#calliope’s first birthday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seiya-starsniper · 5 months

Note

Also, "you know I love you, right" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hi anon I am SO SORRY this is like almost six months late, but I finally wrote something for this prompt!!! 😁💖

AO3 Link Here or read the whole fic below!

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Dream is nervous.

He knows, logically, that he should not be. That he is, as always, catastrophizing things in his mind, thinking of the worst possible scenario for how things will go. But he also knows that what he plans to ask Hob tonight over dinner is not an insignificant question. And he has to get everything just right.

Dream has gotten things wrong so many times in his relationships. With his parents, with his siblings, his friends, his past lovers. He has asked for too much too soon, and given too little until it was too late to fix what had been wronged.

Dream wants to do things right with Hob.

Hob, who has been so patient with Dream as he picked himself up after his divorce from Calliope. Hob, who had only been a casual acquaintance at first, a friend of a friend of a friend. Hob, who had somehow, miraculously, fallen just as deeply in love with Dream over the last two years as Dream had done so with him.

And now, Dream wants them to take the next step in their relationship.

He sets the stage perfectly; buying a bottle of wine from the vineyard where they had their first date to pair with the dinner Hob is preparing in Dream’s kitchen. Candles on the table for ambiance. Dream is also wearing a sleek satin button down that he knows that Hob likes on him.

“Is it my birthday?” Hob asks, waggling his eyebrows when Dream lets him into his flat. When Dream closes the door behind him, he finds himself pulled into the passionate kiss. Hob presses him against the closed door and licks eagerly into Dream’s mouth, drawing a guttural groan from deep inside him.

“You’re tempting enough for me to want dessert first,” Hob teases, nipping at Dream’s bottom lip before pulling away slightly to appreciate Dream’s outfit more. Dream laughs, and pulls Hob back to himself in a tight hug.

“Perhaps I just wanted to look nice tonight,” Dream whispers against his lover’s ear. “But good things come to those who wait.” Hob huffs, then kisses him again, gentler this time, and Dream melts into it.

They eventually make their way into Dream’s kitchen, and Hob notices the bottle of wine and candles on the table immediately.

“Please tell me I haven’t forgotten a special occasion,” he says, his tone teasing, but Dream can tell he’s nervous. Dream shakes his head and nudges Hob towards the stove and countertops, kissing him again and squeezing his arm.

“No special occasion forgotten, I promise,” Dream reassures Hob. “I am only doing this just because. To be romantic.”

“If you say so,” Hob replies, still uncertain. He lets the matter drop, and goes on to prepare dinner while Dream opens the wine and finishes preparing the table. His hands are shaking with every movement, but thankfully Hob is too preoccupied with cooking to really notice. They trae stories about their days, Hob on the latest drama in the faculty department of his university, and Dream complaining about the minutiae of having to plan his gallery opening next month.Dinner itself flies by and before Dream knows it, they’ve opened the bottle of wine and moved to the living room to cuddle.

Hob tries to suggest putting on a movie, but Dream shakes his head, taking a deep breath and putting his wine down on the coffee table.

“You know I love you, right?” Dream asks, wringing his hands together despite himself. Hob hums, and then takes Dream’s hands gently in his. He brings one of Dream’s hands to his lips and kisses it, slow and tender. Dream melts like butter into his touch.

“I do, and I love you too,” Hob answers, his smile warm and inviting. “What’s this all really about, love?”

Dream stares into Hob’s dark brown eyes, and swallows thickly. Now or never he supposes. At least now he’ll know whether they really were of the same mind about the future.

“I—Iwantustomoveintogether,” Dream blurts out all in a single breath. There. Now it was all out in the open.

Hob furrows his brow in confusion at first, seeming to not have understood what Dream had just said. But then his eyes widen in shock, and Dream feels his stomach swoop. He can’t tell whether Hob looks happy, or upset, and it absolutely terrifies Dream.

But then Hob’s eyes soften, and Dream feels hope burn bright like a star within his chest.

“You mean it?” Hob asks, his voice sounding just as fragile as Dream feels. “You—you want—”

“Yes,” Dream exhales, before Hob practically knocks him into the other side of the couch with how forcefully he kisses him. Dream wraps his entire body around Hob’s, unwilling to let go of him for even just a moment. Hob technically hadn’t answered the question just yet, but Dream can infer by the way the other man is kissing him that the answer is a very resolute yes.

“You know, you didn’t need to get all dressed up just to ask me that,” Hob tells him when they break apart to breathe. “I would’ve said yes even if you’d asked me in the middle of Tesco.”

Dream barks out a laugh and then pulls Hob into another kiss.

“I would hope by now, you know that anything else less than the most romantic gesture is unacceptable by my standards,” he replies with mock indignation. Hob doesn’t reply, only kisses him again, and everything is perfect.

They soon fall into excited discussions about the future, talking late into the night about whether they will stay in one flat or the other, the best time to move, how much in monthly payments they can afford between the two of them. Dream is not particularly married to his flat, and he knows that the location is not the most convenient to Hob’s university. Hob’s flat is small, however, and Dream knows he needs a larger space in order to be able to paint. They eventually decide on vacating their separate flats and looking for a place together.

Dream’s stomach is in knots, the good kind though, when they go to bed. He’s never gotten to truly choose his own living space with another person. When he and Calliope had been married, they’d moved into her childhood home, and it had never quite felt like home, even after Orpheus had been born. Even his current flat, the style, the decor, all of it is handpicked by his mother, Nyx.

But this new flat? This hypothetical for now space? This will be just for him and Hob. It will be just theirs.

Six months later, Hob carries Dream over the threshold of their new townhome like they’ve just gotten married, and Dream laughs in delight. He cannot remember the last time he’d been so happy.

When Hob lets him down in their new, still empty living room, Dream takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the emotional weight of what they’ve done wash over him.

This home is theirs. Both their names are on the mortgage, a contract that binds them closer than marriage does, at least in Hob’s opinion. This home hadn’t been in their initial plan, they had only seen it in passing while looking at another flat in the same neighborhood, but it had been love at first sight for both of them.

It had also, admittedly, been a little bit outside of their budget. But Hob was expecting a promotion, and Dream’s gallery opening had plenty of buzz surrounding it. Things would work themselves out. He knew they would.

They’re arguing again, and Dream doesn’t even remember what started it. They were fighting more and more lately; about chores, about things that needed to be fixed, about the ever growing pile of bills between them.

Hob had gotten the promotion he’d wanted, but it came with more work and time away than either of them expected. Dream’s gallery opening was well attended, but only a few of his paintings had been purchased outright. The gallery assured him this was normal, and he knew it to be true, as a debut artist he needed to build a reputation. But the disappointment stung nonetheless.

The house too, had been more work and more expense than they had expected. It seemed like something was always breaking, or needed to be replaced, and they could never agree on a chore schedule that did not make the other feel like they were doing more of the work.

Now they were arguing over what to have for dinner, a simple meal, an activity they used to both consider sacred between them. But Hob doesn’t want to cook, and Dream is tired of eating takeaway. Hob tells him Dream needs to learn to cook. Dream tells him that Hob is too picky to cook for.

“You know what? Forget it,” Hob says, throwing up his arms in surrender and turning away from him. “This isn’t worth it.”

Dream’s heart shatters when he hears those words.

Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Dream has heard those words a million times in a million different contexts, but it always, always, means the same thing.

Dream wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth the effort it took to put up with him, to be patient with him, to love him. Calliope had said he wasn’t worth all the fights and arguments. Cory had said their relationship wasn’t worth staying in London for when his dream job was in the US. Nada had said having to deal with his family wasn’t worth it. And now Hob had decided Dream wasn’t worth his time or his love either.

Before he knows it, Dream is running out of the room, out of their home, and into the pouring rain. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Not worth it. Not. Worth. It

He’s worthless, worthless, worthless.

Dream hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, so it doesn’t surprise him when he slips on the wet cobblestones of the street and he falls.

What does surprise him is that he doesn’t hit the ground.

Because Hob is there. Holding him back, and gripping him like he’s afraid Dream will disappear if he doesn’t.

Hob had come after him. Had run after Dream in the pouring rain just to catch him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hob is crying into his shoulder as he pulls Dream to his chest. “I forgot that’s what you hate hearing the most, I didn’t mean it. Not like that. Never like that.”

Dream chokes out a sob of his own, then wriggles himself out of Hob’s grip so he can turn around and hug his lover back.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, pulling Hob into a desperate kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I swear it Dream, I’ll never leave you alone,” Hob promises. “You’re absolutely worth fighting for, always.”

Dream doesn’t know what the future holds for them. But he knows, now, in this moment, soaked to his skin and freezing cold, that he and Hob can get through anything. Because they love each other. Because Hob will fight for Dream as much as Dream will fight for Hob. Because they’re not perfect people, but they are perfect for each other. And that is worth everything.

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #the sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

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clown-energy-skyrocketing · 1 month

Text

so basically. I am a clown. [READ THE WHOLE THING OR ILL CRY]

status: ONLINE

Ppl put this aesthetic thing here so imma do it, pretend to be amazed:

my full legal name [not reaaaaally]: Knox Finn Anaise

im currently trying to survive for the: 16th year in a row [I WAS BORN ON A LEAP YEAR LEGALLY IM 3 YEARS OLD] My gender: i was going to make a funny joke but it’s inappropriate so I’ll be boring and just say im a dude [if y’all can convince me to change it to the joke….]

MY HEIGHT: 8’2 (totally definitely not 5’11)

Sexuality: everyone is hot. Oh no!

birthday: February 29 [WOO HOO. LEAP YEAR. FUCK THIS. IM LEGALLY 3 YEARS OLD]

status: single and ready to jingle [like a fool, miserably on the ground: see below image]

godly parent: im not a demigod im just a human that the muses [my badass adoptive mothers] decided to take pity on so i GUESS im a demigod?????????

powers:

-i can dance very well thanks to momma Terpsichore

-i can write songs and poems and hymns thanks to momma Calliope and momma Polyhymnia

-I can write spicy fan fiction thanks to momma Erato (do not ask me to i will die)

-i can play EVERY INSTRUMENT IN THE WORLD thanks to momma Euterpe

-i can be a dramatic fucker because of momma Thalia [comedy=ADHD] and momma Melpomene [tragedy=depression]

-i can randomly point to stars and know their names coz of momma Urania [do not call her ur anus. She gets cranky.]

BASICALLY I CAN SING, DANCE, PLAY MUSIC, CRY, LAUGH, READ UR ZODIAC SIGN, WRITE FANFICTION. I AM A CLOWN 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

birthplace: ohio, USA [a lie]

Lore: I’m just a mortal dude who immigrated and was until recently living out of a homeless shelter.

No i am not an ambassador of skibidi toilet, im just failing at life

anyways heres what I look like externally

SO DEMURE. SO MINDFUL.

THIS IS HOW I AM INTERNALLY

MY CLOWN PATROL [LITERALLY JST MY TAGLIST ASK TO BE ADDED OR REMOVED:

@unhinged-as-hell [first client, CURRENT SPONSOR TO THE CHICKEN NUGGIES FUND]

@of-course-im-the-winner [second client, GAVE ME MONEYYY]

@demigod-jack-hearth (Bebe)

@if-chaos-was-a-boy [SUGAR DADDY, PAPACITAAA😍😍🔥🔥🔥]

@that-girl-cupid [NOT COMPETITOR]

@chaos-pers0nified [theatre nerd?????????]

@gay-emo-child-of-pluto [MY CHILDDD WITH PAPI WRAITH 🔥🔥🔥😩😍]

@stephen-the-spider [i wish i had siblings]

@bambi-the-dummy (slay, mother, girl boss)

@braydons-world (NEWEST SPONSOR)

@daonedaonlyskh [SHES COOL AS FUCK]

MY FAMILYY:

@penelope-is-waiting [my mami. She’s so nice.] @odysseus-of-ithaca-is-lost [my new dad. He’s still gone] @professionally-mocking-you [my new god adoptive dad]

This my songs recommendations:

CLICK ON THE IMAGES TO SEE CLEARLY.

OKAY IM LAZY TO WRITE ANYMORE, MCDONALDS PLS SPONSOR ME. PEACE.

#percy jackson roleplay #percy jackson rp #rp pjo #pjo rp #pjo roleplay #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo oc #pjo ocs #pjo oc blog #pjo rp blog

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ginnsbaker · 1 year

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (18/22)

Chapter summary: You navigate your way through your first couple and individual therapy session; Wanda convinces Yelena to see you one last time

Chapter word count: 6.6k | Tags: Therapy, Healing, Comfort | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Welcome to the beginning of the end. P.S. I removed the warning section because there won't be too much angst for the rest of the story. Question is, will therapy be enough to repair R and her relationship with Wanda?

AO3 | Masterlist

Next part: Nineteen

Eighteen

Describing the situation as complex would barely scratch the surface.

Calliope has navigated her way through a myriad of couples' issues, from infidelity to lack of intimacy, to financial disagreements. Most couples she deals with fall into two categories: married and unmarried. Seldom does she come across a pair seeking couples therapy post-divorce, as most married individuals approach her with the intention of averting such an outcome.

Yet, you and Wanda defy convention.

Before the session began, Calliope handed you some forms to complete. The first one was pretty straightforward, requesting basic details like your name, birthday, address, and contact number. The second one was more challenging. It featured an array of questions, from your hobbies and life aspirations to your deepest fears. You spent nearly an hour wrestling with your responses while Wanda had her individual session in another room with Calliope.

Once Wanda emerged from her session, the evidence of her tears was plain to see on her cheeks. Swiftly, she attempted to erase the telltale tracks as you watched, and you instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder, asking her if she was okay. Wanda assured you that she was, admitting that sessions like these sometimes stirred up unwanted emotions.

Calliope inquired if Wanda felt up to proceeding with the combined session, and Wanda nodded affirmatively, eager to start your journey together. Seeing Wanda's tear-streaked face made you anxious, but you mustered the courage to nod your agreement, informing Calliope that you were willing to give it a shot.

The therapist offered a soft smile, asking both of you to wait for ten minutes while she briefly reviewed the answers on the forms you’ve completed.

And that leads to the present moment, with you and Wanda perched at opposite ends of the sofa, while Calliope observes from a neutral point of view.

Calliope begins with a gentle inquiry, “From what I gather, and from what Wanda has told me in our previous sessions, it appears that trust is the core issue bringing both of you here today, correct?”

Wanda affirms with a nod, but when she looks your way, she finds your gaze fixed intently on Calliope. You lift your hand, prompting a gentle reminder from Calliope.

“There's no need to raise your hand here, Y/N. Feel free to voice your thoughts whenever you wish.” she says.

“Alright,” you say, and then you let your question fly. “How can we ensure this session remains unbiased?” It's a good point, but Wanda can't help but notice your deeper hesitance.

“Can you elaborate, Y/N?”

“You've been acquainted with Wanda for some time now,” you explain, “You've listened to her perspective on...on the issues we've had. How can I be confident that you'll be an impartial mediator in all this?”

“I see where you're coming from,” Calliope responds. “In all of Wanda's sessions, I've never taken sides with her or anyone else involved in her life. You can confirm this with her privately later if you wish. As a professional, I encourage you to question my credentials if at any point you feel your views are not being acknowledged or respected during these sessions.”

You look to Wanda to confirm Calliope’s claims and she offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Fair enough,” you manage to say, giving Calliope a nod to proceed. The corner of her mouth lifts subtly, acknowledging your permission.

“Before we start, let me ask,” Calliope says, her eyes flicking between you and Wanda, “Where are you both exactly at? Have you officially entered into a relationship?”

You feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, while Wanda shifts uncomfortably beside you. You’re taken aback by the directness of the question and glance at Wanda, hoping she might take the lead in answering.

Wanda clears her throat. “We've been... intimate,” she says, hesitating for a moment. “Uh, we… haven't put a label on whatever this is.”

“But we’re together,” you chime in, meeting Calliope’s gaze while sensing Wanda’s intense eyes on you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a hint of a smile on Wanda’s face.

Calliope simply nods. “And living arrangements?”

You and Wanda exchange another look. “Well, we both still have our own apartments,” you say. “But we've been spending nights together, alternating between our places.”

Calliope purses her lips and nods again. She doesn’t comment on any of your answers and it sort of leaves you a little off-balance, wondering what she’s thinking.

“Alright,” Calliope claps her hands together and gets straight to the burning topic. “Going back to why we’re all here: trust. In relationships, trust forms the foundation. When it's damaged, it can feel like the ground beneath you has shifted. But with open, honest conversation and consistent efforts, it can be repaired.”

She looks between you and Wanda. “Let's explore this. How do you both perceive the trust issues in your relationship? There are no right or wrong answers here, just your feelings and experiences.”

Wanda looks at you nervously. She knows you’re the one who’s been grappling with the concept, and although it was poised for the both of you, it’s obviously a question for you.

“So, it's my problem, isn't it?” you start off, managing a dry chuckle. “Guess there's no sugarcoating that.”

You glance over at Wanda before continuing. “When Wanda...when she was unfaithful, suddenly, I was doubting everything—our past, our present, and especially our future.”

Calliope interjects gently, “Is that why you went ahead with the divorce proceedings immediately?”

Your gaze snaps to Calliope, taken aback by her knowledge about the swift divorce proceedings, before you quickly remember that Wanda must have divulged this information earlier.

“I was blinded by rage and hurt, and it was the only thing that would put me together at that time. I… I wanted to retaliate. If that makes sense?” you say. Wanda remains silent, her eyes downcast as your words fill the room.

Calliope observes this and then turns her attention to Wanda. “And how did you react, Wanda, when the divorce proceedings were initiated?” she prompts.

Wanda takes a deep breath, her fingers nervously fiddling with a thread on her sleeve. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally responds. “I...I felt lost," she admits, her voice shaky. "I knew I had hurt Y/N terribly, but the reality of divorce...it hit me hard.”

“And so hard that you promptly agreed to it, didn't you?” you retort with a touch of sarcasm that you’re unable to hide. Before this session, you had reached a truce of sorts with Wanda, and your feelings for her had found a serene lull. But dredging up the past in this setting had reignited unpleasant feelings, making it difficult for you to keep the lingering bitterness at bay when it comes to her cheating.

“I tried to reach out to you, begged for you to talk to me. But you had already left, we didn't get a chance to fully discuss everything. You wouldn't even respond to me unless it was about the divorce,” Wanda explains, her voice filled with regret. “I didn't want to make it even tougher for you when it seemed like all you wanted was to get away from me. You only seemed to relax around me a little when I agreed to the divorce.”

You bite your lower lip as you relive those tumultuous weeks. Those were the days when Wanda consistently tried to reach out, and you responded only when you were having a 'good' day.

A 'good' day was when you managed to get out of your room, shower, and eat an entire cup of oatmeal. The 'bad' days were characterized by either weeping yourself to sleep or drinking so heavily that you blacked out before dinner time.

Up to this day, you have no idea how you survived that.

“Is that true, Y/N?” Calliope asks.

You nod, acknowledging the truth of it. You were a hard one to handle, and you made sure to drive Wanda to give you what you desired back then.

An uncomfortable silence follows your wordless answer, stretching on until Wanda musters the courage to break it.

“And, I mean, I thought we were... okay. Not perfect, but okay enough that it wasn't as painful, that we weren't crying every single day, that we weren't hurting all the time. But it feels like we're still stuck. I still love you, you still love me, and... we're still in pain,” Wanda's words tumble out, caught in a choke.

Your heart clenches at her words, and you covertly look at Wanda from your peripheral vision. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really a good idea. If maybe, digging into this would just mean digging both of your own graves in the end.

Calliope remains quiet and gives you both a moment before speaking again.

“What if we start from there? From the love that still remains?” she suggests gently. “Let's try to rebuild the trust from that foundation. Would that be agreeable to both of you?”

Your gaze shifts towards Wanda and you swallow, clearing the tightness in your throat.

“Like I said before,” you tell Wanda. “I can't guarantee that I won't lash out, or that I'll always be level-headed–”

“I understand, Y/N–”

“–And with that said, I want you to be yourself, Wanda. I don't want you to suppress anything because of me—out of some obligation to spare my feelings.” you say.

Wanda averts her gaze to the floor, understanding the point you're trying to make. Riddled with guilt, she's been prioritizing your feelings above all else.

“I promise I’ll be honest with my feelings.” Wanda promises. You smile in response and then turn to Calliope.

“Alright, I'm willing to try," you murmur, your voice slightly raspy.

Calliope gives you both an encouraging look, “I recommend we commit to an initial 8 sessions and we’ll begin from next week. I'll provide you with some materials and exercises that might help you to communicate your feelings more effectively in these sessions and with each other. Remember, this is a journey and it's perfectly fine to take small steps. And sometimes we may even have to take a couple of steps back. Are you okay with that?”

You sigh in relief at the mention that the real sessions won’t be happening until next week. You wanted to prepare and internalize things so that you can at least have some control over your emotions.

“Btw, Y/N, are you open to talk for a couple of minutes? I just want to go over some of your answers in the form.”

“Sure.”

Wanda gives you an apologetic look. “I have to return to the cafe. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you, uhm–I’ll call later, okay?”

With a swift movement, Wanda leans in to give you a peck on the cheek, which you reciprocate somewhat awkwardly. She then bids Calliope goodbye and departs from the room.

Once Wanda leaves, there's a moment of silence as Calliope collects her thoughts. You gulp nervously, attempting to recall what you’ve written in those forms, but surprisingly, your mind draws a blank.

“Y/N, I appreciate your honesty in today's session,” she begins, her voice gentle yet firm. “Now, I just want to go over some of your responses in the questionnaire. There were a few areas where you mentioned feeling constant anxiety and bouts of anger. Do you think this is connected to the issues with Wanda, or has it been something you've been dealing with for longer?”

You hesitate for a moment, thinking back on the past few months. “I'm not sure,” you confess. “Ever since the incident, I guess I've just been in a state of constant confusion and anger. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it.”

“I see, it can be challenging to sort through your thoughts and emotions to identify the precise triggers for these feelings, especially considering you've been grappling with them for a while now. That's perfectly fine. Let's start with something more straightforward. How are you feeling right now?”

“I feel...conflicted,” you say slowly, the words spilling out with a weight you can't ignore. “Before coming here, I thought I was 100% ready to tackle everything, because I'm hopeful for what this therapy can bring us, but the thought of reliving Wanda's betrayal...it scares me. I don't want to harbor resentment, but I can't deny that it's still there, lying dormant. I still can't understand how she could do that to us.”

“Understand or accept?”

You shoot Calliope a puzzled look. That's a new perspective for you. The idea that maybe trying to understand is a lost cause, and the real battle is with accepting it.

“I… I don’t know,” you say.

“That’s okay, we can tackle it some other time. Anything else?”

Your fingers drum against your knee, a nervous tick you've developed recently. “And then there's Yelena...I feel guilty about my own actions towards her. I know I betrayed her, and that only adds to the guilt of being with Wanda,... of choosing her.”

Your gaze shifts to Calliope as you continue, “Then there's this lingering thought of...timing. Are we rushing into this, trying to mend things so soon? I just... I don’t know.”

Taking in your words with a thoughtful expression, Calliope gently asks, “Given all these doubts and uncertainties you've just mentioned, Y/N, could you tell me why you agreed to attend these couple's counseling sessions with Wanda?”

You smile a little at the question. This is something you can easily answer.

“I’ve spent a year wrestling with my feelings for her, only to cause pain to someone else in the process because I was unable to face the reality that I’m still in love with Wanda. I believe I always will be,” you admit, rubbing at your temples. “I know she hurt me and what she did was terrible. I was angry and... and I still am, to a certain extent. But, underneath all that, I still care about her. I want us to be able to talk about everything, to deal with our issues together.”

“But more than anything,” you continue, staring at your hands, “I'm tired of trying to figure it all out by myself. So when Wanda suggested getting professional help, it felt like a new opportunity for me. A new way to... break out of this maze, this cage.”

Your words linger in the silence while Calliope takes a moment to digest them. Eventually, she nods and says, “Y/N, I think that's a great reason to be here. I’m glad to know you’re here because you want to and not out of some obligation to someone. We'll dig into these issues more in our upcoming sessions. I think we've covered enough for now.”

“How am I doing so far?” you ask.

“You’re doing great,” Calliope assures you with a smile.

The clock ticks loudly in the background as Calliope wraps up the session. As you rise from your seat, a wave of exhaustion washes over you. It's only the first day, and yet you already feel drained.

“I hope it wasn't too overwhelming for you, Y/N,” Calliope says. “I'm aware it's a lot to handle.”

“Overwhelming might be an understatement,” you joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

“The first step is always the hardest. I'll see you next week, okay?”

With that, you walk out of the office, a hint of new hope stirring within you. As you step into the dimming sunlight, you take a deep breath of fresh air. Pulling out your phone, you dial Wanda's number.

This journey's going to be a slog, but maybe, just maybe, it'll all pay off in the end.

***

Sunlight paints a warm tableau over the organized chaos of Yelena's workstation.

A simple wooden desk houses a practical computer, a pot of pens, and a few scattered notebooks. Personal knick-knacks—a journalist's badge, a group photo, and a tongue-in-cheek “World's Best Journalist” trophy from her colleagues—sit next to her actual recent award, the Sidney plaque. These items add a personal flavor to the otherwise no-nonsense setup.

Yelena leans back, letting her eyes wander over the space she's called her own for the past couple of years. The office buzzes quiet chatter, the quick tapping of keys, and the odd ring of a telephone. It's been like a second home to her. It's where she made sense of complicated narratives and pieced together shards of truth.

As her fingers trace the edges of the plaque, her mind drifts back to the day it became hers. A faint smile pulls at her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She wishes she could have celebrated that victory with someone who once held a special place in her life, but now only resides in bittersweet memories.

Busy gathering her belongings and tucking away the sentimental reminders of her time here, Yelena is interrupted by a figure stepping into her cubicle. It's the last person she expected to see on her last day at work.

“Wanda?” Yelena questions, surprise quickly morphing into unease.

“Heard it was your last day,” Wanda says, her gaze unflinching.

“How did you track me down?”

“I have my ways, too,” Wanda answers with a sheepish smile.

“Sure,” Yelena shoots back, hastily stuffing her files into a box and crossing her arms in a defensive posture. “What brings you here, then?”

Wanda seems to falter for a second, then lets out a sigh. “I wanted to talk about Y/N.”

Yelena's heart tightens at the sound of your name. For weeks, she's tried to bury any memories of you—the good, the bad, the utterly heartbreaking. The absolute last thing she needs right now is a deep-dive into you, especially not with Wanda.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Yelena pushes back, her voice edged. You were always a mistake. She was just too bull-headed to admit it.

“I know it’s too much of a thing to ask, but I need your help.” she says. “The way you two left things broke her. It's affecting her more than you think, and I thought you would want to know that.”

“Whatever happened between me and Y/N... our breakup, it's none of your business, Wanda. And honestly, after she clearly picked you, I'm surprised you have the nerve to come ask me for help.”

“I didn't come here because I wanted to, Yelena. And I know I’m being selfish, but… she needs help. And as much as it pains me to say it, I can't do it on my own,” Wanda admits, her face open and sincere.

Yelena's torn between her recent heartache and the residual feelings she has for you. The Sidney Award on her desk seems to taunt her, reminding her of what she'd achieved even when her personal life was falling apart. It was a symbol of her resilience and her capacity to move forward, even when life was doing its best to push her back.

“Fine,” she finally relents, leveling her gaze at Wanda. “But let's get one thing straight. This is the last time we're having this discussion. The last time I’m talking to any one of you. After today, I don’t want to see you or her.”

Though a little relieved, Wanda nods sadly. “Understood.”

***

The city lights are a comforting blur as you make your way back to your apartment after a long day.

You’ve just hung up the phone with Wanda, who told you she'd be working late at the café tonight. They're revamping the menu, and she's eager to experiment with new recipes.

“That's great, Wands,” you’ve told her, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite the fatigue seeping into your bones. “Call me later when you get home, okay? Can't wait to sample those new dishes.”

Upon reaching your apartment and fitting the key into the lock, you notice the door is already unlatched. Warning bells sound off in your head, and you tentatively swing the door open, your senses heightened.

What greets you freezes you in your tracks. Perched on the couch, looking just as startled to see you as you are her, is Yelena.

Her appearance brings a rush of memories and emotions, making your heart pound in your chest. Of all places, the last spot you anticipated seeing her was in your apartment, particularly given how things ended between you two.

Your last memory of Yelena in your apartment includes her hurriedly collecting her things, desperate to get away from you as fast as she could. You felt like a monster she was fleeing.

Truth be told, you still feel that way.

“Yelena,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper as you shut the door behind you. You throw your keys onto the counter, not tearing your eyes away from her. You're apprehensive that one wrong move might scare her off before you have a chance to voice all the things you've been longing to tell her.

“Y/N,” Yelena echoes, her voice as tender as it was during those nights she used to comfort you. There's an intensity in her green eyes that you've always found captivating. Now, it just makes you feel more uneasy. She stands, smoothing her jeans, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Why are you here?” you ask, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, the material pressing into your skin, grounding you in the moment.

Yelena sighs, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. But I… I still have the keys so I just let myself in and waited for you to come home.”

“You still have the keys…” you repeat, your voice fading as you digest her words.

“Yes,” Yelena admits. Her tone is apologetic, but her gaze doesn't waver. “I've been meaning to return them, but I didn't know how to face you.” However, if Yelena were to be truly honest, there were plenty of opportunities for her to return the keys. Maybe she was holding onto them because it was the last string that tied her to you.

Silence engulfs the room as you both just study each other for a moment. You weren't quite sure what you'd expect to see the next time you saw her, but she seems to be doing alright, looking as stunning as she always does.

Finally, you find your voice. “What brings you here now, Yelena?” you ask, not unkindly–there’s only surprise, a potent shock from her sudden presence, a confrontation you're utterly unprepared for.

She draws in a deep breath, bracing herself. “I'm here because... because I spoke to Wanda," she starts, her words instantly triggering a wave of ice-cold shock coursing through your veins. “Well, she came to me.”

“I kinda see now why it’s so impossible for you to get over her.” she adds, punctuated by a faint laugh, which resonates more like a sorrowful sigh–one of the most desolate sounds you've ever heard.

You see the uncertainty in Yelena's eyes, and it makes your heart ache.

“I… I didn't send Wanda to you,” you clarify gently. “I wouldn’t–”

“I know, Y/N. I know you didn't,” she cuts you off, her eyes fixated on the wall behind you. “I was shocked when Wanda showed up. I wasn't sure... I'm still not sure if coming here was the right thing to do.”

Then she lifts her gaze, their depths, swirling with sadness, locked onto yours. You feel like you're being swallowed into a pit of despair. “After talking to Wanda, I realized I needed closure, Y/N,” she confesses. “And maybe you do too.”

Your chest tightens at the truth in her words. Yes, you both need closure, but knowing it and doing something about it are two different things, and you're not sure what to say.

The space around you suddenly feels smaller, each sound–your shallow breaths, the tick of the clock, the rustle of your clothes–seems louder in the silence that follows.

“I...I don't even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “In all those weeks, when I was trying to contact you, I didn't really have a clear thought of what I wanted to say. But what I do know is that I owe you an apology for the rest of my life.”

Yelena’s face softens at that. It’s horrifying to imagine someone apologizing to her for all their days. It’s not what she wants at all.

Seeking something to anchor you, you head towards the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of wine from the cabinet. As you pour wine into two glasses, you feel the weight of Yelena's gaze on you. It's as if she's trying to read your every thought, every intention.

“I'm sorry, Yelena,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “I… honestly, I’ve got nothing better to say. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

You extend the wine glass towards Yelena, and she accepts it swiftly, taking a hearty sip. A sense of déjà vu envelops you as you watch her. How many nights had you spent like this in the past? Sharing a drink, talking until the wee hours of the morning, figuring out your thoughts, your emotions.

Now, they're just… gone.

“I don't need your apology,” she begins evenly, despite the pain that flashes in her eyes. “I know you're sorry. I can see it, I can hear it. But what I need, what I want to understand, is why... why you entered a relationship with me when you were still in love with Wanda. Why you lied straight to my face when you said you didn't love her anymore.”

The question hits home, and you’ve been asking it yourself since you kissed Wanda that night. It's a question that has haunted you through more sleepless nights than you can count.

“I... I was horrible to Wanda,” you sigh, finishing your wine on the second sip. “What I did, how I treated her... I thought that meant I didn't love her anymore. My actions told me I didn't love her. But the truth is, I was just angry. I was hurt, and I acted out in the worst possible way. I was, you could say, in denial.”

Your eyes flicker to Yelena, catching the flash of hurt that crosses her face. You press on, your heart heavy. “It took me some time, but I realized that underneath all the anger and the hurt, my love for Wanda never died. It was there, just... buried. I'm so sorry, Yelena, for dragging you into my mess. You didn't deserve any of it.”

“Did you ever love me?” Yelena asks, a tear slipping from the corner of her eyes. “Because it felt like you did. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but it was there. We were happy… at least I thought we were.”

“I did love you, Yelena. I mean, I still do,” you confess, your voice low but firm. “But perhaps not in the way you deserved, not in the way I loved you before you left for the UK and–and before I met Wanda.”

Your hands fumble with the empty wine glass. “I was so confused, so hurt. You were there for me, and I... I took advantage of that. And I'm sorry.”

Yelena makes a futile attempt to swipe away another tear that trickles down her cheek. But the tears are relentless, persistently rolling down one after the other, soon overwhelming her attempts to keep them at bay.

“We were happy,” you confirm softly as you look away. “And I will always cherish those moments with you. They’re the only silver lining in the fucking hell I went through the past year. I… I never meant to hurt you, Yelena. I wanted–”

I wanted it to be you, the words almost escape you. And it would’ve been the worst thing you’ll ever say to her.

“But I wasn't, was it?” Yelena cuts in, as if reading your mind, her voice a choked whisper. She stands abruptly, pushing her chair back. “I was just... I was a placeholder, wasn't I? A distraction from your feelings for Wanda.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. You're silent for a moment, struggling to find words.

“I...I didn't intend for it to be like that, Yelena. I didn't,” you finally manage to say. “I wasn't fair to you and I am so sorry for that.”

Yelena nods, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. She moves to her purse and pulls out a familiar keychain, placing it on the table in front of you. The keys to this apartment you once shared, this home you had together.

“When I came here, I thought it wouldn't hurt as much, but it does,” she says, her voice strained. “I'm sorry it didn't work out, Y/N.”

“Me too,” you respond, your eyes fixed on the keys. You can feel a lump forming in your throat, making it harder to swallow.

Before she steps towards the door, you find your voice once more. “Yelena?”

She pauses, turning to look at you.

“Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?” you ask.

She gazes at you for a moment, her green eyes filled with a world of sadness. Then, she simply shrugs and turns to the door. “I don't know, Y/N. I just... I don't know.”

With that, she leaves, the apartment door closing behind her with a soft click that echoes painfully through the room.

***

“Hey, sis,” Pietro's tired face appears on her phone screen. It's been a while since Wanda last spoke to him. They decided to take a break from each other amicably, canceling their plans for the past week and the week before.

He was upset about Wanda seeing you again, and she had a feeling he was the one who told you about her hospitalization—the one thing she made him promise never to reveal.

“Piet,” Wanda's voice is softer than she intended, the sight of her brother filling her with a mix of relief and apprehension. “It's been a while.”

“Yeah,” Pietro agrees, running a hand through his hair which is surprisingly back to its natural chestnut hue. “Sorry about that, by the way. I was a bit... heated.”

“That's one way to put it,” Wanda replies, her laugh forced and hollow. She studies her brother, his features softened by the faint glow from his screen. Despite their recent falling out, there's a comfort in seeing him again, a balm to a part of her she hadn't even realized was hurting.

Pietro huffs out a breath, scratching at his scruffy chin. “So… How are you doing, Wands?”

“Doing well, actually,” Wanda replies, her voice holding a certain calmness she didn't feel. “Though I think before anything, there’s something I need to ask you.”

A wary look flashes across Pietro's face, but he gives her a nod to proceed.

“Did you send that picture of me in the hospital to Y/N?”

For a moment, Pietro is quiet, the playfulness that usually shines in his eyes replaced by a kind of grave understanding. He sighs heavily before speaking.

“Yes. Look, I'm sorry, Wanda. Maybe it wasn't my place to send it,” Pietro says, the lines on his forehead deepening with unease. “But Y/N needed to understand the consequences of her actions, her effect on you.”

“She didn’t force me to do anything, Piet. I chose to take the pills–”

“But she took advantage of you. She knew how far you would go for her forgiveness. She’s not blameless,” Pietro interrupts, firm in his convictions. “And she needed to face the reality of her actions. It could be for her own good too–have you considered that?”

Processing his words, Wanda remains silent for a beat. When she finally speaks, her voice is laced with resignation. “I suppose you have a point.”

“How did Y/N react?” Pietro asks, his voice careful but insistent, as if treading on fragile ground. He's still not sure if what he did was right, but the fact that his sister hasn’t gone ballistic on him proves to be a good sign.

“She was... horrified, to say the least,” Wanda reveals, a tremble creeping into her voice. "She felt guilty, and she took some responsibility. But we... we also decided that we're not going to let our past control our future."

Pietro raises his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

“We're giving our relationship another shot. But this time, we're going about it differently,” she explains. “We're attending therapy. Together.”

“Really? And how's that working out?” Pietro questions, his features softening.

“It's...tricky,” Wanda admits, her fingers idly twirling a loose thread on her blanket. “But it's a step forward.”

“I suppose... that's all I can hope for,” he concedes. “But Wanda, you need to make a promise to me.”

“What is it?” she stumbles over her words a bit, her heartbeat quickening.

“You have to promise me that if things don't work out, you won't let it drag you down,” he implores, his eyes betraying his vulnerability. "You've made so much progress, Wanda. And I... I can't stand to see you get hurt again."

“I promise,” she whispers. “I'm not the same person I was before. Whatever happens, it won’t erase the growth I've experienced over these months.”

“Good,” Pietro finally breathes out, visibly relaxing at her assurance.

There's a pause before his eyes regain their usual playful glint. “Alright, sis, we're still on for Christmas in LA, aren't we?”

She chuckles softly, the sound still a bit watery from their talk.

“Yes, Piet, I am still coming to LA for Christmas,” Wanda confirms, before hesitating a second later. “And, um, I was wondering if… if Y/N could come with me?"

Pietro is silent for a moment, and Wanda finds herself holding her breath. She can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“You're serious about this, aren't you?” His voice finally cuts through the silence, but it's devoid of any hints towards his own thoughts.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. It was important for her that Pietro understood this, even if he wasn't fully on board. She knew her brother had his reservations, but this was something she needed.

Pietro exhales, a small chuckle slipping out. “Okay, counter-proposal,” he begins, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If you're dragging Y/N to LA, then I get to bring mom.”

At that, Wanda goes still. She had been estranged from their mother for a while now, her relationship with her complicated at best. But she knew how important family was to Pietro, and if she was asking him to accept you into their tight-knit circle, it was only fair that she did the same.

Now that she's making meaningful strides with you, she can start to tackle other parts of her life that have been quietly burdening her for years. Perhaps it's time to revisit those letters her mother has been sending. Maybe even write her back if she’s brave enough.

After a moment, Wanda finally speaks. “Okay,” she whispers, nodding to herself more than him. “Okay, we've got a deal.”

Pietro's laugh is loud and full of relief. “Awesome,” he grins. “It's a Christmas of reconciliation, then.”

With a few more parting words and a promise to see him soon, Wanda ends the call.

It feels like she’s just crossed one hurdle. The rest, she'd take one step at a time.

***

Dear Mom,

It's been a long time since we last spoke. And, well, a lot has happened.

I've been doing a lot of work on myself lately. I've been seeing a therapist and I've been trying to sort through all these emotions that I've kept locked away for so long. The loss of dad, the hurt when you left Pietro and me... it's been tough, but I'm getting through it. I hope you've found peace wherever you are too.

Pietro and I are planning a quiet little Christmas get-together in LA, and he suggested we invite you. After some thought, I agree.

This letter isn't going to fix all the hurt or mend the broken bridges between us. Some days it feels like our relationship is just a distant memory.

But maybe it’s a start.

I'm ready to try, if you are.

Sincerely,

Wanda

Wanda's eyes lingers over the letter she just finished drafting, a silent war waging within her over whether to send it or not. But before she can talk herself out of it, she briskly folds the paper into neat thirds and slips it into an envelope. She pens her mother's address on the front with a surprising calmness.

Just as she’s sealing the envelope, a sudden knock on the door snaps her out of her reverie.

She rises from her seat, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as she moves to answer the door. Her breath catches as she finds you standing on her doorstep, looking thoroughly disheveled under the soft, dim hallway lighting. Before she can utter a word, you close the distance between you, pulling her into a desperate hug.

“Y/N...” Wanda breathes out, frozen in surprise for a moment. But then, her arms automatically wrap around your form, pulling you closer.

She can feel your body shaking slightly, a sign that something is terribly wrong. Concerned, she pulls away just enough to look at you, cupping your face gently with her hands.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks, worry etched into her features. “Talk to me.”

With a soft murmur, you say a single name: “Yelena.” Instinctively, Wanda’s hold around you tightens. She hadn’t anticipated that Yelena would approach you so soon after their conversation earlier in the day, considering Yelena's initial reluctance to Wanda's request.

“Can I stay here tonight?” you ask, your voice barely more than a muffled whisper against the fabric of Wanda's shirt, which is slowly growing damp from your unrestrained tears.

“Absolutely,” Wanda replies softly, “Stay as long as you need.”

Wanda gently guides you through the apartment, leading you into the quiet comfort of her bedroom. The familiar softness of the bed and the comforting scent of the sheets, still perfumed with her, feels like the safest place on earth—exactly where you need to be.

Tenderly, she tucks you into the bed, pulling the comforter all the way to your chin. Your heavy-lidded eyes, burdened by the day's challenges, gaze at her while she lovingly brushes away stray strands of hair from your face.

Your response is to merely nuzzle closer to her, comforted by the soft strokes of her hand along your face.

Wanda begins to withdraw, intending to give you space, but she halts, looking down at you. “I... I'm sorry. About Yelena, I–”

“Don't, Wanda.” you interrupt gently, your fingers curling around hers.

She pauses, her eyes searching yours, her mouth opening as though to argue, but your words come before she has a chance. “Thank you,” you express, tears pooling in your eyes.

Your voice softens as you struggle with the next request, your gaze on her becoming almost pleading. “Can you… can you just... stay with me?”

Wanda catches the full weight of your request—it's not just her presence you're seeking, not just for this night. It's a plea she also yearns to make to you, but she understands that it's not the time for that yet.

She simply nods in response, slipping under the covers next to you. Her arm encircles you, drawing you closer into her warm embrace.

And so, you hold onto her throughout the night, never letting go.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff

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arleniansdoodles · 11 months

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Alrighty GoW followers, here it is!! My Atreus+Calliope fic is finally posted, and I've shared the first two chapters since today's my birthday, so hopefully it'll satisfy y'all until the next update on Saturday :D

Also, just a reminder that this fic is currently unfinished! I mentioned this in the author's notes (along with some other disclaimers), but I wanted to include it here too ^^;; Here's to hoping I get my motivation back to continue writing this ... We'll see what happens!

Many thanks to all of those who supported me during the writing process!! I really enjoyed answering all of your asks and such, and it also helped to get me thinking more about the characters and story while writing, which is great. So thanks!! I hope y'all enjoy reading <333

#writing #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #god of war #god of war ragnarok #au #atreus #calliope #kratos #sindri #angrboda

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gwennybriggs · 3 months

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As Long As You’ll Let Me (part 1)

Melissa Schemmenti x Original Female Character

Warnings: Joe is an ass, implied cheating, no other warnings yet

Summary: Melissa realizes her life is not at all what she expected but can’t find the courage to leave it all behind. That is, until Joe breaks her heart one last time and she finds herself in the arms of someone who truly cares. Through thick and thin Calliope never fails to be there for Melissa, even when Melissa breaks the younger woman’s heart.

tl;dr: Melissa learns how to love and be loved.

Chapter 1: Is There Life Out There

“She married when she was 20

She thought she was ready, now she's not so sure

She thought she'd done some living

But now she's just wonderin' what she's living for

Now she's feeling that there's something more

Is there life out there? So much she hasn't done

Is there life beyond her family and her home?

She's done what she should, should she do what she dares?

She doesn't want to leave, she's just wonderin', is there life out there?”

-Reba McEntire, Is There Life Out There

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Listening to her husband and his buddies cheer as their team scored in the other room, Melissa paused her cooking and stared out the window at the freshly fallen snow. For the last fifteen years, her entire life revolved around Joe and his wants and needs. If he wanted to host a super bowl party, she played the perfect hostess and stayed in the kitchen while everyone else enjoyed the game, occasionally handing the guys a beer. If Melissa was invited to spend an evening with friends she had to decline because Joe needed her to make dinner. Joe this and Joe that. Joe. Joe. Joe.

She couldn’t remember the last time they did something she wanted to do. She tried the think about their travels and dates, but all that came to mind was their many trips to the time share cabin that Joe picked. Her mother repeatedly told her when she was younger that her twenties were the prime time to see the world and experience the wondrous things life has to offer. So, as a teenager, Melissa made a list of places she wanted to see and things to do before she turned thirty. Remembering the list, she rifled through the junk drawer and pulled it out.

Smoothing the now yellowing sheet of paper, she read:

- [ ] Road trip down California’s coast

- [ ] Visit Sicily

- [X] Fall in love

- [X] Graduate college with a teaching degree

- [ ] Get a tattoo

- [ ] Ghost tour in Savannah, GA

- [ ] The Outer Banks, NC

Melissa let out a sigh, she’d achieved two of those things- well, only one if she was honest with herself. She did what she was supposed to do, what she was told her whole life she had to do. She married her high school sweetheart, graduated with a degree, became a teacher just like her mother.

When Melissa married Joe nearly fifteen years ago, he was so in love with her. He bought her flowers every Friday, took her out to fancy restaurants just because, told her she was beautiful and meant it. Somewhere along the line, though, they fell into a dull routine. Joe bought her flowers only for their anniversary and her birthday. Melissa cooked for him almost every night and he did the dishes. Joe kissed her on the cheek before work each morning as she tied his tie. Each action lacked what they both craved, what they once had.

About a year ago they decided they should try to date each other again. They would go to their favorite restaurant on Saturday nights and enjoy a delicious meal that Melissa didn’t have to cook. At first, Melissa thought it was a nice change of pace. Until Joe started skipping out on their dates for weekend business trips to Boston. She found it odd that after eleven years with the company the first out of town trips just so happened to be when they had time together. After the first couple of trips, she noticed a big change in the way he treated her. On their date nights he would barely look at her, would compliment or flirt with any other woman but her. He started making comments about her weight and told her to diet. He became a vile man, someone she no longer knew. Despite these things, Melissa stayed. She was never a fan of change, good or bad, so she sat complacent with her misery and heartbreak.

“Melissa, can you grab us another round,” Joe shouted from the other room, bringing the redhead back to the present. She shook her head and blinked back the tears threatening to fall. She grabbed five ice cold beers from the garage and sat them on the coffee table for the guys. They mumbled their thanks and she went back to the kitchen to see the pot boiling over on the stove.

“Fuck!” Melissa rushed over and turned off the stove, moving the pot to a different burner so she could clean up the chili. Many paper towels and one first degree burn later, the kitchen was back to normal. She took her place staring out the window once more, thinking about what would happen if she did leave. If she did what she wanted for once instead of what she was told.

The following weekend Joe took Melissa out to their favorite restaurant after his boss called and cancelled his trip. When they arrived they asked for their favorite waitress, one Melissa had quietly grown particularly fond of. “Does Callie have an open table for us,” Joe asked the host at the front.

“Absolutely! She always has room for you two. Right this way,” he beamed as he grabbed menus and led them to their usual table in the back corner. Once they were seated he told them he’d send Callie over as soon as he could before he disappeared.

Through the hustle and bustle of the busy kitchen, the host dodged servers with hot plates to get to Calliope. “Cal, your regulars are here! Table 75, all yours.” He started to walk away before she whipped her head around, angry she had been triple sat.

“Ugh, which ones?” She slammed her server book on the counter and began to grab another basket of bread rolls.

“Jessica Rabbit and her troll of a husband.” He ducked to avoid the roll she chucked at his head. Callie absolutely adored the redhead, but her husband was a horrible human being and she simply did not have the patience to put up with his crudeness and the belittling of his wife. She sucked it up though, and grabbed their drinks from the bar before heading their way.

As she approached the table she could already tell it was going to be a rough evening. Joe seemed to already be a little tipsy. She took a deep breath and walked up. “Howdy! Bud light for Joe, and a glass of red for the prettiest lady in Philly.” She placed the respective glasses in front of them as well as the basket of rolls and looked right at Melissa just in time to see the blush creep up onto her cheeks. Her shy smile quickly faded as Joe chimed in.

“I don’t know about all that, now. You give her a pretty good run for her money,” he chuckled as his eyes passed over Calliope’s cleavage and curves, completely unashamed. Callie noticed the hurt in Melissa’s eyes before the woman masked it with a fake smile.

She refused to acknowledge his remark and addressed Melissa instead, “If you ever decide to leave his ass, let me know. I’d treat you right. We having the usual tonight, folks?” She winked at the older woman, ignoring Joe’s glare. Melissa gave a stiff nod and took a large sip from her glass. The couple ate their meals while Joe ranted about work stuff and Melissa nodded along pretending to care. After checking in and refilling their glasses a few times, Cal stopped at the table before she ran to print the check to see if the couple wanted to share a dessert.

“Anything sweet tonight? We just added chocolate cheesecake to the menu, it’s better than the Oreo pie we had a while back.” Calliope smiled at the redhead.

Joe chuckled, “You ain’t on the dessert menu by chance, are ya?” Both women stared blankley at the man. He cleared his throat and said, “No dessert tonight. I’m sweet enough and the missus here needs to drop a few pounds. I’ll go ahead and pay now.” He handed her his card with his shit eating grin.

“I think you’ve got that backwards, Joe, but alright,” Cal scoffed. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She again winked at the older woman before making her way to the computer. Once she returned, Cal said her goodbyes and walked back to the server’s hallway to put in another table’s order and wait for the inevitable visit from Melissa.

It was the same routine almost every Saturday night. Joe would flirt with Callie, Callie would flirt with Melissa. They’d order their usual meals, eat in near silence. Joe would pay the bill and not tip, Melissa would excuse herself to the restroom to find Callie in the server hallway and slip her $20 so he wouldn’t see.

From time to time, Melissa would dine alone while her husband was out of town on business. On those nights, Cal would drop off a brownie sundae at the table and tell her the kitchen made an extra by accident. In reality, she used her employee meal to cover the dessert just to put a smile on the woman’s face. She would do anything to see her smile. Melissa would stay well past close to talk with Callie in the dim lit dinning room once she was cut for the night, often being the very last customer to leave. Conversation after conversation, Melissa revealed more about her relationship with Joe and it broke the server’s heart. Cal met a totally different Melissa when she dined alone. The woman was strong, witty, kind, incredibly smart and outspoken. It made seeing her look so small with Joe even more unbearable. Melissa did not deserve to have her heart broken over and over by the man every day. She deserved to be loved gently, to be treasured.

As she stood at the computer tapping away at the screen, she felt a familiar presence behind her. She turned around to see Melissa holding out a twenty dollar bill with a sad smile. “For you, thank you for being so wonderful as always. And per usual, don’t let Joe find out, please. He’s blowin’ all his pocket money in Boston these days so he’s trying to control my spending now too.” The redhead rolled her eyes and shoved the bill into the server’s hand.

“Thanks, Melissa, I truly appreciate you,” Callie said as she grabbed Melissa’s wrist and pulled her close. Close enough that she could smell her perfume. She whispered so no one else could hear, “I meant what I said. I’d take good care of you. You’re a beautiful woman worth so much more than what you get from Joe.”

Melissa blushed and pulled back slightly to look at the younger woman. “I know, Cal-“

“See, I don’t think you do. Why do you stay with that asshole anyway?” She turned to finish placing the order at the computer.

The redhead furrowed her brow. “I- I don’t really know if I’m bein’ honest. I guess I don’t have a good reason to stay aside from the fact that he’s all I’ve ever known.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she tilted her head back to keep them from falling. Callie stepped forward again and brushed her thumbs under the woman’s eyes to dry them.

“No reason to stay is an awfully good reason to go.” She grabbed a pen from her apron and scrawled her phone number on a napkin, handing it to Melissa. “If you ever need a friend… or more, I’m here.”

They shared a quick hug and Melissa made her way back to the table to grab Joe and head out. Melissa spent the entire drive home pondering what the waitress said. Maybe Calliope was right. Maybe no reason to stay was a pretty good reason to leave.

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x female oc #melissa schemmenti #Spotify

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writing-for-life · 29 days

Text

@tickldpnk8 , I still owe you this one (and I also want to do it, there’s always that 🤣)

And everyone else, I still take them for other ships. Or give me silly prompts in general—I sometimes just need a break from all the serious fics and metas. Also, if you wonder who Thalia is…

Here goes:

who controls the netflix account and what have they dominated the suggestions with by watching

Calliope x Morpheus:

Morpheus. Because if he doesn’t, he has to suffer documentaries about female empowerment all night. Not that he doesn’t like them or anything. He just prefers Star Trek.

Thalia x Morpheus:

Thalia. She watches a lot of Greek tragedies, wants him to watch them with her but then makes jokes all the way through them. He doesn’t get what’s so funny and wonders why she never shuts up (it’s a thing between them, you know?)

who snores

Calliope x Morpheus:

Neither. Boring, I know.

Thalia x Morpheus:

Thalia. She’s not a nightmare creature like Johanna, but she’s not very refined. She occasionally likes to have a drink before bed, and a tipple can make you snore, sorry. She sometimes tries to get him drunk but it’s not working. Bar one time. And I think he lied about that one just to get in her pants. Also, she’s a lot around paint fumes, and the nose doesn’t always like it.

who has an embarrassing ringtone that the other calls them in public just to get to go off

Calliope x Morpheus:

They don’t use phones. But Calliope has a habit of sending him paintings and statues of herself. Naked ones. They just appear. Even during important work meetings in the Dreaming. It’s the Greek equivalent of naked selfies. He pretends he’s embarrassed, but he’s really not. He never sends any back though. Don’t try this at home kids.

Thalia x Morpheus:

Thalia. It’s this one.

youtube

She thought it was funny when she first had it. Then she deleted it. But somehow, it still appears when he calls her. He likes that it makes her curse. He’d never admit to it though, not after she made him say the f-word once. But he (not so) secretly liked that, too.

who sleeps on the top bunk if given the chance

Calliope x Morpheus:

Calliope. Because Orpheus loves going up there, and she just wants to make sure he’s not falling out. I just made myself sad, I better stop.

Thalia x Morpheus:

Thalia. Only when she’s on her period though. Make of that what you will.

who plays the piano at 6 in the morning to wake up the other

Calliope x Morpheus:

They’re both not sleeping a lot, but she probably more so than he. He’d start to play, but she’d join him. And then they’d get carried away and end up… you know…

Thalia x Morpheus:

Still Morpheus I’m afraid. He loves her “disheveled appearance” and is dying (wrong association here) to wake her up so she stumbles into the room looking like she’s been dredged through a hedge backwards. It’s also a thing between them, what can I say…

who has accidentally set something on fire by attempting to cook a birthday meal

Calliope x Morpheus:

Morpheus. Because Calliope is not even going to try. She’s not domestic. Neither is he, but he’d be more likely to debase himself via attempting a cake if he thought she wanted one. And she had bad siropiasta cravings when she was pregnant, so there’s that.

Thalia x Morpheus:

Well, that one’s straightforward, as anyone who’s read my fic can attest to. 100% Thalia. She is the self-professed queen of bad cooking and not even embarrassed about it. She has a weird thing about rather terrible baked goods, especially in the Dreaming. And that’s the only place where she has a remote chance not to kill anyone with it. He’s fine though. He secretly likes it. He doesn’t even mind breaking his teeth.

#shitpost #prompt game #calliope x morpheus #dreamuse #morpheus x oc #dream x oc #the sandman #sandman #the light of stars #queue

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ibrithir-was-here · 1 year

Text

Its almost 2 AM. And instead of sleep I wrote Baby Dream AU drabble, cuz Calliope only graces me in her time zone I guess. Might be a part two. Anyway here ya go xD

Baby Dream Drabble (part 1?)

Jessamy was a raggedy, much mended, button eyed stuffed raven. She was Morpheus's only friend, and he loved her more than anything in the world.

Teleute had given Jessamy to him on his first birthday, though of course he didn't remember that.

She'd made Jessamy with her Gift. He knew that, even if he didn't know how. He didn't really know how any of their Gifts worked. He just knew that they all had them.

Portos could See,

Teleute could Give--and Take Away

And he could Dream

The others were too small yet for their gifts to be clear. Olethros was just four, the twins were barely two, and baby Euphoria hasn't even reached a full year yet.

But Morpheus thought Portos already knew what their Gifts would be. After all, he had been the one to give them all their names, though he was only ten himself. He'd looked with seemingly unseeing eyes at each one of his siblings as they'd lain blinking up at him, hours old, and had Seen the shape of who'd they become, the outline of their life written out like a page within a great book that only he could read.

That was how he'd explained it to Morpheus anyhow.

The explanation seemed to be enough for Mother and Father as well. They'd just nodded and agreed, and then handed the newly named child off to their nanny, free now to pursue their own interests within the scope of their own Gifts, until those interests crossed to include each other again, in which case another child was added to the Aterenus family.

Another small bassinet to line the nursery, which would become a small bed within a few years, shuffled over to make room for another small bassinet. Each one set up and left to the care of the nanny who'd been taken on that month.

They never stayed long. They found the house too lonesome to abide, the masters too difficult to appease, and the children too strange to love.

The children learned to make due.

Portos spent his time wandering the gardens of the estate, keeping out of everyone's way, his fingers tracing over his books.

Morpheus, at six, wasn't technically allowed in the library, but sometimes he managed to sneak in, and when he did he'd pour over the pictures of every book he could reach. He didn't understand all of the words, but he'd make up stories around the pictures and the words he could read, whispering them allowed to Jessamy.

Teleute, always the most outgoing of the three eldest siblings, and though she was only eight and the nanny should have been watching, she managed to always find a way out of the manor house and out into "the real world" as she called it, though it was only the local village.

She would come back with tales of such fantastic things as shops and cinemas and other children to play with, children who were called home at last by mothers who smiled and fathers who laughed and hugged them close.

Morpheus drank in her stories like he was someone's dying of thirst.

And at night he'd Dream of them.

The shops and cinemas and happy children with happy parents. As vibrantly and fully as he could. And for a few hours each night he'd wrap himself in a bubble of warmth that he'd never felt in the waking world.

Sometimes he'd even be able to pull bits out from the dreams. Only little things though. A wrapper fromna sweet he'd never tasted, a stub from a film he'd never seen, a flower from a feild he'd never played in.

He never could seem to pull out the big things. The friends, the smiling families, the warm feelings.

He thought perhaps, if he could see them once himself, in truth, then maybe the next time he Dreamed them he could make them real.

If he could see them just once, he knew he could.

That was how one day he'd found himself, Jessamy in tow as always, ducking through the underbrush, scrambling through the hole in the fence Teleute had told him of, and running as fast as his small legs could carry him down to the village. Towards sunshine and smiles and maybe even a friend who could speak back to him.

He got to the bottom of the hill when the men in the dark car grabbed him.

They put something on his mouth that muffled his scream and made him feel strange and sleepy--and when he did sleep he didn't dream.

When he finally woke, feeling sick and fuzzy, he was somewhere dark and cold and hard. There was a strange painted circle around him, and that made him feel more sick and fuzzy.

There were people all around him also, and their shadowed faces were as cold and hard as the room they were crowded in.

The man they called Mr. Burgess was the hardest and coldest of all. He shouted at the others for "grabbing the wrong one" and several other things about the difficulty of spells and alignments and other things Morpheus didn't understand.

And then he'd started shouting at Morpheus.

He wanted to know what he could do, what his Gift was, what he was good for.

Morpheus didn't answer. He was too afraid to. In case his Gift was not what they wanted. In case it was.

He wasn't supposed to tell people about his Gift. None of them were. It was one of the few things his parents had ever told him, besides to stop bothering them. Never let anyone know what he and his siblings could do. They would be in terrible trouble if they ever did. People would do horrible things to them if they found out about their Gifts.

Morpheus didn't want to know what could be more terrible than being in this place, with these people.

So he kept quiet. He kept quiet for three days. He thought it was three anyway, it might have been more. He couldn't tell, here in the darkness.

He kept quiet, and ate the little food they gave him and drank the little water, and hugged Jessamy to him tightly when he got too hungry and didn't want to cry, for fear he wouldn't be able to stop.

He felt like that more and more often.

Each day Mr. Burgess came down to yell at him. To yell and demand and threaten. And Morpheus felt fear locking his mouth shut tighter with every horrible word that spilled from the man's mouth. And he spent each night cowering from nightmares of the man; towering over him as he shrank smaller and smaller, chasing after him in the darkness, locking him in a glass bubble with no air, suspended naked for all to see.

And on the third or fourth or seventh day, Mr. Burgess snatched Jessamy out of Morpheus's arms.

And he tore her into pieces.

He dumped the pieces outside of the painted circle, where Morpheus couldn't reach them. He could only stare, thick, silent tears running down his thinning cheeks as he stared at the tatters that had been his only friend.

He thought, dimly, that he didn't think he could talk now even if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything but be somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.

Somewhere warm, and safe. Where Mr Burgess couldn't be. Where there would be softness instead of hard stone, and enough to eat, and…and…

Morpheus curled up on the stone, as tightly as he could, and let his mind drift off. He hadn't tried to Dream, properly Dream, the whole time he'd been here. Worried his Dreaming might give his gift away, worried it would make things worse.

He didn't think things could get worse now.

At least if he Dreamed, he might see Jessamy again.

If he was very lucky, maybe he wouldn't even wake up.

And so he let the Dream wrap around him, hoping that wherever it took him, it would never end

***

It was the smell of pancakes that woke him.

He didn't really wake of course. Morpheus could tell he was in a dream, he always could. But in the dream he was waking up, and there was warmth and softness all around him.

A pillow and mattress beneath him, a blanket tucking him in. Both more comfortable than anything he'd ever had at home. More colorful too. As he blinked open his eyes, Morpheus saw a room filled with a galaxy swirl of color. The walls were covered in bright paper, the ceiling in little plastic stars, something his parents would never have allowed in the nursery lest they peel the paint.

The windows were a riot of color, stained glass that the warm sunlight filtered through to send a rainbow down onto Morpheus's equally star-covered blanket.

And there were toys.

Toys of all shapes and sizes and descriptions, in bright and cheery colors, scattered on shelves and in woven baskets and some simply scattered on the floor, another afront his parents would never have stood for, though Morpheus couldn't remember the last time they'd actually been inside the nursery.

In permeating it all was the wonderful smell of pancakes, coming through the door on the other end of the room.

Slowly, afraid that at any moment he'd take a wrong step, trip over a toy and take a tumble and wake with a jolt back in his waking nightmare, Morpheus tip-toed his way across the floor, the starry blanket pulled about his shoulders, determined to keep its warmth about him as long as he could.

He took a breath, turned the handle, and walked into a large open room. There was a comfortable looking , a few bookcases filled with interesting looking books, and a television set turned off, but a radio was playing somewhere.

And at the far end it opened into a kitchen space, where a man stood, his back turned to Morpheus, flipping pancakes and humming along with the radio.

Morpheus stopped in his tracks, frozen at the sight of the towering adult. He was broad and strong looking, with longer hair than Morpheus had seen on a man, with a reddish tint to it that reminded Morpheus of his father's hair. He wondered how loud this man could yell, how hard he could hit.

Morpheus gulped, took a step back. wondered if it was too late to sneak back into the wonderful bedroom, lock the door and hope he wouldn't be noticed. If he was very very quiet he could probably get away and--

And right then his stomach gave an almighty rumble.

It would have been loud in the waking world, in a dream it practically echoed.

Morpheus froze up like a deer in headlights, hunger displaying as icy fear flooded his stomach as the man froze, and then turned…

The warmest, softest, kindest eyes Morpheus had ever seen settled on him, widening in surprise for a moment and then crinkling up into a happy welcoming smile.

Morpheus had never known that people could smile with their eyes.

"Hullo" The man said, crouching down to get on eye level with Morpheus, "Who might you be then?"

Morpheus opened his mouth to answer--and then shut it again, looking down at his feet as he felt his cheeks flush under the attention. He hadn't spoken much to adults even before he'd been taken, afraid of hearing once more that he needed to be quiet, to get out of the way. He'd never had someone approach him like this, on his level instead of towering over him.

It was strange and disconcerting and…and nice.

And yet he still couldn't make himself speak. He'd gone so long without using his voice by now that he was almost afraid of what he'd hear if he tried.

But he knew if he didn't say something the man would start to get angry. He'd start to yell and then then--

Morpheus felt his chest tightening again, his throat felt thick even as he tried to summon up something, anything to say before the tears burning at the edges of his eyes could fall.

"Hey hey, it's alright"

The man's soft voice broke through the ice of Morpheus's panic like the sunshine of Spring thawing a frozen lake, its soothing tones sinking down into him, pulling him up from the depths he'd been sinking into.

"Bit shy? That's alright then. Suppose it's rude of me to ask before I've even introduced myself."

He held out a hand, slowly, so that Morpheus wasn't even startled into thinking it was coming towards him.

"I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Would you like some pancakes then, little dream?"

Morpheus looked at the man, Hob's, hand, open in invitation, held steady, not gearing up for a slap. He looked at his warm smile, his kind eyes. And for the first time in more days than he knew, Morpheus felt warm all through.

He reached out his own hand, and placed it cautiously in Hob's. It curled over, dwarfing his small one, cupping it gently but not squeezing, not trapping in anyway. And Morpheus nodded his head. Yes, he would love some pancakes. He was so, so hungry.

Hungry for food and warmth and the kindness in Hob's face, a kindness he didn't think he'd ever seen till now, had never known could exist outside of his older sister and the comforting softness of his lost Jessamy.

Hob's smile became even brighter, and he gently, so gently, took Morpheus's hand as he led him to the table, where a plate of steaming, golden pancakes lay, stacked and waiting.

"Well come on then, I'd love the company. Stay as long as you'd like"

Morpheus wondered if he could stay forever.

***

When Hob Gadling woke up that morning, there were tears in his eyes, and a smile on his face.

He'd long since gotten used to the tears.

But it had been a long while since he'd woken up smiling.

Not since Eleanor, not since Robyn…

The little dream boy--he hadn't looked like Robyn at all. Dark where Robyn had been fair, quiet when he's never been able to get Robyn to stop talking.

He wished now he'd never tried.

But he was glad all the same, of the chance to be there for a child again, to make food to share, to read a silly picture book with ridiculous rhymes while the small dream boy had curled up next to him, wide eyed over some silly simple story Hob couldn't even recall now.

It had been a silly simple dream too. He'd played silly simple games and made silly stupid jokes he hadn't played or made in years and though the dream child hadn't laughed, he had finally smiled. And oh, it was such a sweet little smile, it lit up his whole face.

And he'd gotten to tuck a child in for bed once more, in a room that certainly did not exist in his real flat but fit so perfectly into his dream one, just as the dream child had seemed to fit perfectly into his existence as well, filling a space he'd long tried to avoid remembering was empty.

Hob hoped he'd dream the same dream again. He wouldn't mind seeing the sweet little dream child again.

He never expected to start dreaming it every night.

#baby dream au #my writing #platonic dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #sandman au #sandman fic #good thing i dont work till 11 #good greif i gotta get to sleep #death of the endless #roderick burgess #the endless family #destiny of the endless #Morpheus #tw child abuse #angst #hurt comfort #this does have a happy ending for baby Morpheus dont worry #jessamy the raven

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hells-greatest-performers · 5 months

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So I take it Calli's first birthday was a success?

Alastor: After the whole Heaven debacle I am proud to say that Calliope had one of the best birthdays a baby could have! *holding Calliope* did you have fun my curious little girl?

Calliope: *makes cute baby noises and excitedly kicks about*

Lucifer: Uh hey Al…can I…hold Calliope?

Alastor: Hmm?

Lucifer: Well it’s just, you haven’t let her go since we returned and I was wondering if I can hold her now.

Alastor: I suppose so but if you try to run off, I’ll hunt down you. *hands Calliope to Lucifer*

Lucifer: *holding Calliope* Hey birthday girl! Look how cute you are with your little blue dress (doesn’t know what Alice in Wonderland is).

Calliope: *stares at Lucifer before crying immediately and reaching back for Alastor*

Lucifer: Oh! Uh…it’s okay Calli! It’s me Daddy! Remember? *makes goofy faces*

Calliope: *still crying and wanting Alastor*

#hells greatest performers au #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #ask lucifer #lucifer #alastor #ask alastor #Calli #calliope #calliope morningstar #she’s lucifer’s and alastor’s daughter!#calliope’s first birthday #alice in wonderland

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embersofhope-if · 1 year

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mc details? 👀👀

omg i cant believe i havent done this yet

now time for mc details😋

Mc's birthday is August 13th

Theyre a Leo😏

Mc looks a lot like their Father but they have their Mothers eyes

When they were fourteen, they managed to sprain their ankle the night before the reaping when they were out with Ash, and it never properly healed

After Ash died Mc spent a lot of nights on top of the belltower in the middle of District 8 instead of their normal spot because it hurt too much to be there without Ash

Mc has top marks in all of their classes☝️

Theres a little cat bed for Hope in their closet but Hope normally just sleeps in Mcs bed

Mc is an enneagram type 4(yes, i did just retake the test for every character, including some of the other tributes. I've got brainrot for my own game, leaving me alone🙄)

Mcs tribute token is a bracelet from their Father (...it may or may be a lily of the valley bracelet)

Mc and their Mother actually used to be pretty close, but when they were about nine, something changed, and they grew distant

the first time Mc went back to the Capitol since Ashs death they were very shocked to find that they somehow have fans

Mc met Snow once, but it was before he was president and incredibly brief

This is less of a detail, but Mc was about 4 when Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes happened, and it absolutely blows my mind

You can pick Mcs' weapon of choice, but i will say they are a natural with a knife, and its kinda scary☝️(a certian district partner finds it attractive, tho😏)

When they were younger, Mc was for sure the kid that always tried to hang out with the adults anytime they were supposed to be playing with other kids

Mc has been drunk before😋

Regardless of whether or not you romance Creon Mc will always keep any letters they've gotten from them

Calliope has a hundred percent found the stash of letters and read through them (mc caught her, and it ended with mc having a black eye, and Calliope got a busted lip)

Mc is naturally a very caring person, but you get to decide whether or not the fully show it

i have no idea why but Mc will forever feel like the moon to me

they cannonically have a gorgeous smile (not sorry about it😋)

Mc also fully believes nobody ever really listens to what they're saying, but it is quite literally the exact opposite. they've just got this energy where you feel compelled to listen to them (they get it from their dad🤞)

you get to pick Mcs main hobby but they also know how to play the paino. it was something their mother taught them when they were young

when mc was ten, they "ran away" but came back a couple hours later because it started to snow, and they literally didn't have a coat. They thought nobody in their family noticed, but Soren had a full force of peacekeepers looking for them while Ione went out herself to look for them. When everyone was back home, they all acted like nothing happened.

Mcs room has one of the best views in the entire District

not a detail, but i know that Sejanus and Mc would've been besties, and nobody can convince me otherwise

#thanks for the ask!#i love ur game btw<3 #roman will be mine idc😋#anyways!#i was going to add more but its 4am and im tired #i know this makes mc seem super preset but i promise theyre not. they've changed since Ashs death and thats where you get to decide how☝️#slightly off topic but Ive decided that Snow became president when he was 29-30 so Mc wouldve been about 16 #so they probably would've met him when they were like 14/15 #omg thats how old he was when mc was born #mc vesper.#ione vesper.#soren vesper.#calliope vesper.#ash fairchild.#creon levesque.#coriolanus snow.#circuit-if #makes mc a leo knowing damn well leos are the actual worst #(im allowed to say that my bestfriend is a leo)

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7grandmel · 5 months

Text

Todays rip: 09/05/2024

A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights

Season 8 No Album Release (Read More)

Ripped by Emm Bee Sea

youtube

Requested by Fezaki! (Request Form)

Remember back on guess what????????, when I talked about a "secret" recurring gag on the SiIvaGunner channel that I'd been completely oblivious to for the longest time? We're talking about another one of those today - only now, its one that I actually have noticed and been decently familiar with. On almost every April 4th since 2021, a certain Mori Calliope's birthday has been celebrated with a small bevvy of rips made in her honor. Funny enough, I've known of this joke since it started despite having no real attachment to Calliope or her music - but the rips themselves have been consistently good enough for me to always remember to check in on the channel on April 4th every year. It would seem as if my efforts paid off in spades this year: A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights, more than celebrating Calliope, doubles as a surprise celebration of SiIvaGunner itself, making it an incredibly rewarding and heartwarming listen to long-time fans like myself.

Which is oddly fitting, when you think about it: I learned in reading up for this post that Mori has been an open fan of the SiIvaGunner channel since a long time ago, and has referenced it openly from time to time. 2022's event for her was notable enough to get a page on the Wiki, and through this she eventually learned of the event's existence in 2023 and was overjoyed seeing all the rips made for it. I've made it clear before that I don't really follow the VTuber scene at all in posts like Shiny Smily TALE, but that mutual love between channels is just so fun to see from a distance - especially given that Morio's original music just so happens to work really well within rips. Given that distance from her channel, end of a life wasn't a tune I'd really heard before tuning in to A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights in particular, but it struck a chord with me that I genuinely wasn't expecting it to. I hate to say it - but it was like a repeat of the exact same feelings I had upon discovering Logan Paul's Shop - only now even moreso, given that it was from an artist I already knew had some genuine merit.

Because yeah, end of a life is a fantastic tune. It's a rather melancholy, reflective piece, where Mori reflects on how many things she's been through in life, her friendships, her opportunities, what she's grateful for, all that which led her to where she is now. That's befitting enough to be used for Balcony - a theme I've already spilled far too much love over back on Balcon Fusion Collab, but one that to summarize also hits those very same thematic beats within Cave Story itself. So that's a slam dunk of a rip concept right out the gate! But if there's anyone who I know knows her SiIvaGunner lore, it would be Emm Bee Sea, someone I've been seeing in the comment sections to just about half of the channel's uploads since way back in Season 2 - and one who's not shy to express her affection for what she loves through rips like Staff Roll (SM64) Fusion. And indeed, through that knowledge, through that love for the channel's life, Emm Bee Sea was able to turn A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights into a celebration of Balcony not just as a theme, but of its eight years worth of rips throughout SiIvaGunner's life.

It might not shock you to learn that Balcony Cruise was not the first rip of the song to be featured on the channel. Cave Story as a game is immensely popular for its music, how much it resonates with the exact kind of person who would also grow attached to SiIvaGunner - hell, Quote as a character in the King for Another Day Tournament was added specifically due to winning the MAGFest 2019 character ballot in vote popularity. And as the chorus begins in A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights, as Mori's vocals continue leading the melody of end of a life forward, keen-eared viewers will identify the melodies being played by Balcony's original lead instrument in the background - The Flintstones theme from Balcony - Cave Story, music by clipping. from balcony., Subwoofer Lullaby from Moog Island...its all remarkably understated, never taking attention away from the central focus of the rip, never turning it into another Fusion Collab. Yet I find that it plays to the theming of end of a life, and to the theming of small-scale celebration of the day as a whole, so beautifully. Not everyone who follows SiIvaGunner cares all that much about this VTuber girl - I myself am far out of my depth there - yet, for those who care to listen in, there's an unmistakable beating heart to A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights that makes listening an absolutely magical experience.

On a personal note...It's easy for me to worry sometimes, having ran this blog for so long, with so many words spilled on the most minute details, that I'm more invested in this whole thing than I should be. I still regularly meet people confused over how this channel could even HAVE "seasons", befuddled as to what there is to be taken seriously in its storytelling let alone that it has theming, and most importantly, unable to see the channel's beating heart of creativity as anything more than a tired running joke. I'm not going to act all superior over other people not "getting it", I know full well that SiIvaGunner is not a channel for everyone. But that's part of what makes getting rips like A Balcony atop the Labyrinth of Lights feel so unbelievably reassuring - to see such unfiltered and pure expressions of love toward not just the entire SiIvaGunner channel, but toward a creator with just as loyal and undying of a fanbase, toward yet another part of the internet many simply "don't get". That the kind of love that I needlessly worry about being too open about is not just allowed to exist, but allowed to flourish, blossom, into something this beautiful. It's the kind of reminder I keep getting from the SiIvaGunner channel at a regular basis, and the kind that'll keep me coming back to this blog through thick and thin.

♫ We were singing at the top of our lungs to the numbness ♫ ♫ This city never died... ♫

#todays siivagunner #season 8 #siivagunner #siiva #Emm Bee Sea #Youtube #cave story #mori calliope #vtuber #indie games #cave story quote #curly brace #mimiga #end of a life #mori calliope music #vtuber music

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combeauferre · 4 months

Text

no matter the change or the age

les miserables, rated g, 1.8k words

it's Grantaire's birthday, and that means it's Jehan and their daughter's job to give him the perfect morning.

for ryan @earthbound-in-doubt happy birthday my love

read on ao3

Jehan wakes first, as usual. Beside it, Grantaire snores, as good as dead to the world. This is what Jehan always hopes for.

Gently slipping out of bed, it pulls on some pyjama shorts and Grantaire’s hoodie, always smelling of him no matter how many times Jehan wears it, and it opens the door as gently as it can manage.

The door creaks gently but doesn’t wake Grantaire; he doesn’t so much as flinch, and Jehan is able to sneak out unnoticed. On most days, Grantaire’s ability to sleep through anything makes for a challenge, Jehan’s once light sleeping now adjusted to match. But today, Grantaire’s birthday, it’s a blessing.

They’ve been together long enough now that Jehan has the routine down. Chocolate chip pancakes and fresh fruit juice, berries and maple syrup, and plenty of leftovers for breakfast the next day. Then come presents, and Jehan always showers him in gifts and kisses and love, as he deserves. They both take the day off work, and the day is planned around whatever Grantaire is feeling that year. A quiet, lazy fuck where Jehan indulges Grantaire in whatever he wants, then off to the museum, the aquarium, the zoo, wherever he wants.

“Daddy?”

Or so it used to be.

In the next doorway, teddy bear in hand, sleep in eyes, stands Calliope, yawning and watching up at him with curious eyes.

“Hey, little one,” Jehan smiles, kneeling down to her and opening its arms. “You’re up early, hm?”

“Heard you,” she says, leaning into it. The bear bumps gently against its back as she wraps her arms around it and it takes the hint, lifting her up.

“Oh, not being nearly quiet enough, am I?” it says sympathetically, bouncing her gently in its arms and kissing her forehead.

“Where goin’, Daddy?”

“Going to make Papa breakfast,” it tells her, carrying her towards the stairs, “You wanna help make pancakes?”

She nods fast, giggling.

“You remember it’s Papa’s birthday, right?”

She thinks about it, frowning.

“We got him a present and a card, do you remember?”

This, she can recall. There’s a card upstairs, tucked away in Jehan’s bedside table signed with a messy scribble that, by anyone else’s standards, could not be considered words. But Calliope had tried her best, and no one could appreciate that as much as Grantaire will.

His gift from Calliope is a bath bomb Jehan had helped her pick out by smell (not that she would have gone for anything other than the unicorn-shaped bath bomb, regardless of what it smelt like), and a cat plushie she insisted he should have, that has a remarkable resemblance to their own tortie cat, Shelley. Jehan already knows Grantaire is going to love them.

At three years old, Callie has never been old enough to participate in birthdays before now, and she is eager to get her hands stuck in. She pulls her little stool over to the counter to watch Jehan make the pancake batter – from scratch, Grantaire deserves nothing but the best on his birthday – and tries to help measure. Little fingers on scales are not very helpful at first, but she gets the hang of it, and Jehan even holds her hands over the eggshell to help her feel very grown up and able to bake.

If more eggshell than it ever thought possible goes in the batter, no one has to know.

With a finger to the lips, Jehan shares with her a couple of chocolate chips before the bag gets poured in, and she giggles and happily shoves them into her mouth. She proves herself a good little baker when it comes to the mixing, holding the wooden spoon with two hands and putting all her effort into mixing as well as she can.

Before long the batter is ready, and Jehan surveys the situation, trying to decide if there’s a child-safe way to heat oil in a frying pan. Possibly not.

“You want a really important job, Callie Bear?” it asks instead, dropping to her height and smiling. She nods, eyes wide. “Will you go and get some fruit out the fridge for me? We need lots of berries and apples, you think you can manage that?”

Without another acknowledgement, she bounds off to the fridge, pulling the door open and taking out a box of blueberries. As Jehan readies the pan with oil, it watches her take a punnet, carry it to the counter, climb up on her stool, put it down, and head right back over. Four trips later, she has gathered all the punnets of fruit out the fridge and stands watching it expectantly.

“Wow, that was quick,” it says proudly, “You’re a great little helper, Callie.” He lets the pancake sizzle a moment while he leans down to ruffle her hair. “Think you can get some apples from the table too?”

Off she goes again, taking her stool with her to reach up on to the kitchen table and grab the bag of apples from on top. Leaving the pan again, Jehan goes over to pick up her stool for her.

“No, Daddy!” she pouts, stomping her foot lightly, “I do it.”

It laughs fondly and places the stool back down.

“Okay, okay, you do it, I’m sorry.”

Apples in one hand and stool in the other, she makes her way slowly across the kitchen, never stopping, never flagging, and makes it back to where she left the rest of the fruit. Climbing back up on the stool, she triumphantly puts the bag of apples on the side, looking back at him proudly.

“Wow, look at you!” it says, smiling, “You’re so big and strong, Cal!”

“Big girl!” she laughs, jumping off her stool and bumping into Jehan’s legs. The pancakes are nearly done now, a mighty stack big enough for the three of them on one plate and leftovers for tomorrow on another.

Juicing apples, Callie can help with. Hands far away from anything sharp, Jehan helps her push the slices through the juicer and out comes fresh juice. Before long, they have enough pancakes, berries and juice to split between three plates and carry upstairs slowly and carefully to the master bedroom.

Pre-emptively, Grantaire had gone to bed in pyjama shorts the night before, and Jehan has no concerns letting Callie in first.

By the way she bounds across the room and launches herself on to Grantaire’s sleeping body, perhaps it should have had some concerns.

The volume of Grantaire’s oof! tells Jehan he was unfortunately still sound asleep before Callie inflicted herself on him, and it puts the tray down on the bed so it can gently pry her off of him.

“Good morning, love,” it murmurs, kissing his cheek when Callie has backed off a little. “Sorry about the rude awakening.”

Grantaire lets out a string of muffled noises in return, rolling on to his back gently and smiling toothily up at Jehan and Callie.

“G’morning,” he says back eventually, opening an arm for Callie to snuggle into.

Smiling fondly, Jehan readies the three plates of pancakes and berries and maple syrup, making sure Callie is extra careful with her own plastic, bear-covered plate.

While they graze on the pancakes and fruit, Jehan recalls to Grantaire what an amazing sous chef Callie has been all morning, much to her pride.

“I made th’ eggs, Papa!” she tells him excitedly, miming cracking the eggs in front of her.

“You did, did you?” Grantaire laughs, “You made them, are you a chicken?” he ruffles her hair and she giggles.

“No, silly!”

She mimes egg cracking again with more gusto, and Grantaire smiles.

“I see, that’s a big girl job, isn’t it? You’re gonna be a baker in no time.”

Giggling, she puts down her empty plate and shuffles across the bed to nestle back into his side. Fondly, he pets her hair, looking up at Jehan adoringly.

“She doesn’t get it from me,” it smiles, leaning over to kiss Grantaire’s sticky maple lips, nipping gently. He hums his approval, reaching up to tangle his hand in Jehan’s hair, keeping their kisses chaste, lest they get carried away in front of Callie.

“Daddy,” she whines after a moment, taking Jehan’s hand and pulling. It pulls away reluctantly from Grantaire, smiling down at her expectantly.

“Yes, little bear?”

“Presents!”

She jumps up from Grantaire’s side and off the bed, running out of their room and returning moments later with her two slightly haphazardly wrapped gifts. Despite going to Jehan for help, she was desperate to do as much as she could herself, and from the look on Grantaire’s face, he appreciates the effort.

“Wow,” he smiles genuinely, “all this for me?”

Jehan reaches down to the bedside drawer and pulls out Callie’s card.

“Would you like to give this to Papa first?”

She nods, giggling, and takes the card, passing it right to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” she snuggles right back into his side and wraps her arms around him, watching intently as he carefully opens the envelope.

It is a painting of two bears, a father and child, the father in a party hat, Happy Birthday Papa Bear written across the bottom.

“Wow, is that us, Callie Bear?”

She nods excitedly and he kisses her forehead.

Her presents are handed over, and when Grantaire unwraps the cat, he delicately holds it and makes it trot over and give Callie a boop on the cheek.

“What should we name him, hm?”

He boops her cheek again and she giggles.

“Maybe we’ll wait for his personality to come out, huh?”

Callie nods, reaching over for a cuddle. Passing the cat over, he boops her nose and her forehead and she catches him and cuddles him close to her chest.

“Aww, he likes you,” Grantaire smiles, ruffling her hair.

After a second, Callie passes the cat back over, booping Grantaire’s arm with his nose.

“Your kitty,” she tells him, placing the cat gently in his arms.

Leaning down, Jehan picks up a gift bag and passes it over to Grantaire.

“Happy birthday, love,” it says, kissing him softly.

Gently opening the bag and lifting out the tissue paper on top, he finds, framed, photos of the two of them on their wedding day. Laughing together, holding each other. The final photo is of them, foreheads touching, eyes closed.

He remembers the moment vividly; the busyness of the day, the fun but exhausting schedule and barely any time for themselves. The photo shows blue light against the back of Jehan’s white shirt, the party going on inside while they shared a private moment together – clearly not as private as they thought, but something in Grantaire’s heart pulls warmly at the thought that this special breather was recorded, by some unseen third party, just for a second.

“Bahorel found these,” Jehan says, as if reading his mind, “we were looking through some photos a few weeks ago, and these were taken on a different camera, I guess. He lost the SD card until then.”

“They’re…” he starts, his throat closing up, “this is perfect, love…”

There are tears forming in his eyes, and Jehan, smiling fondly, leans over to kiss them away before they can fall.

“I love you,” he says against its lips, before kissing again and again, softly, chastely.

“I love you too.”

#les mis #les miserables #jehantaire #jetaire #jehan/grantaire #grantaire x jehan #fanfiction #ollie writes #ollie has a life #les amis de l'abc

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seiya-starsniper · 8 months

Note

#6 or #19 for the gentle prompts? 🥺🥺❤️❤️

#6 - "I've got you." || [AO3 Link Here]

I love the HELL out of this prompt 💖 Apologies this ended up being a lot more hurt/comfort than anything else, but there's still plenty of gentleness in it! Thanks for sending in the prompt, I hope you enjoy my little slice of birthday cake from me to you 🍰😄

-----------------------------------------------

After he releases Calliope from her prison and exacts his revenge on her behalf, Dream is left feeling unmoored and inadequate.

He should have tried to escape sooner. He should not have stayed so long stuck in his foolish pride. He should not have been caught at all, even though he knew that his summoning was not his fault, but a plot orchestrated by his younger sibling. Still, Dream was the elder and he should’ve known. He should’ve—He could’ve—

Dream finds himself standing at the front door of the New Inn, and the noises of cheer and joy erupting from within break the Endless out of his maudlin thoughts. He looks up at the sign to the pub, sighing as he considers how he ended up here.

Hob Gadling had greeted him not even two weeks ago as a friend when Dream came to him after his imprisonment. They had talked late into the night, and Dream had found himself able to talk candidly about his capture for the first time. Hob had taken him gently by the hand at the end of the night and told Dream to return to him any time he felt he needed a friend. He did not need to wait 100 years. He was welcome anytime.

And so, here Dream is, in need of the company of his oldest friend. Perhaps his only friend.

He doesn’t even know if Hob will be inside, but if not, he can always return another time. When the door bangs open, and a pack of drunken patrons merrily make their way outside the bar, Dream slips inside past them, and into the warmth and familiarity of the New Inn. He immediately spots Hob standing with a microphone near the bar.

He is—singing?

Dream furrows his brow in confusion before he scans the daydreams of the bar patrons, determined to give himself context to what is occurring. Apparently the New Inn is celebrating something called Karaoke Night. All patrons are encouraged to participate, it seems, and as the owner of the pub, Hob is usually the one to start the festivities, as well as keep them going throughout the night.

Dream realizes that Hob has a rather lovely singing voice. Already, he can feel the tension slowly leaking from his shoulders, disappearing into the crowd the longer he watches his friend joke and laugh with the other patrons of the bar in between verses.

Dream wonders if he should not come back another time after all. Hob is clearly preoccupied, and it would not do for Dream to beg for his friend’s companionship when there are others who are much livelier and more deserving of it than he. Perhaps he should—

“Dream?” Hob calls out to him, breaking him out of yet another bout of self-deprecating thoughts. Hob is looking at him, and he appears to be delighted to see Dream. He hands the microphone off to the man managing the music, and then rushes over to greet him.

When he reaches Dream, Hob wraps his arms around him in a hug. It’s meant to be a greeting, a quick embrace, but Dream’s body must sense that he needs more than that, because he practically collapses into his friend's arms. Hob grunts as he takes on the Endless’s unexpected weight but then he squeezes Dream’s shoulder and presses his face into Dream’s unruly hair.

“Hey, you all right?” Hob asks him, his voice soothing and gentle.

Dream wants to reassure his friend that he is fine, that there is nothing wrong with him, to apologize for his one moment of weakness—but he is so tired. He is emptied out after today. He would like to rest. Just for a little while.

“No,” he replies, internally cringing at just how weary he sounds. “I am—not well.”

And then Dream decides to indulge—he indulges because Hob had told him he was allowed—he wraps his arms around Hob, and then buries his face in his oldest friend’s shoulder. Hob only hums in response, before he calls a woman over to where they’re standing.

“Hey Beth, I’m taking off early tonight,” Hob tells the woman who comes to check in on them. Dream peers up at her from Hob’s shoulder. Her name is Elizabeth Lovegood. She has worked for the New Inn for a little less than five years, but she dreams of one day owning her own bakery. She is smiling kindly at him, and Dream feels undeserving of it.

“Is he all right?” Beth asks. “This that the same guy who came in here that one time?”

“Yeah,” Hob answers for him, then gently rubs Dream’s shoulders. “Think he’s just had a rough day and needs a place to crash for the night.”

Beth nods. “I got everything under control here, boss. You feel better all right, hon?”

Dream nods, and then he is being shuffled away to the back of the pub, near the stairs where Hob keeps his flat above the New Inn.

“Hey, shh it's okay, I've got you,” Hob tells him gently as he leads them up the stairs and into the warmth of his home.

Hob prepares tea and wraps Dream up in a blanket that had been previously sitting along the back of the sofa where Dream is now sitting. When they are settled together, he asks,

“What happened?”

Dream recounts the story of Calliope and her imprisonment. Hob asks some clarifying questions about their relationship and Dream does his best to answer without straying too close to the topic of Orpheus. He is not ready to discuss Orpheus yet. Not with Calliope. Not with Hob. He is not sure if he will ever be ready.

When he is finished, he sighs deeply and leans back into the softness of Hob’s couch.

“That is everything,” he finishes. “And now you are aware of one of my greatest failures.”

Hob’s brow furrows. “Failures?” he asks, confused. “But you freed Calliope, and without much trouble, how is that anything but a rousing success?”

“But she should not have had to suffer for so long,” Dream insists. “If I only I had not let my pride get in the way, I could have—”

Dream, Hob interrupts him, a rare sternness in his voice Dream has not heard since 1889. “You cannot live in the what-ifs, my friend,” he continues, his voice back to gentle and calming. “That way leads to madness, and I think you and I both know that better than most.”

“But I am not human,” Dream argues. “I am Endless, and I should not have been captured by Roderick Burgess in the first place.”

“So the Endless never make mistakes then?” Hob asks him pointedly. The accusation stings and white hot anger flashes beneath the skin of Dream’s mortal form.

“You—!” Dream exclaims, suddenly standing, his still hot tea splashing violently within its mug. “You still dare—”

“I do dare,” Hob replies, getting off the couch himself and placing his own mug on the coffee. “Because you’re my friend and I care about you, and I won’t watch you berate yourself for things that were clearly out of your control!”

Out of his control.

It’s those words that finally make Dream deflate. He drops back down onto the couch, splashing tea all over himself and the furniture. Hob yelps in alarm, but Dream merely waves the liquid away. He is tired again. He has been tired a lot lately.

“I am sorry,” Dream says, staring up at Hob’s ceiling. “You are right. These things were outside what I could control. And I do not like things that are out of my control.”

Hob snorts. “I don’t anyone likes the things that are out of their control, my friend,” he says, before plopping himself down next to Dream. “Want a hug?”

Dream does. He leans into the crook of Hob’s arm, and once again he feels his tension and sorrows from the day bleed away into the fabric of the couch.

Perhaps he shall stay. Just for a little while.

#dreamling #the sandman #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #seiya's birthday prompt fills #not me accidentally posting the ao3 link early so now I'm posting this 10 mins sooner than intended ahahahaha

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slut-for-a-good-latte · 4 months

Text

"i can't wait to read us"

you said.

so, this.

it is thursday. three days before my birthday. i am sitting at an outdoor brewery, the one i keep telling you about, and i am pretending to work. i am not really working; i am, as i do so often recently, thinking of you. writing about you. remembering you. remembering your hands and your mouth and watching you cook in the dim light of your kitchen and you bringing us more wine as we watch supernatural.

it's a very silly feeling. i think at this juncture i may be in love with you. which i will not say to you. i know we promised open communication. but there are, i think, rules to be followed.

i am not distressed by this revelation. it feels as though i am a fish realizing, suddenly, that i am surrounded by water. it is simply where i am. where i thrive. my natural environment, you might say.

i have some suspicions that this might be it. for awhile at least. can't tell the future, of course.

you make me feel smart and like i am worth listening to. you also are so, so, incredibly, beautifully fucking smart. i could listen to you talk about anything. i want to listen to you talk about anything.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

it is friday and you have slept late. i woke up to messages from you about how much you miss me, how you talked about me, how i should be there to warm your chest with my head and watch dumb movies with you. you are the first thing that comes to mind when i wake up now. i am inordinately disappointed i won't be seeing you today.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

evelyn.

i've had that name picked out for a long time. i mentioned it the other night. you seemed to short circuit.

is it odd i am thinking about doing the whole baby thing with you?

while i was in berlin, in the little airbnb we were staying in, i had a few moments alone. i'd walked to the grocery store and hauled a bag of white wine, bread, cheese, and almonds back to an empty apartment. and in my head, i pictured you on the couch with someone small. i pictured music playing softly in the background as you bounced a girl on your knee and kissed her soft blonde head. i pictured setting my bags on the table and asking, how are my loves? did you miss me? and you answering, laughing, of course we did, didn't we, darling? maybe it would be a date night. we'd have a show to catch, or dinner reservations to make. a sitter would be on the way. we'd spend the first part of the evening enjoying the wine and the bread and marveling at this small wonder of a person that is both of us and more than us.

evangeline. cassiopeia. calliope. cassandra. emmeline. lina. olivia.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

it is two days after my birthday and i am exhausted. all i can think about is you. it's a little silly how much i find myself missing you after spending the whole of the weekend wrapped around you.

things i do not want to fade from memory:

dancing at cheers. glancing back to see you filming me. smiling like i am the brightest thing you have ever seen.

cheshire-cat grin as you explain how some guy talked to you at length about fucking me before hurrying away when you told him, "she's coming home with me tonight."

dancing, again, but with you this time. spinning. orbiting. your hands.

kissing me triumphantly at midnight. you beat paetyn.

of course, really, really good sex after we stumbled home.

later, when we met with paisley - you bought me an ice cream in the shape of batman. it turned my tongue blue. it didn't have dairy in it. i could have cried.

listening to you chat with the bartender. i am finding i adore particularly listening to you talk to people with such earnest open interest.

you returning from leaving the table and grazing my back with your hand.

you talked with me about my writing so readily. so excitedly. not because you had to or because i asked or had to fish for a response. you read my work and reread it enough to form wonderful opinions about it and i love that.

teaching me how to shoot pool. "yes, baby!" when i sank a shot.

"too high, drop it lower - good girl."

the uber ride laying in your lap. staring up at you. your eyes shimmered. i was drunk enough i almost let it slip. i didn't. but i thought it, hard, hoping you'd feel what i wanted to say without me saying it. iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

tuna melts. so incredibly wonderful. made better because you seemed so happy to be making them. and we ate them and fell asleep watching supernatural.

three times the next morning. three times. each time different and lovely and perfect. i want to live all the time with the feeling of you inside me. it is religious.

"you're such a good girl, you take it so well"

three times, not even counting all the other moments where it was just you enjoying me, all eager exploring mouth and gentle hands.

wine walk. discussing our befores. somehow, not uncomfortable.

reading on your couch. tired, tipsy, not feeling much like talking. letting the sound of your voice fill my chest with warmth.

it's a non-exhaustive list. i could, i think, write for hours about each thing you do that makes my heart swell. but for now i need to nap.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

i came by again on a tuesday night, and my sleep schedule is definitely suffering for it. it is entirely and completely worth it.

you wrote about me. i slept next to you and you played with my hair and lips, which i didn't notice, and you wrote about me.

you have an isosceles triangle on your back. your freckles form a perfect right angle. pythagoras, i think, was talking about you when he decided that truth could be found in perfect mathematics. you are perfect. your angles are divine.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

tinned fish in our underwear.

you held my hand while i told you all the ways i am cruel to myself. squeezed it like you understood. showed me dents in your refrigerator that explained exactly how much you understood.

you made us toast points while i spoke very plainly about things i am used to being ashamed of. and you held my hand. flinched when i mentioned how it had happened in the time since we have known each other. (maybe i imagined this part. but to me, it seemed as though you were wincing for the fact that you could not hold my hand then the way that you hold it now. or maybe not.)

i really love tinned fish. and you. you and tinned fish are my favorite combination.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

my thighs are littered in bruises. each are the shape of your fingertips. small. delicate. real, painful little reminders of your hands on me. i am obsessed with them. they are beautiful colorful stunning pieces of evidence that i have not made you up.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

i whispered i love you into your hair this morning while you slept on me.

when i left, i drove past you walking up the hill. i blew you a kiss. you caught it. blew one back.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

i am drinking earl grey tea and sparkling water, eating a panini that, honestly, darling, you could have done much better.

you are everywhere all the time. beautiful days make me think fondly of how much you will love to feel the sun on your face when you leave your apartment. cold breezes and rain make me think of curling up against you and sleeping the whole morning through, reveling in the sound of uninterrupted drizzle and the way your breath feels against my neck as you doze. earl grey tea makes me wish you were here enjoying a cup of coffee with me, nudging my bare leg with your foot.

you are everywhere. i miss you every moment i am not with you. but that is alleviated some by the way that you kiss me with every breeze that brushes across my cheeks and a patch of pure wonderful sunlight is the same as being held in your arms.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“you can’t hide these marks from me baby. i’m never going to judge you for them. i just want to kiss them.”

i thought i heard you say “i love-“ while you were kissing my chest this morning. i don’t know if you did. but i would like to think that you can’t help but think i love you when you’re inside me with your arms wrapped completely around me. i would like to think we are on the same page about this too.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

we've said it, and i've read most of this out to you, so i suppose there's nothing stopping me from posting it.

it's been three days of existing in your space and i have adored every minute. i adore you every minute. i have never felt peace quite as all encompassing.

i love you. i don't know what else there is to say about it. but there will be more. you keep finding ways to make me need to come on here and spill my love all over a blank page.

i love you, i love you, i love you.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

i've decided to keep adding to this, because i like the idea of a long, never-ending record of all the ways i adore you.

#personal #writing #fox musings #oh darling #i cannot emphasize enough how happy i am that you exist and i can say freely how much i love you #i can't wait to keep adding to this #love #prose

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