”

“Can I… top…?” Law felt incredibly shy as he was beginning to regret this. Sanji just leaned into him further, their bodies pressing together.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said. Law nodded in response.

“I know.”

“Listen, Law…”

“You, erm, don’t have to talk or do a lot if you don’t want to; just… don’t worry about me.” He glanced over at Sanji, who seemed as though he was trying to piece him together mentally first. “What… what do you like?”

“Depends, just as long as who I’m with isn’t too lost in their own head,” the blond said. He leaned in and kissed Law, all ash and that delicious dinner. “I’ll invoke one of my idiots if I need you to pause, okay?”

Law nodded at that before gently placing his hand on Sanji’s neck and jaw, guiding him into another kiss. He pulled them both down onto the bed, positioning himself so that he was pressing the younger man against the mattress. They broke the kiss with an inhale, after which Law began to move toward the back of his jaw. The smell of smoke and food was intoxicating—mmm… this was good.

“You’re doing great, Law,” Sanji crooned. Law’s lips had been over his throat and the vibrations made him whine. That was when the blond decided to kick it up a notch to test the waters and let his natural accent come out. “You feel good; come on, make Cora feel good.”

Something clicked in Law’s mind as the smooth Northern tones of Sanji’s voice washed over him. It was not the same as Cora’s—not by a long shot—but they affected him all the same. He moved down to Sanji’s collarbone and bit, pulling a hiss from the blond.

“Naughty,” he chided. “Show me, Law; show me what you meant to back then. Be a good boy and show Cora a good time.”

Law grunted and rutted against Sanji’s leg, getting friction against his still-clothed erection. He continued kissing and grinding, hands finding their way over the other man’s slender body. A hand against the blond’s package revealed he was hard as well. He thought for a moment about riding him, feeling that cock swell inside him, but reconsidered as he reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out an old-yet-still-wrapped condom and a near-empty bottle of lube. Fuck, it had been a while since he did anything other than tug himself off and he was going to make every moment of it worth the wait.

Seeing that things were in order, Sanji wriggled out of his underwear and allowed Law to manhandle him, opening his legs and letting a slick-covered finger slide its way in. They kissed as another finger worked its way in, then a third, Sanji moaning into Law’s mouth with each new test and flex of the surgeon’s long digits. He grabbed at Law’s hair as his own cock was flushed and throbbing by the time the hand left him, precome dribbled down his stomach. Law wiped his hand on a nearby cloth and then flipped Sanji over, putting him on his hands and knees atop the mattress.

“Hey, what the fuck are you…?” He went to protest, only for Law to steal his breath with another kiss that held his attention for a bit too long.

“Don’t you worry,” Law murmured against his lips. “Let Law take care of you now. Don’t worry and just concentrate on me.”

Law slid off the bed and shoved his shorts and underwear down in one movement, letting the garments rest at his ankles as he slid the condom on and once again let his fingers trace the muscles on the powerful legs before him. They were meatier than Cora’s had been—not to mention shorter, since the man had been tall—but Law had grown since then, hadn’t he? All he knew was that he had a blond in his bed, a Northern accent in his ears, and cigarettes on his tongue and in the air. He lined himself up with Sanji’s entrance and pushed in, shivering as the other man cussed underneath him.

Ah, fuck! His ass was so warm and tight, enveloping Law as he thrust experimentally. Tight, yet pliable… willing… hungry. With his feet planted firmly on the floor, he explored the younger man’s body with great interest, listening to the noises he pulled from him. A shiver and he knew he found his prostate, holding a thigh with one hand and Sanji’s lower back with another as he snapped their hips together.

“Law!” Sanji cried out, the sound going straight to the other man’s dick. “That’s it, Law! Yes!” He thrust harder and harder, hoping to make it long enough to not embarrass himself. His muscles began to shake and he knew he was doomed. The world was starting to blur as he came closer to orgasm, spurred there even faster by the encouraging noises and sounds coming from under him. He couldn’t even think as words escaped his lips, mind in a complete orgasmic blackout.

“I love you too, Cora!”

At that he came, gasping as he bent over double, his chest pressing against Cora’s back as he thrust through his after-shocks. Cora said something sweet as he nearly collapsed on him, only barely able to pull out before collapsing on the mattress. Was that the sound of Onigiri skittering away from his door? Law felt Cora’s cock and found it was still hard, allowing himself to be eased down to the floor so he could kneel at the other man’s feet while he sucked him off. Gentle hands played with his hair and he felt so light… so content… what was even happening? Soft Northern oaths reached his ears as the cock in his mouth shivered and a spurt of hot hit the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, drinking up every last drop he could.

Cora said something and all Law could do was pass out.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A few hours later and Law woke up with a splitting headache and sore thighs, stark-naked between his bedsheets. He only just barely registered the other person in his bed, the fact that it was Sanji taking a few minutes to soak in. Yeah… he was naked… Sanji was naked… it smelled like sex… oh, and his condom was gone. Great.

“Oh, fuck…” he groaned, then winced at the sound of his voice. Oh… he swallowed dick, didn’t he? “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Sanji replied, idly scrolling on his phone as he sat up against the headboard. Wait… why did he sound Eastern…? “Surprised it’s not eleven in the morning with how soundly you slept. I had to drag your ass into bed… and you’re not exactly light.”

“Sorry,” Law mumbled. He looked at Sanji and felt his face grow hot. “I… uh… don’t remember…”

“I didn’t roofie you, if that’s what you mean.”

“No… just… was it up to standard…?” The blond sighed—not a good sign.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?” Sanji locked his phone and tossed it on the other nightstand before sliding down into a lying position. “You might want to consider therapy.”

“I don’t have time for therapy,” Law admitted. The feel of Sanji’s fingertips against his skin, tracing his chest tattoo, felt so good it was almost ticklish. “Sorry if I’m…” He swallowed. “…fucked up.”

“Who isn’t?” Sanji shrugged. “You give a good sleepy blowjob at least.”

Fucking hell… Law wanted to hide under the covers and not come out until Sanji was out of his apartment building and in the next neighborhood. He just seduced a Straw Hat, of all people, and had shitty sex… his standards were tanking so hard it was a good thing his actual friends were all on a night shift. Sanji, however, simply propped himself up on his elbow and glanced down at Law as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You don’t have the time for therapy, I can’t afford therapy, and yet we’re right here, able to fuck it out until we’re good at something, don’t you think?”

“Don’t pity me.”

“…except I’m not, asshole; you’re realize that if you were fucking lucid.” He reached down Law’s body and cupped his junk, causing the other man to suck in a sharp breath through his nose; not quite over-sensitive, but not ready-to-party either. “Maybe while we’re waiting I can fix us up a snack?”

“I haven’t been to the store…”

“Then it’s a good thing I did before coming here.” Law thought about that for a moment before it hit him.

“You were planning on this, weren’t you?”

“Maybe… maybe not?” He leaned down and kissed Law on the mouth, their lips open and pliant against one another. “Guess you’ll have to find out, hm?”

Law’s life really was more eventful with the Straw Hat Gang entangled in his social circles… but at what cost…? Better yet: how exactly was he going to make the most of it?

[greensaplinggrace]

sorry but like, as someone who doesn't vibe with fem!sub stuff and always ends up dislking fandom obsession with the man in any relationship being a Dominant Daddy Top containing more macho tendencies than personality . . i do also think that framing people liking violence in their sexual fantasies as worrying is um. worrying in and of itself.

like yeah logan being Like That in 'x reader' Old Man Logan stuff seems very ooc to me, too. but i also like animalism and brutality and violence in sex as well, and these things are not inherently abusive or "near rapist" by themselves in fictional portrayals of kink.

i don't hc logan as the macho dom! a lot of fandom for some reason considers "common consensus fanon" lmfao, but i also think that the fine line of fighting and fucking and violence and animalism is something viscerally satisfying to explore in fiction and especially kink. and characters like logan - who do actually have some solid connections to such themes - are some of the best outlets for that.

[squeezetheduck]

Here’s the thing with people shipping Alastor, I could not care less about who people ship Alastor with or whether they ship him at all, what I do care about though is people making him allo.

This is one of the few cannon ace (possibly aro) characters out there and he can 100% be shipped in verity of ways without ignoring he is ace or aroace.

Make him aroace but still platonicly obsessed with Lucifer or Vox.

Make him sex repulsed or indifferent it doesn’t really matter (I could 100% see him having sex with someone for entertainment purposes just like I can see him being sex repulsed).

Even make him Demi/grey-ace if you must show him reciprocating sexual attraction.

Bonus points if he’s aro and you play around with platonic relationships/QPRs.

I know at the end of the day he is a fictional character and people will do what they want, but please listen to aro/ace fans when we ask you not completely ignore his sexuality when there are so many ways you can still play around with his characterization without disrespecting one of the few cannon ace characters to exist in TV.

[thefabledpheasant]

Jealousy in real life relationships is unwanted but in fictional relationships? I eat that shit UP every time. Like, yesss that’s your love being hit on, go unnecessarily wild about it. Be possessive. Kiss them in front of the other person. Eat the other person, even. I don’t care, just show me you’re jealous.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

“Oh, so you read fan fiction before bed too as a little bedtime story, what do you usually read, some cute fluff maybe?”

I need a specifically curated story about my favourite evil twink taking it up the stink star

[missriyochuchi]

Our love is here to stay

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer take a walk along the Seine, skipping stones before entertaining the late-night crowd with an intimate dance number from a classical Hollywood musical.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF. Implied sexual content. Established relationship. References to An American in Paris (1951).

Notes: I didn't intend to write another fic for these two, but this scene from An American in Paris (1951) has been haunting me since the Opening Ceremony. I couldn’t figure out how to write them dancing until I remembered the song that accompanied the scene, and then I couldn't stop writing! The lyrics fit them perfectly! This follows The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer. I strongly recommend reading it first, but if not (it's your time), only a few details carry over: the two exist only during the Olympic Games, so they die and are reborn every two years; interaction between them and humans is strictly limited; and the Flagbearer's horse is named Zeus. As with the aforementioned fic, I use gendered pronouns only to distinguish between the two; physical descriptions are not gendered. For now, I have no plans to write another fic for them, but the Olympics are just beginning, and who knows if the Muses will blow in my direction again lol

Read on AO3

Darkness floats above the Seine like mist, its shroud kept at bay by the namesake luminescence of the City of Lights. Boats bobbing on the river and open restaurants on the bank animate the otherwise dreary waterway. Beneath bulbs of varying hues, businesses bustle with the chorus of tinkling tableware, multilingual conversations, and idle music of Paris past and present. 

Sunrise approaches in an hour, but beneath one of the city’s many bridges, the Torchbearer and the Flagbearer find a sliver of solitude. 

Splash, splash, splash, splash.

“See?” The Torchbearer spins on his heel at the river’s edge, a few flat stones left in hand, to face the Flagbearer leaning against the wall. “There is nothing to it.” He extends an upturned palm in her direction, but she shakes her head.

“I do not possess the skill,” she announces to her echoes.

He cocks his head to the side and closes the distance between them. “Skills can be taught, ma chère.” He takes her hand and pulls her to the riverside, her cape billowing lightly in the breeze. He places a stone in her glove and positions her index finger along its jagged edge. “You must give it a little spin so that it does not sink upon impact on the surface of the water.”

The Torchbearer turns to face his rippling reflection. He flicks his wrist and sends a stone skipping once, twice, three, four times across the river before sinking below the surface with a light plop.

The Flagbearer mimics his motions, swinging her arm and sending her stone on a long arc to a wide splash into the water’s darkness. The Torchbearer stifles a giggle.

She shakes her head and grumbles, “Oh! I do not understand why you find this activity so amusing.”

He releases his chuckles and grabs her wrist before she can walk away with a huff. “Practice makes perfect, non? Give it one more try.”

The Flagbearer runs her hands along her partner’s biceps and strokes his ego. “You are the one gifted with physical prowess,” she says fondly, “a lightness of touch and dexterity.” She steps closer to ghost her breath over his. “If ever I need to raise an army of stone throwers, you shall be my first in command.”

The Torchbearer tilts his head back and sends his laughs to the underside of the bridge. His voice reverberates across the masonry. “Your flattery will not excuse you from this lesson, général.”

“Then I shall receive a failing grade, professeur,” she teases. “Or do you have some other, more favored form of punishment?” She sneaks a knee between his legs and presses up.

He groans and chuckles low at the contact. “Have I not satisfied your appetite for tonight, my love? I am sure the few players who heard us at the Olympic Village would—”

She silences him with a swift squeeze of his buttocks. Her gloved hands slip slowly up to the back of his waist. “Several lifetimes of nights could never quell my hunger for you and your prowess.” She presses her front to his and guides them away from the river’s edge and into the shadows.

The stones in the Torchbearer’s hand land on the pavement, their echoes filling the underpass. His hands smooth over the cool expanse of the Flagbearer’s backplate underneath her cape. “Not here, my sweet,” he whispers into the darkness beneath her hood.

“I know.”

Giggles from an approaching group of tourists break the moment. The lovers’ hands fall to each other’s elbows, their gazes fixed downward. The group grows silent as they pass the hooded figures. A woman bringing up the rear stops to turn around and hold up a smartphone.

“Excuse me, can we— oh!”

A man grabs her elbow and roughly turns her back around towards their group. “Je suis désolé,” he offers quickly. “Elle ne savait pas.” He bows low at the hip in consternation.

The Torchbearer nods in his direction. He watches and waits for the group’s footsteps to fade before turning back to the Flagbearer. Flush with embarrassment beneath her metallic hood, she looks up and crashes her chest to his, tightening her arms around his shoulders for a long embrace. His hands find the opposite sides of her waist, and his chin rests on her tiered spaulder. For a moment, the movement of their chests with every inhalation and exhalation is one and the same.

Displays of affection are not uncommon on the streets of the City of Love, and neither the gods nor any event organizers in the past expressly forbade their affair, but for the Olympic guardians damned to the global spotlight every two years, privacy is a luxury they steal at every opportunity. To be caught alone in each other’s arms felt like an insult to the few precious moments they shared outside their eternal duties.

“Come,” the Flagbearer says softly as she pushes her palms against the Torchbearer’s biceps for enough breathing room to speak. “I do not wish to spend the remainder of the night adding debris to the Seine.” She curls her hand beneath his upper arm and guides him along the riverbank.

The low sounds of whispers and camera shutters accompany the two as they gain distance from their secluded underpass. They keep their gaze forward, accustomed to the attention after years of technological advancements in photography. The few who begin to approach the hooded figures are quickly pulled back by fellow onlookers.

“Why not?”

“They’ll just ignore you and won’t say a word.”

“They were fine during the Opening Ceremony.”

“It’s forbidden.”

The crowd grows in size and sound. They congregate parallel to the riverbank, giving the mysterious duo a wide berth. Over the rising cacophony, the Torchbearer catches a familiar tune floating from somewhere above the embankment. He slows their walk and listens for the words. 

It’s very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

“They are playing our song, chérie.”

“Darling, not now. Daylight approaches. We must be on our way.”

The Torchbearer stops their progress and presses his palm to the Flagbearer’s fingers nestled lightly in the crook of his arm. “When was the last time we danced?” He takes her hands in both of his and swings her in a circle before positioning her left hand on his right shoulder and her right hand in his left. Their hips and foreheads meet as they start a slow circle on the open pathway.

In time, the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They’re only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

“Do you remember the film?” The Torchbearer keeps his voice low enough for only the Flagbearer to hear.

She follows suit, though her breath is clipped. “I know exactly which you speak.”

“Shall we give them a show?” He squeezes her hand and quickens their turns.

“Only if you remember the steps as well as I.”

He huffs, mildly offended. “Do you doubt your partner?”

She smiles and giggles. “Never.”

They drop their arms and sway to the music, mirroring each other’s movements as they widen the space between them. The crowd on the riverbank backs away towards the wall and opens a space large enough for the two to continue. The closest onlookers move to accommodate the Flagbearer’s cape as it soars and intermittently kisses the border between performer and audience.

The dance is both timid and intimate. Their touches are perfunctory, punctuating passing sweeps across the pavement. Yet they lean their hands and heads on the other without hesitation, as if years of muscle memory and not conscious decisions dictate their proximity. Their movements tell the story of two lovers beginning to blossom in a romance they know will last for “ever and a day.” Slow and distanced steps give way to increasingly closer encounters.

“Despite this cumbersome armor, my dove,” the Torchbearer whispers during a moment when they resume the closed position and their faces are centimeters apart, “you dance beautifully. You have not lost your touch.”

“Nor you, my sweetest.”

They continue with their hands folded behind their lower backs, stepping like disparate planets inextricably circling the same center of gravity, and finish with an approximation of a kiss. They lean forward over an arm’s length of distance and bring the shadows beneath their hoods to meet for a breath of eternity. Their shoulders turn to bring an arm each around the other’s waist. They walk intertwined in their original direction as the orchestral music from above the embankment gives way to silence.

Applause and cheers chase after the duo. After a few steps, they turn around and bow to the crowd silhouetted by the embankments’ lights. They resume their promenade hand in hand.

When the murmur of surprise and adoration disappears and the Flagbearer spies no nosy onlookers within earshot, she brings the Torchbearer’s hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you, my love,” she breathes softly into his rough skin. She brushes the corners of her mouth across the backs of his exposed fingertips.

He turns his hand to rub her chin and catches her smile. “For what am I owed your gratitude, mon ange?”

“This world has weighed heavy on my mind since we were summoned,” she folds his hand in both of hers, “and I have forgotten what it means to remain light in such dark times. Thank you for reminding me of the power of simple pleasures.”

The Torchbearer hums to convey his contentment and, for a moment, ponders the gods’ plans in pairing them together. They had discovered, very early in their tenure, the opposing duality of their natures. He carried the torch, and she carried the flag, symbols of an event meant to unite humanity in friendly competition. While the object of his guardianship is most visible during the night, hers is most visible during the day. Together, they provide and protect constant reminders of the Olympic Spirit. Now, he realizes that such duties benefit not just the players and the spectators, but each other. He is her light, and she is his standard. He keeps them afloat, and she keeps them rooted to the Earth.

From the shadows of the bridge fast approaching their path, Zeus appears, both his coat and hoofbeat as light as snow. He advances towards his rider and nudges her cuirass with his muzzle.

The Flagbearer sighs and glides a gloved hand along the horse’s nose. “These nights pass far too quickly.”

The Torchbearer finds his opening to remain true to his duty and nature. “Tempus fugit when you are having fun — is that not what the humans say?” He takes her free hand and bows deeply, bringing his head to the level of her hips and swinging his other arm out to the side. “A testament to the quality of your company. I thank you for the compliment.” He straightens back up and presses her palm to the center of his chest, her gentle warmth meeting his steady heartbeat — his version of a kiss.

She shakes her head and laughs low in her chest, careful not to attract more attention as she hears hushed voices lingering on the embankment above them. He releases her hand and shares a knowing nod. He helps her mount Zeus, his hand trailing after the lower edge of her cape.

“Until tonight,” the Flagbearer whispers as she reaches for one more squeeze of her eternal flame’s hand.

The Torchbearer cradles her hand in both of his and tightens his grasp on her being. “Until tonight.”

Footnotes:

Translations: ma chère/chérie - my dear général - general professer - professor Je suis désolé. Elle ne savait pas. - I am sorry. She did not know. mon ange - my angel Tempus fugit (Latin) - Time flies

Is it corny af to have them reenact a scene from a movie? Sure. But are they not performers? Would they not perform to a love song in the City of Love? We've seen the Torchbearer sort of dance on that drag show catwalk - would they not be an amazing dancer!? And do the distances in the choreography not reflect the distances the two need to keep in the performance of their duties? Are you not entertained!? lolol

[ali-ali-al1]

I need to talk to strangers on the internet about The Thursday Murder Club character Chris Hudson and the accurate depiction of a very common and very miserable relationship with food that is not usually given space in media to breathe past being the butt of a joke or an unimportant detail (god fucking bless Richard Osman). I need to talk to strangers on the internet about the Thursday Murder Club. I need a fandom (if that’s still the correct terminology) how am I meant to live like this ⁉️⁉️⁉️