#I. might write a fic of this. we’ll see

[waifuoftomonori]

I just found out about these, we’ll see if I can get around to writing any of them in time (we might have to go with mini-fics and/or unedited stuff). I also might go rogue for a few days and pick my own prompts >:) Don’t get your hopes up too high, though.

[Image description in ALT. Prompts in plain text under the cut.]

Polyamships is hosting #MultiamoryMarch2025

Multiamory March is a month-long event held each year, starting on March 1st and ending on March 31st, with a prompt for each day.

🎉🎉2025 marks the 5th year since #MultiamoryMarch came to our blog 🎉🎉

Once again we gather to celebrate polyamory in all its forms: OT3s, OT4s, OT8s, V-relationships, QPRs, sedoretus, and any configuration you can think of. In the spirit of this month, we invite you to create works in any medium using the prompts above if you need a little inspiration.

This year we have an additional 10 alt visual prompts for you to choose! Check out the links under the cut.

Remember our prompts are there to inspire you, not restrict you. You can also create freely or even use one of our prompts from past years we’d still love to see fanworks for if they inspire you better. If you use a prompt, please make sure to let us know which prompt you’re creating for somewhere on your post.

At us @polyamships and use the tags #MultiamoryMarch and #MultiamoryMarch2025 in the first five tags so we can hopefully see it. If you don’t see us reblog your post within a few days feel free to send us an ask to let us know, or submit it via the submit link here in case we’ve missed your post or the tags/notifications are being weird.

All ratings are welcome but anything nsfw/triggery should be warned for and behind a read more, as should very long tumblr fic.

We also have an AO3 collection for the event that can be found here and the collection name is ‘multiamory_march_works’.

We can’t wait to see what you create for the month, and please do spread the word about the event. ❤️♾️

Over the next month or two, we will also be doing a number of posts with expanded ideas for each prompt for anyone who needs a little more inspiration than just the one or two word style.

Under the cut you can find the prompts in written form:

Official Multiamory March 2025 prompts

First kiss(es)

Hurt/Comfort

First date as a polycule

N+1 things

Cuddles

Team as polycule

Secret relationship

Friends to lovers

Queerplatonic relationships

Meet the family

Pining

Explaining/mapping the polycule

The polycule taking care of a child or pet

Confessions

and they were roommates

Outsider POV

Soulmates AU

"Don't look at me. This was not my idea."

Chatfic/the polycule groupchat

Time travel

Dreams

Space

Complicated relationships

Trans characters

Touch

Scars

Kink negotiation

Magic

Vampire AU

Role reversal

Morning routine

Alt visual prompts

Always room for one more [LINK]

Home [LINK]

HALSEY - NOW OR NEVER MV [LINK]

Dancing [LINK]

Matching [LINK]

Mythology [LINK]

BTS - BLOOD SWEAT & TEARS MV [LINK]

Family feud [LINK]

Royalty [LINK]

KARD - HOLA HOLA MV [LINK]

[crguang]

moonlit thoughts

You find that Kafka is most photogenic when she doesn’t try and is instead authentically going about her day without a care for the camera following her every movement.

established relationship, fluff, this is a lot of banter i suppose, gn!reader, g!p kafka but there’s no actual smut, very suggestive at the end though, 4.3k words

A/N: a new kafka fic from saturn after all these years… somebody please check up on them this might be a clone… in all seriousness, i wrote this bc i’m going through a rough patch writing wise and i’ve had this idea in my head for months that somehow brings me comfort so i tried to put it into words but kinda flopped. there was supposed to be smut at the end but i ran out of juice, i’m sorry </3

She takes up the right half of the frame; dressed in nothing but a white unbuttoned shirt twice her size and mini shorts to match, her backside faces the lens and is illuminated by streaks of silver from a moon you cannot see. Her tousled hair paints some of the scene amaranth against the midnight sky beyond. It’s a shame the glimmer of stars can’t be seen at this distance, it’d make for a prettier picture. Her lit cigarette is also hidden, though its fumes dance in the air ahead of her and visibly swirl above her head for only a few seconds after each soft exhalation of her lips. You adjust the frame. The clear patio door on the left, Kafka leaning on the hotel room balcony on the right. She lifts her head, blows the smoke in her mouth, and the shutter clicks. In the quiet undisturbed by the circulation twenty stories below, the sound is distinct and impossible to overlook. You take more pictures.

Kafka straightens up and slightly turns to face the adjacent bedroom, her cigarette held loosely between two fingers and the other arm resting on the railing. She brings it to her lips, smiles when the shutter clicks once more, then exhales through her nose. Her features are partially obscured by the smoke and her hair sways with the light breeze. You take another picture.

“See something you like?”

She asks you this often, whenever you stare too long or fish your camera from your bag to point it towards her. Her tone is teasing, her smile amused, but she particularly enjoys the honesty you reply with.

“Always.”

You sit up in the bed and fiddle with your camera to adjust some of the settings. Kafka pushes herself off the balcony and saunters to the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe. She watches you press buttons and rotate the lens to the left, then to the right, before lifting the camera back to her without a word. In between three shutter clicks, she runs her fingers through her locks to tame the stray hairs flying about. She doesn’t care how she looks through your lenses, she’s said so once back when you first asked for permission to capture her that way, so this is just Kafka. She takes another drag from her cigarette. Her bare chest falls with her next exhalation, not a goosebump in sight despite the cool air outside. The shirt covers her nipples and offers a peek into the gentle swell of her breasts. You zoom out to include the waistline of her shorts. After the tenth picture, she speaks up again.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”

You smile and press the shutter button. “Well, you know what they say— I’m making sure the sight lasts longer. Can one get enough of their muse? I don’t think it’s happened before.”

“Your muse?” Kafka chuckles at the comment and crosses her arms over her chest. “You almost make me sound like some kind of artwork you’re trying to capture.”

“Not quite. Just trying to recreate my reality.”

She hums low in response and shifts, her back against the doorframe, tilting her head towards where you sit cross legged on the thick comforter. The butt of her cigarette glows orange. Your shutter clicks.

“And what exactly are you recreating right now?”

“You, smoking after sex a little past midnight in a hotel room we’ll leave behind in the morning. Speaking of, blow your smoke the other way.”

“For the picture?”

“For my nose.”

Kafka lifts her eyes to the sky but the corner of her lips curves in a subtle smile. She relents and walks further onto the balcony. “Oh, fine, I’ll take my smoke elsewhere.”

She resumes her position against the railing to finish her cigarette in peace, no longer facing you. The minutes pass in quietude, you catch every shift of movement and straying lock of hair through the lens of your digital camera. You lie on your side and the device follows your line of sight. Since it serves as a substitute for your eye whenever it’s turned on, her frame now fills the screen in portrait mode. You don’t know what she’s thinking as she silently basks in this moment of calm, free of the things she likes most— excitement, movement, gunfire. A multitude of thoughts could be running through her mind, you still haven’t learned to read every part of it. What she keeps from you is often pictured by your camera anyway. She has a dozen kinds of smiles, all tucked away in a hard drive you keep hidden even from her; part of you is unsure of how she would react to the implications of your scrutiny and wishes to keep the semblance of authenticity she demonstrates once you find yourselves out of the crowd. Each unedited clip or photo represents your eyesight and is inherently intimate, something Kafka likes to pretend she doesn’t struggle with through confident smiles and half-truths.

Not hearing the soft clicking of your camera anymore, Kafka turns to glance into the room. You haven’t moved on the bed, the device hiding your eyes from hers.

“You still taking pictures in there?” She calls out, her voice carrying through the open door.

“No, I’m filming.”

She raises an eyebrow in mild intrigue. “What’s the film for? Making a documentary?”

“Maybe,” you answer noncommittally, “it won’t be the first I’ve made of you.”

You can see her rack her brain for memories of the last time you've shared a film you’ve edited with her as the main character and suppress a smile. While she’s seen some of your pictures, nowhere near the extensive collection you hoard, and even posed for impromptu shots before, she can’t recall witnessing any movie from you. Kafka snuffs out her cigarette on the railing and lets it free fall on the streets below. She doesn’t wait for it to hit the ground, instead padding into the room and making her way to the chair her favorite velvet coat is carefully draped over. You follow her steps with the camera.

“You’ve made a film about me before?” She asks curiously as she slips a hand into the front pocket and pulls out a green pack of chewing gum.

“Mhm. Are you surprised?”

Kafka pops a mint flavoured gum into her mouth. “More like curious.”

“It’s nothing grand. I just edited the numerous shots I’ve taken of you over the time.”

“That’s usually how you make a movie.” She’s unfazed by the deadpan look you send her way and climbs at the foot of the bed, sitting back on her knees. “How many shots are we talking about here?”

You finally lower your device to think. The last time you bothered to check the amount of content you have sitting in various files on your hard drive was a couple of months ago, and it went as high as twelve thousand. You can’t say for sure and you’re suddenly uncharacteristically embarrassed by the number.

“I don’t know,” you reply, “they’re all in my drive.”

“Mmm… Can I see the film?”

You pause. You don’t actually have anything to hide since she’s consented to all of these, it’s just that each shot is deeply personal despite them being of her. You feel they tell a story about yourself more than they do of her. They’re special in their own mundane way because they belong to you in every sense of the word, they embody your perception and thought process and everything you can only express through visual language. Kafka allows you a minute to ponder her request, her gaze flickering from the camera in your hands to your creased brow.

“…Really?” You’re still unsure, your thumb nervously tracing the device’s power button.

“Yes, really. I’m curious to know how you’ve perceived me through your lens so far. Sounds interesting.”

“I don’t know…”

She observes you for a moment and you can tell your hesitation feeds her desire to know more. Her index finger absently drums an unknown melody on her thigh.

“What’s holding you back?”

“I know you’re the subject, but these shots especially are… personal, I suppose.”

“Personal? I guess that’s to be expected,” she says, tone light. “I’m still interested in seeing them. I can handle seeing a few intimate shots of me.”

You sit up against the pillows and look down at your hands. The world is dark and quiet, and it’s just the two of you in this hotel room seemingly suspended in time. There’s nothing but open curiosity in the pink depths of her eyes bare of her beloved contact lenses; she sits in a dress shirt she stole earlier that day from a local clothing shop that isn’t standing anymore, the skin of her chest still slightly flushed with her previous arousal, and silvery highlights compliment her hair with a soft glow that contrast the shadows across her facial features. She’s chewing gum because you’re not a fan of tobacco, keeps a packet in her right front pocket that she no longer thinks twice about. She waits patiently for you to cave in, she knows you will eventually. You meet her gaze and a triumphant smile stretches her lips.

“Alright, but just one.”

Kafka crawls over and plucks a tissue from the box on the nightstand before she spits out her gum and bundles it up on the small desk. She settles near you with an arm propped against the pillows, brushing some strands of hair out of her face to see the screen better. You briefly leave the bed and rummage through your discarded bag for your laptop and encrypted hard drive before joining her side once more. She watches you power it up and type in your password. She’s a warm presence beside you, the familiar feeling calms your nerves somewhat. You take a couple of slow breaths as you retrieve a specific file— K in moonlight. You’ll be adding the pictures and clips you took just now to the same file when you get the time.

“It’s meant to look a bit old. I like how movies looked back then.”

She hums pensively but doesn’t add anything, her attention fixed on the video’s cover image: it’s unassuming enough, a simple picture of her relaxed brows and closed eyes while she dozes off, taken from the point of view of the one sleeping next to her.

You press play. The silent movie is short and made of decomposed footage of Kafka filmed in the various planets the Stellaron Hunters have fleetingly stayed on during their ongoing journey. Though the hours are never the same, the shots are all filmed at night. The editing is reminiscent of a visual diary, almost, where continuity doesn’t exist and every frame is filled by her in the moonlight; the moment when she’s just fallen asleep on silky sheets; in an empty, raining street walking ahead with an umbrella and a crimson moon above her head; footage of her coming closer to the camera, framed to emphasize her usual lazy strut, before it cuts to a chaste kiss captured through the standing mirror of your bedroom. The low lighting makes it so specific parts of her are visible through the lens. Her full face is rarely shown, just whenever she sports the same relaxed expression in her sleep. The Kafka next to you is captivated by the images progressing on screen, the one in the film is mostly unaware of the camera pointed at her— or pretends to be, used to your scrutiny.

As the movie continues, the tone shifts. The first seven minutes put a visual to words you haven’t uttered to each other yet, spinning mundanity into tenderness, or perhaps simply bringing forth the underlying affection that accompanies your routine. The next few ones attempt to convey sensations best felt through touch onto the screen. As is the theme throughout the video, the setting is dark, filmed in a pristine bedroom at night not unlike the one you’re currently in. Edited shots show pieces of Kafka's bare body with no barrier between her sensuous curves and the almost voyeuristic eye of the camera. Clips are cut and replayed to create discontinuity. You remember that night, she impulsively posed for you and gave you full access to her body, naturally, you jumped on the opportunity to record. The moment wasn’t planned so the footage is a little rough, as is the editing considering you’re not a cinematographer, just someone with a camera. Due to the inauthenticity of the subject, her eyes are hidden to frame her perfect smile instead. You’ve used the shadows of the room to your advantage, from Kafka’s on the wall to the ones created by your hand on her moonlit skin as it brushes her ribs, thigh, collarbone. There is movement all through the film, from the subject but also from the camera, who travels up the slope of her neck then abruptly cuts to the length of her spine and the thorny rose stem tattooed along its curve. The movie’s erotic and sensual undertone is an undeniable constant despite nothing explicit happening on screen.

You glance to the side. Kafka’s stare follows the movement of shadows on her own skin and the brief, tantalizing glimpses of her naked body. There’s an element of anticipation that sustains the viewer’s attention, leaving them hoping to see a pink nipple or further down her toned pelvis. You don’t intend to share this with anyone but you still decide to leave the most intimate parts of Kafka’s body to the imagination, kind of like they are with you. She watches your clumsy filmmaking attempt with a private smile and doesn’t say a word until the screen turns black and announces the end of your short film. Her pupils are noticeably dilated and with a slight bite of her bottom lip, you can practically see her mind wander into a realm of quiet contemplation.

“…Well, what do you think?” You speak up first, softly so as to not break her train of thoughts, and nervously tap the “delete” key on your laptop with a forefinger.

Her head tilts to look at you, the same smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes you’re not sure how to decipher. “It’s…” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “bold, sensuous, provocative… Very me. The first half is pretty sweet, lowers your guard for the rest.”

“It’s kinda sloppy.”

“It’s me. I didn’t even know you filmed something like this,” she admits, looking back at the laptop and reaching over to replay the beginning of the video.

She means the implicit intimacy of her life alongside yours, this side of her she never thought could be so obvious, yet it’s laid out for the both of you to see, plain as day and indisputable.

“You’re the one who posed for it, babe.”

She laughs quietly, not denying your words. She watches herself smoke on a rooftop she remembers trespassing on, blood spatter across her white sleeves. “True, I was the subject. But I didn’t know you took such artistic liberties with the footage. Didn’t think you could spin it into something so… seductive.”

You press a little closer to her on the bed, folding your knees and resting the laptop on your stomach. Her gaze is on the film while you turn your head to take in the soft lighting on her face.

“It was mostly you,” you say. “That’s just how you look.”

Her eyes crinkle in pleasure. “It’s all thanks to my natural beauty, then?”

“Not all, I did work on it. But yes. I think this is my favorite shot.”

You fast forward to a shot portraying dancing shadows on Kafka's bare chest like multiple hands seeking to grab a piece of her body.

Kafka hums in recognition. “I remember when you filmed this one, it took a couple of tries because you wouldn’t stop playing with my boobs.”

“Yeah, I have some clips of that actually.”

Kafka gives you an unimpressed look and rolls her eyes when you respond with a lopsided smile.

“In my defense,” you press pause to look at her, “you have very gorgeous boobs. They’re perky and sit prettily on your chest.”

Your straightforward assessment makes her chuckle but she absorbs the praise like a sponge in water. A teasing smirk forms on her lips, the creases around her eyes her very own way to preen.

“Oh, really?” She replies lightly, pleased. “Well, I’m glad you find them pleasing to the eye.”

“And to the touch.”

“Of course, you’re not only an admirer but an experienced connoisseur.”

Her voice lowers and takes a huskier tone as she maintains eye contact with you, her right hand deliberately drawing patterns on your abdomen. You shut your laptop and discard it on the nightstand then turn around to press a palm on the center of Kafka’s naked chest, pushing her onto her back and against the cool sheets.

“Yeah,” your knees are planted on each side of her hips and your hand brushes her open shirt further to the side before cupping her breast. It fills your palm with a satisfying weight. “They’re really pretty.”

Kafka lets out a low hum as you take command, she settles into the firm mattress and her chest rises steadily beneath your gentle touch. You caress the familiar path around her breast, the sensation sending a low thrum of pleasure through her.

"They are, aren't they?" She agrees, her words laced with anticipation while her gaze drinks in the desire etched on your features.

“Ugh, I can’t even reproach your cockiness this time because it’s true.”

Her smile turns smug at your playful chiding and earnest praise. Her body responds positively to your touch, arching into your absent kneading and snaking an arm around your waist to bring you closer. Her lips part silently when you flick her nipple with a fingernail. Her gaze darkens past the amusement in it though she keeps still for now, ignoring her growing arousal and instead focusing on your expressions as you run your hands across her sensitive skin. The fingers not groping her chest travel down her abdomen and leisurely trace her navel. You regard her body with unashamed admiration, it’s in every caress and every glance, and it’s a sort of high that she chases by baring herself to you.

“Don’t get excited now,” you warn her, eyes briefly flitting to hers, “I’m just enjoying touching you.”

She chuckles, a hint of a challenge in the air following her teasing reply, “Oh, I’m well aware of your enjoyment, baby. You’re not exactly subtle about it. But I won’t lie… I’m definitely getting excited.”

“We just had sex.”

“True, we did…” She slowly concedes and purposely trails off in a sultry murmur. Her splayed fingers trail up the expanse of your back over your shirt. She lays a hand on top of yours on her breast and encourages you to squeeze more firmly. She makes a show of gasping softly at the sensation. “You should know, though, the thrill doesn’t just stop at one time. It lingers, it builds… and it craves more.”

You harshly pinch her nipple in reprimand. “Don’t be corny.”

Kafka’s eyes shut for an instant, relishing the pleasure-pain zapping along her limbs like an electrical current. She inhales sharply through her nose.

“Corny, huh? Maybe I’m just feeling especially poetic tonight.”

“As I’m playing with your tits?”

A playful smile quirks up her lips. “Sometimes inspiration strikes in the most unexpected moments. And I happen to find your touch very inspiring.” She lifts her torso off the bed, pressing up against yours, and tilts her chin upwards. Her mouth brushes yours with every word she speaks and her hand guides your own down the lines of her chest and over her toned stomach to rest on the waistband of her shorts. “In fact,” she purrs, “your touch makes me want to write sonnets.”

“…Incorrigible.” Your hand doesn’t progress further and Kafka feigns a pout. “How are you still horny?”

“How could I not be with you touching me like that?”

You lightly tug at her shorts and your fingertips graze the coarse hairs that greet you, prompting a quiet sound of satisfaction from her.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, now fully feeling her soft hair and ignoring the hardening bulge that’s starting to take shape under her clothes.

“Mmm, like you’re going to be in trouble if you keep teasing me…”

Unashamed, Kafka grips your wrist and leads your hand lower, to the firm tent in her shorts silently demanding more of your focused attention. As your palm deliciously presses against her, her fingers curl around your nape and she captures your lips in a languid kiss. It’s slow and deep, meant to rouse your dormant passion, and she doesn’t let you go until your chest burns with the need to breathe freely. You lightly squeeze her growing erection in warning, she nips your bottom lip in retaliation. You can feel her smile into the kiss before her lips part in a gasp when you palm her just so, cheekily tracing the defined length of her shaft. She’s not wearing any underwear, courtesy of your earlier activities, and you can feel the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin garment. Kafka moans into your mouth as you stroke her, never one to hide how nice she’s feeling, especially since her throaty sounds of encouragement spur you on like nothing else. She gets what she wants without asking, and you forget why you were ever going to deny her in the first place.

“Aeons, you’re hot,” you breathe out against her lips after another raspy moan from her, “I could hear you make those noises for me forever.”

Kafka’s laugh is breathless, “Yeah? Are you going to pull out your camera, immortalize this moment too?”

“Don’t tempt me…” You let her steal another kiss from you and tilt your head upwards to allow her mouth to travel down your jaw. “I could make a compilation of every groan out of your mouth when you enter me.”

“A compilation, hmm…?” She licks a long stripe up to your ear, then sucks the lobe into her mouth. Her voice is hushed and sultry against your eardrums. “You have a collection of my moans, baby?”

“You’d be surprised. Though not that much, considering you knew I was holding the camera each time.”

You think your short film might have aroused her more than she let on; paired with her sensitivity from her previous orgasm just an hour earlier, she’s easily worked up in the palm of your hand. Your thumb applies pressure on her already weeping slit, staining the inside of her shorts with pre-cum you can’t wait to clean off of her throbbing cock. You feel her teeth graze your skin at the motion, and her grip on your neck tightens a tad. She doesn’t urge you to touch her properly yet, enjoying the pleasant sensation of anticipation swirling through her belly.

“I did know,” she agrees shamelessly, panting softly into your ear, “there’s something so exciting about you watching me twice… first through your own eyes, then through the camera lens, like you can’t get enough of me.”

You don’t contest her words. Your hand moves to her base and cups her balls firmly, and you swallow the intoxicating noise she makes with insistent kisses on her wet lips.

“I could show you,” you whisper, your breath short.

“Yeah?”

You withdraw from her not without a lingering kiss, bringing your wandering hand along, and climb off of her to reach for the laptop on the nightstand. Kafka exhales long and deep to regain some of her bearings. She glances down at her aching length and bites her lip, already missing your eager touch, but brushes some hair out of her face before turning to you lying flat on your stomach. Your chest still heaves with excitement as you look through your folders. She gets a premium view of your backside like this and can’t help slowly running a hand down the pretty curve of your spine while she waits patiently. You quickly find what you’re searching for.

You click on a video. Her eyes flit to the screen. The camera work is shaky and the room is dark so not much can be properly discerned, but a few seconds later the distinct sound of your voice rings out through the laptop’s speakers, soft and whiny, almost immediately followed by Kafka’s deep, throaty groans. She intently listens to the sweet, heated cries of pleasure you make and the recognizable, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping against flesh. Your head turns to catch her eye over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

“What do you think? Don’t we sound great together?”

Kafka smiles in response, eyes dark yet burning with an intensity that can only promise sore limbs in your near future. She drapes herself over you, her thick cock pressed against your ass and her chest flushed to your back as she pulls the tip of your ear between her lips. The video continues though it’s not very long, a harmonized version of your voices filling the otherwise quiet of your shared hotel room.

“I think…” Kafka murmurs hotly directly into your ear, patting the nightstand’s surface for your digital camera until her fingers close around the desired object, “we should make a different kind of movie. Don’t you?”

Kafka also gives you full liberty this time around but unlike the first short film you made of her in the moonlight, every blissed out roll of her eyes and flush of her skin is entirely authentic.

[hhughes]

𝓢𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝓤𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

𐙚 fic ; in which matthew regrets the things he said and the things he didn’t say . . .

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. matthew tkachuk x fem!reader 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. slightly toxic fwb. little angst. fluff. hurt to comfort. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. tried writing for someone new😽 this is kind of set as last playoff season? also not trying to romanticize injuries, just putting it out there. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

You wince as you watch Matthew get pounded into the boards for what seems to be the twentieth time tonight.

One hand goes to cover your mouth and the other gets gripped by Taryn, her tight grip surely meant to comfort and ease the ball of anxiety currently building in the pit of your stomach, but it only builds and builds as Matty takes a bit longer than usual to get back to his feet.

“He’s okay,” Brady whispers, bumping his shoulder into yours and you briefly wonder if those words comforted him more than they were meant to comfort you, so even though you didn’t fully believe them, you send Brady a small, thankful smile in response.

When you first met Matthew at a mutual friend’s birthday party you had no idea who he was. Growing up in Florida with a dad who was obsessed with football, hockey was never something you were exposed to and thus had no idea what he did for a living. And it’s not that you didn’t like the sport or found it entertaining, because you did and you could see why Matthew and the rest of his family loved it so much.

But seeing Matthew get targeted, fans in the stands cheering while he was struggling to regain his footing made you physically ill, and all you could do was clutch your stomach and hope he wasn’t too banged up.

Florida ends up losing and that puts an even more bitter feeling in your gut, knowing Matty took a beating tonight and it didn’t even pay off.

You fiddle with the charm bracelet on your wrist while you wait with his family for him to come out of the locker room, an anxious pit in your stomach, not knowing if he is gonna want to see you after a game like that.

The anxiety melts away the second he steps out of the locker room and makes his way over to you, not even glancing at anyone else as he pulls you into his arms, head resting in the familiar spot between your head and shoulder.

You swallow hard when the butterflies in your stomach threaten to make their way up your throat as Matty kisses your cheek, hugging you again and mumbling, “Thanks for coming.”

You try to get a hold of your thoughts while he greets his family, never straying far enough away from you to be out of reach. You weren’t sure in what category to place him anymore. He didn’t quite fit the “just friends” box, nor the boyfriend box, but somehow over the past few months that you’ve gotten to know him, he’s become your closest friend and one of your favourite people.

Always the first one to celebrate with you when something good happens, or comfort you when something bad happens. You can’t even remember what your life was like before you had Matty in it.

“Do you guys mind if we skip out on dinner tonight? I know we had reservations but I’m beat and I honestly just wanna pass out,” Matthew says, his words directed at his family as he pulls you closer to his side again, making it clear when he said ‘we’ he was talking about you and him.

Taryn smirks knowingly and waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, go sleep it off, Matty. We’ll see you tomorrow.” His mom gives him a quick once-over, eyes scanning for any injuries he might be downplaying, but she just sighs and nods, clearly used to this by now.

Brady, on the other hand, raises an eyebrow at you, a teasing glint in his eye that makes your cheeks heat up. You just glance away before swallowing the lump in your throat, offering his family a soft smile before bidding them goodnight.

Matthew doesn’t waste another second, his arm tightening around your shoulders as he starts guiding you toward the exit. Your heart is pounding, and you’re not sure if it’s from the game, the weight of his body pressed into yours, or the way he keeps stealing little glances at you like he’s making sure you’re still there.

The drive back to his place is quiet, save for the low hum of the radio and the occasional deep sigh from Matthew. His hand stays on your thigh, warm and grounding, and every so often his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that makes you hyper aware of every breath you take.

“You staying at mine tonight or do you want me to take you home?” he asks, and you hesitate for a moment before agreeing to stay at his.

Once you guys get inside his house, he drops his bag by the door and toes off his shoes with a groan. “I’m so fucking sore,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders before flopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

You hover awkwardly for a second, unsure if you should try to touch him or not, but then Matthew pats the empty spot next to him, his eyes soft and tired. “C’mere.”

You hesitate only for a moment before sinking down beside him. He wastes no time wrapping an arm around you, pulling you in close, and resting his head against yours. Your throat restricts slightly when you rest your head on his chest and notice the way his breath hitches every so often, as if he’s in pain by just breathing.

“Did you see the trainer before you left?” you ask softly, almost afraid of the answer.

“No. I’ll uh — see how I feel tomorrow morning and then maybe give them a call” he says and the frown immediately appears between your brows

“Matty,” you sigh, lifting your head to look at him. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to take better care of yourself.”

His eyes flicker with something—annoyance, maybe exhaustion—but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’m fine,” he mutters, shifting slightly as if to prove it, but the wince that follows betrays him.

You sit up a little, the warmth of his arm around you fading as you put some distance between you. “You don’t look fine. You could barely get up out there, and I can tell you’re hurting right now no matter how much you try to hide it.”

Matthew groans, running a hand down his face. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I’ll be good to go by the next game.” he says, his voice almost on autopilot as if he’s practiced this response in the mirror a thousand times. Almost trying to convince himself.

That tight knot in your chest grows. “You shouldn’t play in the next game.”

His head snaps toward you then, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should sit the next one out,” you say, your voice steady but pleading. “Matty, you’re not invincible as much as you’d like to believe that you are. You keep pushing through stuff like this, and one day it’s not just gonna be some soreness or bruises. You’re in your mid twenties for crying out loud! At this rate ten years from now you won’t be able to bend down and do every day things, never mind play hockey every night”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might actually listen to you. But then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, leaning back against the couch, rubbing at his chest absentmindedly. “I have to play. Sitting out isn’t an option.”

Your frustration boils over. “Yes, it is! You’re hurt, Matty. They’ll understand.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch. “I can’t just sit out because I’m a little banged up. That’s not how this works.”

You stare at him, heart pounding, hurt creeping into your voice. “Matty, I just… I care about you, and I don’t want to see you get worse. I just — I don’t understand how you — why you would do this to yourself. Put yourself through this” Put me through this , you think bitterly but keep it to yourself.

For a moment, something flashes in his eyes—guilt, maybe—but then it’s gone, replaced by something colder. He exhales sharply, his fingers pressing into his temples before he mutters, “You’re not my girlfriend, so stop nagging me like you are.”

The words hit harder than any body check he took tonight.

You freeze, blinking at him as the sting of his words settles deep in your chest. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room, and suddenly, you feel like you shouldn’t be here at all.

“Right yeah,” you say quietly, forcing a nod as you pull yourself off the couch. “Got it.”

“Wait—” Matthew shifts forward, wincing as he tries to reach for you, but you’re already stepping away, grabbing your bag with shaky hands.

“No, it’s fine,” you say, voice tight. “I shouldn’t be nagging you about this. It’s not my place”

The look on his face is a mix of regret and frustration, but you don’t stick around long enough to let it sink in. The sound of the door closing behind you feels deafening, and as you step out into the cool night air, you try to swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You knew that. But hearing him say it like that, like your concern was nothing more than an annoyance, made it hurt in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You text Brady while you wait for your uber, letting him know that Matty was going to be alone tonight and he might need someone to check in on him periodically.

You manage to make it home and into your bed before you let the tears fall. The most frustrating part was that you weren’t even mad at him, you were just worried for him. The combination of your sobs and the constant buzzing of your phone mix into a perfect melody that lulls you to sleep.

—

As much as you’d wish to say you didn’t, you watch the next game on TV, and the panthers win to advance to the final round of the playoffs. You were busy scrubbing your kitchen clean for the fifth time in the last week, a glass of wine sitting on the counter keeping you company. Your apartment has never been as clean as it was right now, cause every time you got the urge to text or call Matty you’d find another way to keep your hands occupied.

You were debating whether you should bake something or do your laundry when you heard a knock on the door.

You took your time getting over there to answer it, knowing who was standing on the other side.

You take a deep breath before opening the door, finding him standing there, still in his suit from the game.

His tie is undone, the top button of his shirt popped open, and the exhaustion from the night is etched into his face—but none of it hides the way his eyes immediately lock on yours, soft and pleading.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse, like he’s been rehearsing the word over and over again on the way here.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing here, Matty?”

He hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I—uh—I needed to see you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart is pounding. “I thought I wasn’t your girlfriend. Isn’t this the part where I’m supposed to stop nagging you and mind my own business?”

His face falls at your words, and he scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay I deserved that,” he admits. “I was a complete asshole, and I’m sorry.”

You stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he adds, stepping closer. “You do have a place, okay? You’re one of the only people who cares about me in a way that — You’re not my girlfriend. But not because it’s not your place or because I don’t want you to be. It’s because I haven’t had the balls to ask you, because I’m scared you’re gonna realize you deserve a hell of a lot more than — whatever it is that I can offer you”

Your defenses waiver as you look at him, his usual confidence stripped away. There’s no mask, no bravado—just Matty, raw and vulnerable.

“Why are you here now?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, and he shrugs, looking down at his feet before meeting your gaze again. “Because we won tonight. And we’re going to the finals. And I played a hell of a game. And yet the only thing I could think about afterwards, was that the only person I wanna celebrate with wasn’t there”

Your breath catches in your throat, and he takes another step closer, leaving almost no space between you.

You swallow hard, your arms loosening from their crossed position as you take in his words. “Matty…” you start, but your voice falters.

“I know,” he cuts in gently, his tone pleading. “I know I don’t deserve you. I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you. But I’m standing here, telling you that you’re the only thing in my life that makes sense. You make me better, even when I don’t deserve it.”

His hand reaches for yours, hesitant, like he’s afraid you might pull away. You don’t, your fingers brush, and the warmth of his touch sends a shiver up your spine.

“I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I don’t want to keep running from what this is—what you are to me. I’m here because I can’t stand the thought of celebrating something this big without you. Because none of it matters if you’re not there with me.”

The sincerity in his voice chips away at the walls you’ve spent the last few days building. You look up at him, your resolve crumbling.

“You can’t just say this and expect everything to be fine, Matty,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You can’t just treat me like shit and then show up every time you decide I matter and think I’ll be waiting. That’s not fair.”

His face twists in pain, but he nods. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But I’m here because I’m done running from you, from us. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just—I’m asking for a chance to prove that I mean it this time. That I’m not going anywhere.”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes search yours desperately, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice cracking. “You can’t keep breaking my heart, Matty.”

“I won’t baby,” he promises, his voice firm despite the vulnerability in his gaze. “Just… let me in. Let me prove to you that I can be better. I can be the man you deserve”

“You already are” you say softly, your voice barely audible. “You just have to start acting like him”

His lips curve into a small, relieved smile, and he nods. “I won’t screw this up. I promise.”

And as he steps inside, pulling you into his arms for the first time in what feels like forever, you can’t help but hope that maybe—just maybe—he means it this time.

[your-divine-ribs]

Having a ‘fuck it’ moment so decided to make this blog public again… not sure if it’ll stay that way but we’ll see! Please let me know if any links don’t work.

I’ve still been posting some old pre-written chapters on here whilst my blog’s been private over the last few months if anyone needs to catch up and I still have some Ice Cold chapters to post but if I do write any new stuff going forward I will probably be mainly using Wattpad or AO3 as I still feel a bit weird about posting new stuff publicly here (also I might be privating my nsfw fics on tumblr soon idk yet). Links to my Wattpad and AO3 are on my Masterlist - if you want to give me a follow I will love you forever ha ha 😂❤️

Also I wanna say a big thank you to everyone who has supported me over the years, love you guys sm 😘 xxx

[via-the-cryptid]

tgcf au where hc’s true form is Wu Ming. it’s what he looked like right after he died, and even if he reinvents himself, even if he’s gained more strength and power from the Kiln, he still can’t grow or change but so much without involving shapeshifting. his canon form is the one he built for himself, the one he created with the intention of becoming an entirely new being (not weak or helpless, like he used to be before he sculpted a new identity), but it isn’t his true form. his true form is still that bony little waif of a soldier, the one that tried to so hard to help his god but couldn’t truly fix anything in the end.

and now, imagine just how much xl is going to lose his mind when hc inevitably shows him this true form (after much hesitation, but hc really can’t deny his beloved god anything and he would never want to, even if he’s practically ready to dissipate from the shamefulness of that awful body). think of hc changing into the half-starved ghost of Wu Ming, not expecting xl to even remember the ghost — let alone recognize him — and then think of just how hard xl is going to cry when he realises that Wu Ming is still here and still following him after all.

[flaccid-rats]

pre ANH au where Din and Luke meet on Tatooine, have their summer romance and all that, and when Din inevitably has to leave Luke gives him a japor snippet (“It’s a good luck charm,” Luke says with a smile. “I’ve seen how reckless you get on your bounties.”) and Din thinks it’s a little silly, but he lets Luke put it around his neck anyway.

It is only a few days later that Din hears about the Lars family, about the fire, about how they never found a third body.

And then Din just…never takes that japor snippet off.

For years he wears it, the sound of the japor clinking against the beskar of his mythosaur pendant becoming so familiar to him that he panics when it falls silent. He reaches for his neck when he cannot hear that ringing sound, reaches for the japor, desperate to make sure it’s still there, that he did not lose what he has left of the man he would never really stop loving. Even when Din is dying, when he takes off his mythosaur pendant to give to Cara, when he begs her to take it, to bring this child he knows nothing of to safety, he keeps the japor close to his slowing heart.

And somehow, Din lives.

(“It’s a good luck charm,” Luke says with a smile.)

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 27 - Voiceless, “I have no mouth and I must scream”

I feel like I’ve been mean to Wind a lot heh, I feel bad for the little guy. It’s better than the three arrows I put in his chest in that other fic! ...Maybe, anyway.

Warnings: redeads

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Wind was not happy.

He struggled and kicked, tried to squirm out of the bruising hold on his arms, went limp and tried to just give the two soldiers dragging him along some underground passageway as worse of a time as possible. They’d already taken his weapons and only held him tighter as he struggled, but Wind kept it up anyway.

One of the Yiga grumbled in annoyance as Wind kicked at his legs, and he felt a glint of satisfaction.

“Rotten kid, that attitude will die plenty quick where you’re going,” the other Yiga snapped, ignoring Wind’s attempts to bite him. “This cell was for the hero, but what better way to lure him there than to dump his little brother in it first?”

“You built a cell underneath the outskirts of a village? Wow, that’s normal well-adjusted behavior,” Wind huffed, and one Yiga sneered.

“We merely adapted it for our purposes. And you’re the perfect person to test it out.”

Wind finally managed to clamp his jaws down on one of the soldier’s hands, and he yelled, gloves not thick enough to really protect him. The other one snatched at Wind and put a dagger to his throat before he could press his attack, and Wind reluctantly released the hand, getting the message.

“Link’ll never fall for your stupid trap anyway,” Wind said with a glare, and the Yiga both chuckled.

“Oh yes he will. Have fun, kid.”

A door was opened, and Wind was tossed through without any sort of fanfare, stumbling as he landed. He whirled back around to the door, but it was already closed and firmly locked.

Wind scowled at it, then turned to look around his prison, mind already turning towards thoughts of escape. Who did these Yiga guys think they were, kidnapping him off the street? He was the Hero of Winds! How had they even gotten the drop on him?

Wind scowled again and kicked at the floor of the cell. At least he’d been walking around with Four and Wild. Surely one of them would notice he was missing soon. And if not, well, Wind was pretty good at getting out of tight spots if he did say so himself.

No problem.

Wind put his hands on his hips, looking around the dark cell. There was a single tiny torch hung up on the wall, too high for Wind to reach that lit up the skinny space. A stone wall stood at the far end of the cell, but the two sides were open bars, darkness yawning beyond them.

It... kinda made his skin crawl.

Wind crossed his arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, but he shrugged it off with a huff. He needed to figure out how to get out of here, creepy darkness or not. The deep shadows beyond the bars suggested a bigger area, so if he could just find a loose one, he’d be set. Maybe he could even climb up and grab the torch.

Wind walked over to a side, starting at one end and giving each bar a solid shake. They seemed pretty firmly in the ground, but Wind worked his way across anyway, hoping for a loose one. He got all the way through without a single loose bar, and sighed, crossing to the other side to try there instead.

He’d gotten about halfway when he heard something, creaky and quiet.

Wind froze, listening, and the hair on the back of his neck went up as he heard it again. That noise was familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he knew it was familiar.

And that it was bad news.

A low moan came from somewhere in the darkness, and Wind slowly began to back away, nerves all alight. If he could just see he wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. Maybe the darkness was just freaking him out, and he was imagining noises because of that?

A bloodcurdling scream rang out, and Wind’s eyes went huge as a familiar sensation wracked through him, deathly cold and terrifying.

Oh no, he thought in a panic, his feet frozen to the floor, body unable to turn away from the shambling footsteps he could hear. Oh no oh no oh—

A face appeared in the flickering light of the torch, decaying and horrible, eyes glowing. A rotten hand stretched forward and wrapped around the bars, and Wind stared at the Redead, trapped in its unnatural terror.

It didn’t look like his version of them, taller, with a few ragged clothes on its lanky body, but the feeling it left him with was the same, sheer, unnatural terror.

I’ve got to get away, maybe by the door I’ll be far enough it won’t be able to—

A different scream rang out, sending another jolt through Wind’s chest, and he watched in horror as another redead grasped at the bars, reaching out to him, trying to pull him close. Beady eyes stared at him, glowing and malicious with hunger, and Wind might have whimpered if he could move his mouth.

He fought the paralysis as much as he could, but the moment it started to wear off, one of them screamed again, leaving Wind with no escape. More screams joined the first two, and Wind choked on his breath as a whole group of redeads shambled out of the darkness. Screams came near constantly from their lips as they grabbed at the bars and reached through, trying to get at him.

They can’t get through, they can’t get through they can’t hurt you, it’s just to scare you, Wind thought frantically, heart drumming in his chest. They don’t want you to escape that’s why they put them there you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay.

The screams just kept coming, endless and piercing and shooting Wind’s heart through with inescapable terror. He couldn’t even move to cover his ears, and he felt a terrified scream build in his own throat.

But it wouldn’t come out. Wind could only keep standing there, immobilized, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

It felt like his heart was being encased in ice, frost shooting through his veins with every scream and grazing touch. More screams joined the agonizing chorus from behind him, and the terror felt like it would crush him, repeatedly crashing over him like a freezing wave.

Hands grabbed at him, nails grazing his skin. Wind couldn’t move, the torrential screams hammering at him, cracking him, filling him up with so much terror his mind couldn’t focus on anything else.

His world narrowed down to screams and beady eyes, Wind drowning in terror, eyes darting around wildly, mind screaming every time a hand grazed him.

If he could move he’d be curled up on the ground, but all he could do was stand here and sob in his mind as a deathly cold hand finally closed around his wrist.

Then a different noise rang out over the screams.

It was garbled in Wind’s ears, some sort of talking he couldn’t make out over the redeads’ shrieks. But suddenly music poured into the cell, cheery and bright, and the screaming stopped.

All of it.

Wind’s ears still rang with them, and the terror still pressed over him like a wet blanket, but there was finally silence, and the hand trying to drag Wind closer to the bars had stopped in its efforts, the redead’s mouth stuck open with its teeth bared.

Wind would’ve sobbed if he could move, and he heard footsteps and talking, his ears still ringing too much to make out. Strong arms pulled the hand off his wrist and cradled him to a chest, shouted something at the other sets of footsteps. The song trilled again, bright and warm, and though Wind still couldn’t do much as twitch his pinky, some of his panic eased as he felt a steady heartbeat against where his ear rested.

The others were here.

There must have been a trip out, but Wind missed most of it, still trapped in the lingering screams he could hear in his mind. Tears trickled steadily down his cheeks, and past the unnaturally sharp fear was a flicker of annoyance at crying so much.

But the terror mostly blotted it out.

Sunshine finally fell onto his face, warm and soft, and whoever was holding Wind lowered themselves to a knee. A face looked down at him, and Wind saw Twilight, eyes fearful.

“Hey Wind, you alright?” he asked, and Wind could only stare at him, heart pounding, terror still clenching like a talon around him. “Wind?”

“Is he okay?” someone else asked, and Twilight leaned back, Time and Wild’s faces both coming into view next.

“He’s not responding,” Twilight replied, and Time leaned in, studying Wind’s face with a worried look.

“Wind, can you hear me?” Time asked, setting a hand on his chest.

I can hear you fine, I just can’t move! Wind wanted to scream, but his mouth was still frozen shut. The only thing that he was still able to do was cry, apparently.

Time gently wiped his tears away, and if Wind wasn’t still so terrified, he was sure he’d be embarrassed. “Do we know how long he was down there?”

“An hour, hour and a half? No more than two based on when we started looking,” a voice Wind placed as Wild added anxiously. Oh good, he avoided the trap. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a long time to be around an attacking redead, no less dozens of them like he was,” Time replied, gently tilting Wind’s head around as he looked at it. “Usually the song fixes things, I have no idea why he’s still frozen like this.”

“Prolonged exposure I’d guess,” Four’s voice added, and Twilight’s hand combed gently through his hair. “It might just take him longer to break out of it. He’s so cold...”

“I still can’t believe we lost sight of him like that,” Wild said quietly, and a different hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wind.”

Oh Wild, it’s not your fault, Wind thought, trying to look the champion in the eye and convey the sentiment. I’d tell you so if I could.

Some more footsteps pounded against the grass suddenly, and the amount of voices around Wind doubled, more faces leaning over to look at him, worried questions floating over his head. The other Links had obviously joined the group, and Wind struggled even harder against the paralysis making him nothing but deadweight. But he remained as frozen as ever, a scream still stuck in his throat, ice around his heart.

“Give him space, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of what’s going on and you all are crowding him,” Warriors’ voice chided, and the majority of heads pulled back from his view. The captain’s face appeared in his line of sight, full of worry. “Wind? Can you move anything? Even just something small?”

Wind started at his feet and worked his way upward this time, trying to move anything he could. Fear still thrummed through him, his body on high alert, tears tracking down his cheeks, but he finally managed to twitch his eyelids a little.

“Hey, there we go,” Warriors said with relief in his eyes. “Can you do it again?”

Wind focused, managing another twitch, and almost did a full blink when he tried again. Warriors’ face was still worried, but he looked encouraged by even the tiny movement.

“Here, let me see if this helps some more,” Time said then, and Twilight shifted Wind around in his arms so his head was a little more upright.

Time pulled out his ocarina, purplish blue in the sunshine, and he played the trilling song again, the one Wind finally recognized as the song of passing. Time played it through a couple times, magic falling over Wind like a beam of sunlight. He was surprised the time of day itself didn’t change, but maybe Time was stopping it from doing that somehow.

Suddenly the magic loosened something inside him, the icy terror cracking, thawing a little. Some feeling swept back into his body, and the scream that had been stuck in Wind’s throat this whole time suddenly burst out, loud and terrified.

Time immediately stopped playing, and Wind began to tremble as feeling slowly spread to the rest of him, his scream ending in a hiccup. It felt amazing to finally give voice to the horrible coldness in him, and Wind barely noticed when a thumb brushed along his cheek.

“Wind?” Time asked quietly, and Wind breathed in a shaking breath, firmly blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Th-thank, tha-ank y-you,” he managed get out in a miserable-sounding whimper.

Sighs of relief went up around him, and Time gave Wind a smile, even with the way Wind was shaking and still unable to stop the tears from escaping his eyes.

“You’re welcome Sailor,” Time replied, and brushed a few more of his tears away.

Wind managed a shaky smile back, then relaxed into Twilight’s arms, more and more of the ice in his chest melting away into bright sunshine.

[princesscallyie]

Okay, here’s the outcome of my blackout yesterday. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the poll or ask for any input cause when I started designing I was already coming up with all sorts of ideas and scenarios that I was already attached with lol. So here’s the plot synopsis and character descriptions from what I have so far.

Alpha Delta Protocol, is about the Alpha Delta Psi fraternity, which has a strong emphasis on tradition and discipline. The frat is known for its strict hazing practices, which are led by President Damon “Diesel” Hale and House Manager Quin Lancaster. The story follows the dynamic between Damon and Quin as they manage the frat, by carrying out hazing, exerting dominance, and other punishments to the willing pledges. The story is has mature themes but it also has comedic tones.

Damon “Diesel” Hale, is Alpha Delta Psi’s President. He is known for his physical strength, charisma, and traditionalist views.He is nicknamed “Diesel” because of his relentless energy and strength to overcome any obstacle, just like a diesel engine. His favorite saying as he introduces himself is, “Like the fuel, I’m pumped up and ready to go, baby! Nowhere’s the limit!” While running the frat, he prefers to use his hands when carrying out the hazing rituals, as he believes the hand-to-skin keeps the bond between brothers more personal and connected. He also will take use of the House’s heirloom paddle. Overall, he has a friendly but assertive leadership style, with more of a focus on the brotherhood and camaraderie of the frat and making sure traditions are upheld. Though there are moments where he can get more intense and can really show who’s in charge, even being more scary than Quin. Speaking of Quin, he harbors an unrequited crush on the House Manager, being physically attracted to the shorter male and in awe of his disciplinary skills. He sometimes feels a pang of jealousy, sometimes of the way Quin commands control, and sometimes of the pledges on the receiving end of Quin’s discipline.

Quin Lancaster, is the House Manager of ADP. Though Damon might be President, it is Quin who is running the show, having the House running smoothly and in tip-top shape. Affectionately nicknamed “Manager” by the brothers as a sign of endearment and a show of respect. But if you value your life, don’t you dare call him a secretary, as that level of disrespect won’t be tolerated by him or Damon. He is known for his efficiency, organizational skills, and commanding demeanor despite his more feminine and smaller stature. He has a natural cold and dominant aura about him, and pledges immediately fall in line when he enters a room. He is not the one to play with, as his main focus is discipline and making sure the pledges stay in line. You can mostly see him walking around the House, taking notes with his tablet and stylus, recording frat activities, schedules and punishments of the pledges. While Damon was stuck with tradition, it was his idea to start the use of other implements such as crops, belts, and canes. He has a box of other freaky “tools” that he keeps stowed away for any special circumstances. This kinda freaks Damon out but also entices him, as he figures that the Manager has some kind of secretive life outside the frat. Quin is somewhat aware of Damon’s pinning as he does try to flirt with him but he turns down his advances every time. Though he does respect him and thinks highly of the President overall, even though he doesn’t explicitly show it.

The duo works surprisingly well together. With Damon’s more laid back friendly approach and the upholding of brotherhood and tradition, and Quin’s more strict and cold sense of discipline and bringing in new ideas, sometimes their ideas might cause some conflict. But they always manage to work through things to make sure the pledges are always on their toes and everything is running smoothly.

[allmyhomieshatelawns]

AND SOME MORE FOR THE HYPNO POP AU BECAUSE IT WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE EVEN THOUGH MY HANDS ARE SCREAMING IN PAIN BECAUSE THE WEATHER KEEPS SHIFTING LIKE A DICK.

anyway anyway, please enjoy another lil somethin i wrote for @djmurphy ‘s Hypno Pop AU!

“Because I’m happy, clap along if you feel like a room without a roof!” My throat stung with the words, volume rising higher with the lyrics of the song. “Dance along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do!”

Cruel irony that. I certainly didn’t want to, but that isn’t what mattered. The village needed to be happy, we were celebrating nearly twenty years of freedom from the bergens. This was a happy time!!

I continued dancing on the main stage, singing with the rasp that had developed in my voice some years ago. King Peppy said it made me sound more mature and that I should like it. And I do! I love how it sounds nothing like the angelic voice that got—

Don’t falter! I snapped back to attention just in time for the knee slide, grinning despite the harsh impact.

The entire village went wild, several in the crowd fainting, and even more screaming for an encore.

I felt tired, like my bones were crumbling away inside of me, but my smile didn’t falter.

“You guys want more? Alright! This one I’ve been working on for a while now!” My lips and throat moved on their own; I wouldn’t be getting any rest anytime soon. Might as well retreat.

Everything was on autopilot, but thankfully the screaming fans didn’t seem to notice or care. They just wanted more. They always want more. It was so wonderful that they loved my music. I loved making them all so happy!!

“Wow, Branch! I can’t believe you did three encores! Where do you get the energy? I would’ve had to stop after the first one!” Princess Poppy was at my side, practically dragging me off the stage.

I was allowed to sag into her side for a moment, it was close enough to Hug Time, it was fine. But all too soon my strings pulled me away, smiling.

“I can’t say no to my adoring fans!” I grinned, the right side of my mouth gave a violent twitch, cramping from the nonstop use. I turned away so hopefully Princess Poppy wouldn’t notice. She can’t think I’m weird, I’m normal, I’m supposed to be normal!

“Branch?” Princess Poppy’s voice was laced with concern, her hand grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around.

I tried to maintain my grin, feeling the corners twitch uncomfortably against the frames of my glasses. I tugged on my blue puffy vest, nerves trying to rise from my belly but thankfully, as always, halted in their tracks.

“What’s up, Princess Poppy?” I asked, my hands now hanging limp at my side since they weren’t allowed to do anything else.

She made a face at her title like she always did, but her hand tightened on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfect! Why wouldn’t it be?” My mouth said, the words a little too chirpy. “The fans love me, and your celebration is going even better than projected!” That should throw her off, get her talking about the party. Everyone is happy.

It worked like a charm. Princess Poppy beamed at me like I had given her, her favorite dessert.

“Thank you, Branch! This party wouldn’t have been half as successful without you here though! You make every party more fun.” She then began prattling on about the different streamer and glitter bombs she had used this time as opposed to last year. She was so dedicated to keeping the village happy! We were so lucky to have her and King Peppy!

I relaxed, as much as I could, and smiled along. Thankfully it didn’t have to be a big smile, I could soften things for the princess.

Soon enough we were in the area considered backstage, and I expected her to peel off and go back to her friends, but instead, she pulled me into a more private dressing room area. My skin prickled at the privacy. That meant bad things. That meant I wasn’t happy enough.

“Branch, I need you to be real with me here. You’ve been acting kind of… off lately. Are you sure you’re okay?” Princess Poppy looked apologetic as she said it, but I felt the immediate effect.

A scream of pop music resounded in my ears, so loud I thought they would start bleeding. The pounding in my head got worse, like a bergen bashing my head against a tree. Even my muscles started to scream, wanting to cramp and twitch as they were forcibly pulled. I wanted to scream and cry and curl up under the bed in my pod, but I stood there beaming.

“Princess Poppy, I assure you, I’m perfectly fine. Just a little tired from the party tonight. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” The words were straight from the string and they hurt, like they were being ripped from me. My voice even went raspier, like there was another voice speaking under mine, but I wasn’t sure if that was from the singing or not. It had been a long time since I had to have the string speak through me. I’m supposed to be better than this. Get it together, Branch. You’re perfectly happy!

Princess Poppy took a step back, a frown pulling down her lips.

No! No! I can fix this please—

“Is everything alright, Poppy? I saw you follow Branch back here.” King Peppy’s voice sent shivers across my body, locking up my joints. King Peppy is here! Oh good he’ll make everything better, like always!!

“Oh! Hey Dad, I was just congratulating Branch on his performance!” Princess Poppy lied to the king! Her face didn’t show any hint of dishonesty though, and I didn’t feel compelled to correct her, that would be rude, so I just nodded along, my smile back to the tight beam that had been on display for everyone tonight. I had worked super hard on it to make it perfect.

He looked between the two of us like he wasn’t sure it was the truth, but merely motioned me forward. I went without hesitation of course, my body still rigid and stiff despite the bounce in my step. I stopped in front of King Peppy, smiling up at him.

“Run along now, my darling. I wanted to talk with Branch about something, you know, guy talk.” King Peppy winked over my head at the princess, causing her to gag and laugh.

“Ew Dad, okay. Alright, Branch, it was awesome talking to you!” She hesitated a moment before giving me a hug, squeezing tighter than normal, like she was afraid of something.

I watched her walk away, my pink-tinted vision clouding her shape the further she got. Like I was drowning alone in suffocating pink mist.

King Peppy’s hand landed on my shoulder heavily, and he sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I worry about her. I only hope that when it’s her time, she will continue to make the right choices, as I have. Now, come along, Branch. I’ll top you off.”

“Thank you, King Peppy!” I chirped, melting as the string was plucked, and I could just dive back into the haze of my mind. We were having to do this more frequently. It used to be, I could go for a week without having the string played for me, but that time was shortening. I didn’t want to think about what would happen to me should the string stop working altogether. That wasn’t a happy thought, and only happy thoughts were allowed!

[buddiesmutslut]

I have this vision of Eddie, half asleep by Bobby’s bedside, reassuring an equally half asleep Buck who maybe wakes up from a nightmare or something.

Their chairs are side by side, heads tilted together, nearly resting on each other. “Shh, Buck. Go back to sleep baby, ‘s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” Sleepily stroking his hair, and Buck turns into the warmth & comfort, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder and they fall back to sleep.

They don’t realize it, they barely remember it, with the haze of exhaustion & covered by a dream-like film, neither one of them are even actually sure it happened.

Eddie is now canonically a “baby” user, I want them to be so stupidly soft with each other, after everything going on.

[rawbin-hsr]

Working on something for Ratio <3

[steddie-island]

Six Sentence Sunday✍🏻✍🏻✍🏻

rules: post 6 sentences of an unfinished work and tag 6 people

Thank you @hitlikehammers

This is from “a leg to stand on”, with sex worker Steve and Virgin Eddie (which was supposed to be a standalone PWP thing but this might end up being for something on sub Eddie week we’ll see.)

No pressure tags for @pearynice @wynnyfryd @wormdebut @griefabyss69 @morningberriesao3 @puppy-steve

NSFW below the cut and also more than six sentences because I can. 😌

A light slap to his hip brought him back to the moment, got him out of his head and to where Steve’s fingers were stroking over his cock. 

“Beautiful?” Eddie didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, it was just hard to focus when there was so much happening to his body all at once.

Another light slap, this time to his ass. It was barely enough to sting, just to help ground him before — fuck— those two thick fingers were pushing back into his body. 

“What are you?” Steve asked again. His fingers curled towards Eddie’s prostate at the same time that big hand slid down his cock like it was trying to wring something out of him (Eddie had the briefest thought of duh, that’s exactly what he’s trying to do, dumbass) but he couldn’t ponder on it when Steve’s teeth were on his neck, adding another mouth shaped bruise to his skin.

“I’m— I’m beautiful.” Eddie was shaking, felt like he was going to shake apart if Steve didn’t stop. Or if he did. 

Maybe he would just shake apart into nothing anyway if no one else ever touched him the way Steve was touching him. 

If Steve never touched him this way again. 

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

OK PEOPLE IT’S HAPPENING ‼️‼️‼️‼️ suguru’s phanpara banner drops sometime . tmrw . i have my final uni exam in the morning and then i’m heading straight home to check 🫡🫡 PLS wish me luck (gacha luck not the uni thing idc abt that rn) i’m gonna need it!!!

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

falling to the music pt. 4 (jily)

a/n: we’re back again with jily because i am infested by brainworms. read on for marlene’s introduction, some little glimpses into what’s going on with remus and sirius (they’ll work it out, promise) and jily first kiss(es). p.s: the song the marauders cover is one of the boys by mott the hoople, and it’s a banger.

previous | next

Over the next good few days, the two of them text quite a bit. The habit just slips in, alongside her morning coffee and her nighttime skincare routine. James seems to be completely swamped with uni work, but still makes time for her, messaging her on his lunch breaks and phoning her up from the fruit and veg aisle in his beloved big Tesco’s to ask for her professional opinion on what he should prep for lunches that week. He sends her pictures of him brushing his teeth in his pyjamas at five o’clock in the morning, because he’s insane and likes to get up early, and she sends back photos of the sky in the evenings and her second (or third, or twelfth) latte that day. There’s a lot to learn about James. And, unusually in Lily’s experience, he seems to be equally as curious about her. He wants to know her favourite everything - colour, season, tv show, flower, music decade, sport. Then he wants to know why they’re her favourites, which prompts even more questions. It’s never an interrogation, though. He just wants to know.

Four weeks on from that first blinding meeting at the concert, then, and Lily is tucked up soundly in bed watching Criminal Minds on her laptop when a now-familiar notification lights up her bedside table. It’s James again - she can tell by the text tone. It’s different to her usual one. Instead of the normal chirpy sounding ping it’s a guitar riff, because she’s got a fucking crush.

James: hey lils?

Lily: Hi, James.

James: hello!

James: so i was thinking

James: we’re doing another gig soon, right?

James: and it’s a proper nice venue, i’m really excited about it

James: and i was wondering

James: if maybe you’d sort of almost kind of want to come?

James: you’d get all the friend of the band privileges and stuff, so you could turn up early (if you wanted) for soundcheck

James: and we could get you backstage too

James: oh and you could bring some friends if they’d want to come too

James: and everything would be free of course

James: drinks as well

James: idk, i just thought it would be nice to see each other so

James: is that like something you’d be up for?

Lily: Jamie, sweetheart.

Lily: I’ve been trying to send the word ‘yes’ since about six messages ago.

James: oh!

James: okay well yay!!

James: i’ll go grab the details and send them over then?

Lily: That’d be great :)

James: oh my god

Lily: What?

James: you just used a smiley face

Lily: Yeah? What’s wrong?

James: nothings wrong it’s just like

James: lily evans of proper punctuation and capital letters fame just used a smiley face

James: you would not believe how hard i am punching the air rn

James: i’m rubbing off on you ;)

Lily: Maybe so ;)

Lily: You two need to stage an intervention for me.

Marlene: hi lilsss

Marlene: bit extreme

Marlene: what are we supposed to be putting a stop to exactly?

Lily: Heterosexuality.

Marlene: oh okay in which case yes you’re correct and i am totally game

Mary: are we talking about james again x

Mary: lily sweetheart, you’re down bad 💗

Lily: I know, it’s awful.

Lily: However, would the two of you like to go out Friday night?

Marlene: fuck yes

Marlene: life is kicking my arse i need to get DRUNK

Marlene: tell me a time and place and i’m there

Mary: i’m free! x

Lily: Perfect!

Mary: where are we going? x

Lily: Right.

Lily: Promise you won’t take the piss.

Marlene: physically impossible, that

Marlene: but carry on

Lily: I may have just invited you to James’ next gig.

Mary: oh babes x

Mary: well at least it’s another chance for me to get a proper look at him

Mary: make sure he’s good enough for you 💋 

Marlene: tbf if there’s music and alcohol i’m happy

Marlene: and sure i’m curious about this guy and his band

Marlene: no piss taken on my end

Marlene: this time, we’ll see what i have to say once i’ve actually seen the bloke

Lily: I don’t deserve your kindness.

Friday whips around like a bullet, and before she’s even registered it Lily’s waiting anxiously outside of the venue in the cold, all dolled up and feeling vaguely nauseous. It’s not that she’s worried - Lily Evans is a confident woman, always has been and always will. A man is not about to muck that up for her. But he hasn’t responded to her text saying she’s there yet, and her friends are about to meet him, and it’s only her second fucking time seeing him in person which doesn't feel correct at all but that’s how it is apparently and blimey why is it so cold? But then she can hear a voice she’s most used to hearing over the phone, and suddenly things just seem to quiet.

‘Lily!’, comes James’ delighted cry as he jogs towards her from around the corner. His hair is messy as ever, and his eyes are creased up in that big beaming grin he wears so easily. Stopping in front of her rather breathlessly, he suddenly becomes awkward, hands fidgeting.

‘Sorry, I- I’m just realising we haven’t really, uh, done this… Could I give you a hug? Is that okay?’ Lily laughs, somewhat reassured by his obvious nervousness.

‘Sure, James. I’d like that.’ He pulls her into his arms then, and God she could just melt. He’s got the same cologne on from when they first met which of course means he smells practically edible, and his arms are strong and warm and comforting, and yeah, she could get used to this. But then he’s pulling away, and the cold that she had temporarily forgotten about begins to seep back into her bones with his absence.

‘Will you introduce me to your friends?’

‘Oh, yeah, sorry. Uh, James, this is Mary, Mary, James.’ James offers his hand to Mary, who shakes it and smiles appraisingly. ‘And then this is Marlene.’

‘Nice to meet you, Potter. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘Nothing too bad, I hope?’, James laughs, leaning across to greet Marlene too.

‘Well, we’ll see,’ she replies, returning the handshake with a strong grip.

James takes them in through the side door - ‘Alright, Sean? Yeah, these girls are with me, thanks man’ - and through to where the rest of the band are hanging out. Sirius is laying with his head in Remus’ lap (whose long legs are dangling off the edge of the stage), staring idly at the ceiling and speaking softly so that Remus has to lean down to listen to him. They make a complimentary pair, and seem very at ease with each other. Peter meanwhile is sat behind his drum kit texting furiously, but he looks up when he hears them arrive.

‘Hiya James, hiya Lily! Hiya Lily’s friends!’

‘Dezzie still breathing, Wormy?’ Peter looks slightly shy, but nods anyways.

‘Yeah, she’s doing good.’

‘Glad to hear it! Come say hello, won’t you?’

‘Two ticks!’

‘Sorry guys, bloody impolite this lot.’ James smiles ruefully at the girls. ‘Oi Pads, Moons! Get off your arses and talk to our guests!’ At this, Sirius and Remus look up from where they’re sat together in the corner, pulled forcibly out of their conversation and back into the room.

‘Hey, it’s Magdalene!’, Sirius grins, scrambling up quickly and bounding over to them. He winks at Mary as he says hello to her, then turns to Marlene, but is interrupted just as he begins to speak.

‘Lesbian, mate. Don’t try it.’

‘Ah. Duly noted. Nice hair! Now, Mary, darling…’ Remus, looking slightly hurt after having been abandoned, hauls himself up to his feet and comes to greet them too. He introduces himself to Lily and Marlene (since Mary is in the middle of being distracted) and Lily realises with some surprise that it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak. He’s quite quiet, with a singsong sort of accent and nice clear vowels. She shakes his hand warmly and is reminded of her impression of him when he was playing his solo. Then Peter finds it within himself to put his phone away and also joins them in conversation. He’s somewhat awkward, looking to James whenever his voice falters, but Marlene asks him a few questions about the band and he begins to chat quite earnestly. James beams delightedly and leans in to speak in a low voice into Lily’s ear.

‘Your friends are nice.’

‘Yours aren’t half bad.’

‘It’s good to see you, you know. You look lovely.’

‘Thank you, Jamie. It’s good to see you too.’

The venue starts to fill up with the rest of the crowd about a half an hour later, and the girls are front row. It’s really exciting, actually. There’s that sort of pre-concert buzz in the air, the low thrum of anticipation that underscores the chatter and the indie rock music playing faintly in the background whilst people buy drinks. A few girls just behind Lily are scrolling through The Marauders’ Instagram page, the glow of their phones lighting up bright, curious faces in the dimmed room. It’s clear that they don’t really know the band, but as they look through their posts a sort of running commentary starts up. One girl likes Sirius, which of course she does, and speculates rather loudly and inappropriately about the possibility of fucking him. Another protests at this, declaring that James is clearly the hotter of the two - ‘Look at that man in this photo and tell me he isn’t fit as anything!’, she says, passing her phone over and wiggling her eyebrows. Lily smirks quietly to herself. Yes, he’s fit, she thinks. And he wants me. The feeling brings a slight heat up to her cheeks.

Her thoughts are soon interrupted by a round of applause as the boys take their places on stage, Sirius leading them on. There’s a short moment of fidgeting with leads and adjusting guitar straps, before Peter raises his drumsticks in the air and looks to Sirius for his approval. All is quiet. Sirius nods, almost imperceptibly. The sound of the sticks rings out into the hush of the room for four clear counts. Then, all hell breaks loose.

The concert is insane, to put it lightly. By the time it’s over, Lily reckons she’s sweated off about six litres of water, her mascara is slightly smudged underneath her eyes and her feet are killing her. There’s a dull ache in the back of her head that won’t go away and she’s painfully aware of the fact that she’s scheduled a nine am study session with Alice for tomorrow. She wouldn’t change a thing. When the worst of the crowd has dispersed, their excited conversation and loud peals of laughter drifting out of the room, she checks in with Mary and Marlene before beginning to head round to the side door. Both report that they thoroughly enjoyed themselves, with Mary gushing enthusiastically about The Marauders’ cover of ‘One of the Boys’ and Marlene conceding that yes, they were quite good actually. Lily smiles giddily at having earnt her seal of approval, mentally congratulating James for passing the test. It’s cold when they get outside. The night is sweeping and gorgeous as they step out into the street, all bright lights and rushing cars, and there’s a sort of breathless exhilaration in being at the centre of it.

Lily’s just about to knock when the door is pulled quickly open from the other side. The sudden absence of it surprises her, and she loses her balance somewhat, which sends her stumbling forwards a few paces. Stumbling straight into James, as it happens.

‘Hey, steady on, mate- oh. It’s you!’ Lily rights herself quickly, startled, and blinks rapidly at him, the tops of her ears tinged ever so slightly pink. James looks down at her rather fondly and cracks a broad, easy grin.

‘Sorry Lily. I didn’t mean to give you a fright! I thought you’d be, y’know. Further away.’

‘Don’t worry, just a bit… unexpected, is all. You were amazing tonight.’

‘Thank you! I tried to look in your direction as much as I could, but I think I lost track of you towards the end a bit. Did you have a good time?’ He directs the last part to the group, peering over Lily’s head at Mary and Marlene and raising a hand to wave at them good-naturedly. This seems to suddenly make Lily aware of their proximity, as she moves back a bit to join ranks with her friends.

‘Yes, thanks,’ nods Marlene, in response to his question. ‘You guys aren’t half bad.’

‘Cheers, that means a lot.’

‘Will Sirius be coming out?’, Mary inquires. Lily shoots her a look, but she simply shrugs her shoulders and waits unabashedly for a response. James becomes awkward.

‘No, sorry, I don’t think so. He’s a bit, uh… occupied.’

‘He’s snogging Remus,’ yells a disembodied voice from beyond the doorway. It soon reveals itself to be Peter, who claps a hand on James’ shoulder and acknowledges the girls with a quick smile. ‘Quite thoroughly, actually’, he adds, matter-of-factly.

‘Oh. I didn’t know those two were an item,’ says Mary, looking a bit put out. James sighs, and rubs a hand across his forehead.

‘They’re not together, technically, it’s- it’s complicated. Did you really have to rat them out like that, Wormtail?’

‘It’s in the name, Prongsie-boy, it’s in the name.’

‘Yeah, well, anyways. Forget that. How are you ladies getting home? D’you need a lift?’

‘No, thank you, Jamie,’ Lily replies. ‘We can make our own way home just fine.’

‘You sure? I really wouldn’t mind, it would be my pleasure.’

‘The bloke’s offering, Lils. May as well take him up on it - especially if it’s a pleasure,’ presses Marlene, arching an eyebrow and smirking at her in a way that few would consider subtle. Lily pokes her tongue out back, but relents.

‘I mean, it would be useful, so long as you’re absolutely sure it’s no trouble.’

James’ car is nice; the kind of nice where you’re scared of getting in with mud on your shoes and it appears whoever designed it had an intense phobia of colours and non-curved objects. Heated-seats-nice. That bit’s pretty bloody lovely, to be fair. James, however, doesn’t seem to notice that it’s nice, and flops into the driver’s seat without a care in the world, slamming the car door and swivelling round in his seat to grin at the girls.

‘Chauffeur James, at your service. Where are we going?’

They drop off Mary first, since her house is pretty much on the way to Marlene and Lily’s. She thanks James for the ride, says her goodbyes to both her friends and disappears through the front door with a flurry of shouts about meeting up again soon as she blows giggling kisses over her shoulder. James’ eyes crease up amusedly as he watches her go. Then Lily taps her and Marlene’s address into the sat nav, and off they go again, cruising steadily past streetlights and takeaway places. Inside the car is pleasantly warm and the world outside seems to dissolve into a dreamy blur of softened shapes and colours. It’s nicer than public transport, Lily is forced to admit to herself. She watches James’ relaxed manner as he drives, smiles sleepily to herself and enjoys the soft, safe feeling that has begun to cradle her chest. Home comes far too quickly.

‘Here we are,’ James announces rather uselessly to the inhabitants of the house he’s just pulled up in front of. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll come round and open the door for you guys.’ He does as much, and Lily and Marlene get out, forced to sacrifice the warmth of the car for the brisk chill of the night outside it. Lily is distantly aware that this is her cue to say goodbye and go inside. This understanding hasn’t seemed to translate to her limbs just yet though, because she’s making no effort to actually walk towards the door. Marlene looks at her friend, then at James - who’s practically her mirror image opposite her - then sighs in a way that suggests she’s tired of being stuck in the middle of them.

‘I’ll be in my room if you need me, Lils. Have fun… standing.’ Lily blinks, then nods slowly.

‘Sure. I won’t be long.’

‘Yeah, okay. Thank you, James, for the lift and the night out. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again so, until then.’ Marlene waves at him, and departs.

‘So. This is your house. This is where we… part ways for the night, yeah?’ James says once she’s gone. He’s looking at Lily with big eyes like a rather mournful puppy, which is a fairly accurate representation of how she feels about having to say goodbye too.

‘I guess. We can chat for a bit though, can’t we? I know I’ve been watching you on stage all night, but I feel like I haven’t really seen you.’

‘Sure, yes, perfect, love that. Chatting. Hi!’ Lily covers a laugh with her hand and looks down at her feet.

‘Hello, Jamie,’ she replies, composing herself just enough to look him in the eyes again. Her cheeks ache from smiling.

‘You know you’re one of three people in my life to call me that?’

‘Am I really?’

‘Mhmm. It used to be just Sirius and my mum, but now it’s Sirius, my mum and… you. It’s weird.’

‘Should I stop?’

‘No, no, absolutely not. I like it. I like being Jamie to you.’ James’ voice is soft and shy.

‘Okay.’ Lily stares at him again awkwardly, lost for what to say to prolong the conversation but still not wanting to leave just yet. They’re both just smiling at each other quietly like giddy children.

‘Oh, you know what? To hell with it!’, Lily says suddenly. Then, with a business like tone and all in one breath: ‘James Potter, I have had a very nice evening and I think I should like to be kissed goodnight to round it off. Do you feel the same?’ James’ eyes widen a fraction as he processes, then flick to her lips. He takes a step closer, closing the gap that Marlene’s departure created, and brings a gentle hand up to cup her face.

‘Yes. Yes, I think I do,’ he says, before tilting his head and leaning in to kiss her sweetly. It’s a short kiss, tentative and caring, but when they pull apart he’s breathless from nerves. Lily grins at him.

‘Alright there?’

‘Yeah, uh… yeah. Glasses.’

‘What about them?’, asks Lily teasingly.

‘Not very conducive to kissing you properly.’

‘Well, we can’t have that. Kissing me properly is very important. Want me to take them off for you?’

‘Yeah. Yes, please. God, my brain’s gone to mush.’

‘I sometimes have that effect.’ Laughing, she removes James’ glasses, taking care not to poke him, and folds them shut. ‘That better?’

‘Much,’ James affirms, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her into another kiss, this time deeper and more confident. Lily hums with approval, and reaches up to tangle her hands in his hair. Making out with James exceeds expectations, she finds, and a dizzying euphoria takes over her as he walks her backwards so that she’s up against the car. The two of them get lost in each other for a while. They fit easily together, exploring and enjoying each other with pleasant curiosity. James treats her tenderly, going slow and generally following her lead. Lily, for her part, has been thinking about this ever since James first got up on that damned stage, and very much intends to make the most of it. But then he’s hesitating, and breaking away from her, which is bloody unfair because they were just getting started, and he’d better have a good reason for this because all she really wants to do right now is to continue snogging him senseless. She leans back against the cool metal of the car with her arms crossed and peers at him inquiringly.

‘Lils… don’t get me wrong, this is like the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I am absolutely on cloud nine right now… but it’s, uh, it’s late. You told Marlene you wouldn’t be long, and I don’t want her to worry or anything. I’m sorry.’ Lily stares up at him and his sweet, sincere little face and finds herself simultaneously irked and endeared by him. Ugh. Curse him and his gentlemanly ways.

‘Yeah, that is true. God, you’re too nice for your own good. If you didn’t remind me about that we could have fucked in your car.’ James’ mouth falls open with a flustered expression. Lily snorts. ‘It’s fine, you can just dream of me for the time being. Save the sex for another day.’

‘Wow. Um, okay. You know Lily, you don’t make it easy for respectable blokes like me.’

‘That’s ‘cause it’s more fun,’ she giggles cheekily, tapping him on the nose. ‘Right. I’ll be off then. Thank you for my goodnight kiss - or kisses, actually - and text me when you’re home, okay Jamie?’

‘Of course. Goodnight, Lily Evans.’

‘Goodnight.’

[demigod-shenanigans]

Writing is really funny because I just wrote a bunch of this stuff to be background info in the planning doc and planned to do like a flashback or two, then instead wrote five chapters of it, and it’s only now biting me in the ass because chapter six absolutely worked much better content-wise when it was just a flashback/brief mention instead of a whole chapter

[fruit-teeth]

A Letting Go (chapter 1: The Woman)

(HEY EVERYONE LOOK AT ME I STARTED A NEW FIC!! This was an idea I had actually before the last comic even dropped, but I had a hard time figuring out how I was going to execute it. Last night, though, I had a very rough time sleeping but one of good thing that came out of that was I suddenly figured out how I could make this story work. This is gonna be a multi chapter probably so if you like it lemme knowwww okay pls enjoy)

—————

Over the years, Flo had grown to look forward to the yearly talk with Dell the day following New Year's Day. This year, it was over the phone and not in person, but Flo didn’t mind at all. No matter what, she was always anchored by the sound of his voice and his easygoing talk.

“So, how are all the kids?” She asked, one hand gripping the phone while the other stirred some creamer into her mug of coffee.

Dell chuckled. “They’re great! God, they’re so much fun, I love getting to spend time with all of them during the holidays! I hope we’ll be able to get together during Easter, too, that’d be a fun time,”

Flo smiled to herself, bringing up the coffee mug to sip at it. “Yeah, I bet that would be fun. I could see Jeremy putting together an Easter egg hunt or something — has he done that before? You should suggest that to him,”

“He’s done everything with those kids, wouldn’t surprise me if he has,” Dell pointed out. He paused for a moment, and then remarked, “We missed you this year, you know. Will we see you next year? Or at Easter, maybe?”

“I…” she trailed off, gripping the handle of her mug. “Maybe. I don’t know, I’ll see what my schedule looks like.”

“Uh-huh,” Dell took this in. “Y’know…you don’t need to keep yourself busy all the time. Not anymore, right?”

Flo sighed, setting the mug down on the table. “I know…it’s just…not doing much makes me feel antsy. I dunno, I don’t like to stay still.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Dell agreed. “But wouldn’t you like to take some time away? The world won’t fall apart if you take a break.”

“Look, I know, and I appreciate you caring,” Flo assured him. “But those ladies need me. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one at that damn shelter who actually wants to help them…”

Dell hummed. “You’re a sweetie, Flo, but I doubt that’s the case. From what it sounds like, it’s a great place. You’re important too, you know that?”

Tears pricked at Flo’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “Yeah, I know,” she managed to say, trying to keep her voice even. “Thanks, Engie.”

“No problem, Miss P,” he replied. “I won’t keep you any longer — when did you say your shift started?”

Flo checked the clock on the wall. “In an hour, but I haven’t showered yet. I woke up kinda late,”

“Ya better get to it, then!” Dell laughed. “I’ll say hi to everyone for you, hope we can meet up soon!”

“Me too!” Flo agreed.

When the call ended, she sat at the table in silence for a long moment, eyes fixated on her cup of coffee. She eventually picked it up and drank the last of the liquid before getting up to head to the shower.

Three of her coworkers were already standing in the break room, chatting about something, when Flo arrived for her shift at the Lady of Mercy Women's Shelter. Flo couldn't resist listening to the other women as she poured herself a cup of water from the water cooler in the corner.

“She really hasn’t said a word since last night?” Nicole asked, astounded.

“Nope, not a single one!” Michelle affirmed. “I thought she was Deaf, but she got a quick checkup from the nurses and they said her ears seem fine. She’s probably mute or something,”

Flo turned around, taking a step closer to the group, intrigued by what she was hearing. Michelle continued talking.

“We suspected she had fled from an asylum, but she has no ID and there are no missing people who match her description! It’s so weird, it’s like she just came out of nowhere…”

“Who are you talking about?” Flo spoke up, stopping the gossip in its tracks.

“Flo, hi!” Michelle greeted her with a grin, turning to meet her gaze. Her teeth were so white they hurt to look at. “I’m just telling them about what the night shift people said happened last night,”

“The police brought in a random lady!” Theresa spoke up. “I guess they just found her wandering in the woods, didn’t know what to do with her, so they just dumped her here with us.”

Flo’s heart sank at hearing that. “Oh, that’s terrible. Is she still here?”

“Yeah, she’s in a separate room,” Nicole confirmed. “I saw her — I can’t tell how old she is, probably in her fifties? I tried to talk to her but she just stared at me! It was creepy…”

Flo started to say something about Nicole calling a homeless woman "creepy," but the door suddenly opened.

“Don’t you all have somewhere to be?” Regina Gardener, the head of staff, called out to them. “We got some ladies in need of blankets, who’s in charge of laundry?”

“That’d be me!” Theresa bounced away from the group.

As the rest of her colleagues scattered off to start their day tasks, Flo completed her water cup and tossed it in the garbage. Her heart ached for the woman, and her thoughts kept returning to her. She would have to visit her; perhaps she might learn something from her.

Yet Flo didn’t come across the woman at all during her morning rounds. She gathered lost objects to place in the lost and found bin, assisted with changing bed linens, and took the opportunity to sit and chat with a few women. All of this was routine for her by now, so she figured she’d come across the new woman at some point.

When Flo finally saw her, it was in the cafeteria. While on lunch duty, she walked past one of the tables and heard another employee talking.

It was Tasha, and she was saying, “Look, honey, you’re gonna have to communicate with us somehow. You know sign language? Charades? Can you at least write something down?”

Flo looked to the table and saw Tasha pushing a pencil and a piece of loose leaf paper toward the woman. The woman just stared silently at the paper and pencil, staying completely still. Flo could only see the back of the woman’s head from where she was standing, but she could see just how messy her hair was. It looked like she hadn’t bathed in ages.

As it was clear that Tasha was becoming frustrated with the lack of response, Flo decided to step in. “Hey, Tasha! How’s it going over here?”

Tasha scoffed. “She won’t say a word! I’ve been trying all day, she just sits and stares! She can hear just fine from what I heard, so I don’t know what the issue is.”

Flo pulled up a chair, joining the two at the table. “Well, let me try!” She cleared her throat, saying, “Hi, ma’am! You can call me Miss Pauling,” she gestured to her name tag. “Can you tell me your name?”

The woman stayed silent, but after a second or two, she turned to look at Flo. Instantly, Flo felt her heart drop into her stomach at the face she saw staring back at her. It was a face she knew all too well, and one she thought she would never see again…yet here she was.

“Helen?” Flo managed to ask, dread and confusion filling her instantly. A million questions raced through her mind, but she was too stunned to ask any of them.

Tasha’s brow furrowed. “What? Flo, do you know her?”

Helen just stared back, still saying nothing. The blank expression on her face was somehow the most terrifying thing Flo had seen in years.

Flo found her voice after a moment. “I need a minute,” she managed to say, rising to her feet and staggering out of the cafeteria.

“What the hell? Flo!” Tasha called after her, but Flo didn’t turn back.

She made it to the staff bathrooms, where she hid inside one of the stalls and bolted the door shut. She tried to catch her breath, shaking like a leaf as she pressed her face against the wall.

“There’s no way I just saw that,” she said out loud to no one. She rubbed her eyes a few times — maybe she was just tired. Her eyes could be playing tricks on her. After all, a lot of middle-aged women at the shelter reminded her of Helen, why should this one be different?

But it had to be her. Something about the blank expression in her eyes shook her to her core in a way nothing else had in recent years.

If it was Helen…how? How on earth would that be possible?

Flo’s thoughts were interrupted by the bathroom door opening. A pair of feet shuffled in, and Flo knew instantly that it was Michelle.

“Michelle?” Flo opened the stall door, voice trembling.

Michelle stood over the sink, frantically scrubbing a stain out of her blouse. “Out of all of the days I had to spill jello on myself, it just had to be the day I was wearing my mom’s white blouse, wasn’t it?!” Michelle ranted to no one. She spotted Flo’s reflection in the mirror, though, and paused what she was doing to turn around. “Flo? Jesus, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Flo stepped further out of the stall, brushing her hair away from her eyes. “I think I have,” she swallowed, wringing her hands. “Hey: what else do you know about that woman? The one with no ID?”

“Well…” Michelle leaned against the sink. “The police searched through the files of missing people and found nothing, then they ran her fingerprints and were unable to find a match. Oh, and they also couldn’t figure out where her clothes came from! She was wearing some weird dress, we had to throw it out because it was so dirty. That’s all I know. Why do you ask?”

“Because…” Flo took a breath. “I-I think I know her,” she closed her eyes, trying to think of how she was going to go about explaining this to Michelle. “See, before I took a job here—,”

As it turned out, Michelle wasn’t interested in knowing the backstory. “Oh, my gosh! Flo, you know her?! This is great! Does she have any family you can call? Maybe they can come get her!”

Flo’s voice faltered. “She…doesn’t have any family.”

Michelle’s face fell. “No siblings?”

“No.”

“No husband?”

“Nope.”

“No kids?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Michelle processed this. “Goddamn…she’s alone! Wow. That’s…fucked up.”

Flo stared at the floor. “Yeah,” was all she could say. ‘Fucked up’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

A pause passed between them, before Michelle suggested, “If you know her, maybe you could take her in for a while!”

Flo’s head popped back up. “What?!”

Michelle went on, "Maybe being around all these people is stressing her out; she could fare better in a quieter environment! Can you take her in?"

“I don’t…” Flo started to disagree, but she stopped herself.

If this, somehow, was actually Helen…this could be some kind of front she was putting on. If they got alone together, without all these people around, that front might drop. Despite her desire to leave that chapter of her life behind, Flo couldn't help but feel as if a fresh door had suddenly opened for her. What lay on the other side of that door was anyone’s guess.

“Okay,” she managed to say, taking in another long breath. “Let me just…see if Regina will let me take her.”