#calliope-cakes

[greekdivine]

@calliope-cakes for bunny <3

‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎❝ -- no, bun, that's not right. ❞

‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎pink lips turn downwards as she looks at the paper. bunny's chicken ‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎scratch is nearly illegible, but she's proofread enough of his essays to be ‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎able to decipher it.

‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎❝ aristotle and aeschylus didn't even live at the same time, they ‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎‎  ‎ ‎couldn't have been FRIENDS. ❞

[hauntedtrait]

3rd trimester begins + baby shower time!

[mic-check-stims]

Also it's cherub birthdays

X-X-X X X-X-X

[chiotri-loves-davekat]

here are a buncha pictures from this week (I only made like half of these)

[the-cooler-king]

Characters that definitely, unequivocally are rose brides: vash the stampede, livio the double fang, vergil dmc, kratos

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[the-name-stealer]

hello!!! Intro time!!!

Hi!!! Call me anything.

I steal names!

If you want your names removed, reblog/send ask/ privately message me! I answer anons so it’s hard to sort through who is okay with it.

Give me your name. Or someone else’s. I’m not picky.

names I’ve stolen: (will tag if they have blogs+who gave it to me if it was someone else)

Noah 1

bugg 2

Oakley :3

Rebekah (from @biggesthuskersimp589)4

Willow (^^)5

Lewis (^^^)6

Olivia(^^^^)7

all of @river-nonbinary-billcipherfan nicknames! 8

Samah! ( @that-0ne-sam)9

Bill Cipher! ( @billcipher-rpblog)10

Maryland! ( @maryland-officially)11

Hawaii! ( @hawaii-official)12

Lep! ( @leprechaun-stealerofgold)13

Squeaky! ( @postalignments)14

James! ( @more-trans-beans) 15

Pyramid Steve! (From @billcipher-rpblog, taken from @i-amsteve)16

Khriz! (From @the-lunacy-system taken from @khrizantema9869)17

Kaitlyn! ( @literal-trans-beans)18

buck! (By @17ghostsinatrenchcoat)19

Alivia! (^^)20

Cataclysm, Nibiru, Roav, 7-3, Ælr, nobaru! ( @planet-of-cataclysm)26

Holden! ( @hadoom) 27

quinn, ruin, yuri, and nikolai! ( @throat0fdelusion)31

penny, Margret, Samantha, Emu, and Warren! ( @pennyroyald)36

silver & milky! ( @official-milky-way)38

anon (anon) 39

PSR J0437-4715 & 1rxs. ( @1rxs-offical) 41

Rian (taken permanently from @river-nonbinary-billcipherfan) 42

neon! ( @neoninglitchen) 43

Katelyn ( @katiewolf) 44

banana, mango, grape, orange, melon, and lemon ( @fruit-tree-system) 50

Monaco ( @officially-monaco)51

peachy ( @importantpeachfury) 52

Colorado ( @colorado-real)53

Oregon ( @oregon-officially)54

North Carolina ( @the-fr-north-carolina-totally)55

Michigan ( @michagan-the-state)56

Violet ( @violetthediamondsblog)57

Vitreous ( @vitreous-official)58

faye! ( @f4y3w00d5)59

Misa! ( @minimuppetmisa)60

nɒʜɈƎ/γnnɒɔƧ ( @₴₵₳₦₦Ɏ₴-฿₳₵₭) 62

Liechtenstein ( @offical-liechtenstein)63

Jalapeño ( @floatingcamel23)64

Logan (permanently taken from @pennyroyald) 65

Rachel Roth ( @half-a-goat)66

Dubois (anon) 67

unknown entity of darkness ( @unknown-entity-tm) 68

Rose/Róża, Minty, Kali, Noodle, & Thing. ( from @blog-of-some-dummies given by @pennyroyald) 73

In-n-out burger ( @in-n-out-burger-official) 74

Diafain (anon) 75

🐍💍 (anon) 76

Tori Simons (anon)77

Felhair de Ziaman ( @pennyroyald) 78

Britain ( @real-british-empire) 79

Carl Fredrick Wilhelm Johannes Maximillian Napoleon Zeus von Neumann the Amazing the Great the Protector of Domestic Tranquillity, ForMemRS. (Anon) 80

Zero ( @z3r0th3h3r0) 81

Tereza (permanently taken from anon) 82

marsh,syll,silk , mallow, mochi, pastel, lucid, Celes, Limetta, maria, Felix, theo, Axel, alex, aqua, nova, aster, caelus, Doku, Aurous, ann, lucas, luca, lucean, jack, phi, ray, peace, alba, chaos, tart, cake, Led, Charlie, Lamba, Xeno! (Anon) 118

Snow ( @sn0w-o) 119

Fiona, Talia, Mable, Boa, Egg, Clise, Pancake, Hypnos, Elysia, Seraphina, Agnes, Marceline, Claire, Noelle, butterscotch, frigg, soup, strawberry, marsia, beate, makoto, sock, bug, Florian, bea, Rosalina, marinella, Finka, nada, Yuri, sky, Olivia, fischl, cinnamon, amity, Ada, Lenora, Aida, Romy, Lys, Eliana, Cherie, océane, Esther, marcille, Astrid, Clara, Lacey, flowers, natsuki, sayori, Petra, Aphrodite, hatsune, crimson, viola, Jenny, juniper, Annie, marie,Tina, kanaya, Callie, Bonnie, Velma, Phoebe, Sabrina, Tori, Natalie, Kim, love, Corey, Courtney, misty, Yasmin, Laika, Tabitha, primrose, Beatrice, circe, johnette, temmie, gumi, himiko, Anne, nessa, Sonia, akane, Diane, Miku, merlin, adagia, miyu, aradia, Illya, azure, maya, Mira, marina, Andromeda, Alya, Stella, celestia, Celeste, nova, Lyra, hope, April, pearl, amber, violet, Kirra, clover, iris, calliope, blossom, Millie, tulip, Bibi, amy, Reyna, ambrosia, page, Leah, Charlie, Lilith, ellsee, maki, edeustus, ellie, Samantha, Amelia, Tiffany, Alyssa, Luna, caoimhe, Judith, Natalie, kumatora, aurelie, Kate, moon, nerisse, serenity, Lara, Sarina, Vanessa, Monica, cherry, Helena, Sophia, tiki, luzia, Laura, Juliette, aurora, corrin, annette, Hilda, madalena, Anna, ivy, Cynthia, byleth, caeda, Alexandrea, chell, Maria, mia, Katie, Veronica, Susie, comet, Jessica, eve, Eva, vivisection, heather, Donna, winona, guinivere, Roxanne, Lillian, Octavia, étolie, Marnie, Gaia, daisy, desura, amnesia, sunny, clementine, bocchi, Cara, Agatha, Evelyn, angèle, Louisa, Camila, roseline, louane, Averie, Melina, Lena, minthe, Emma, acorn, Cassandra, bread, willow, raven, kali, Sappho, harmony, mango, Hellan, Katelyn, aria, Elyse, Marnie, blanche, frasie, Freya, Charlotte, amandine,  Vivian, Sylvia, Sarah, Jane, Ashley, Mongolia, Alice, Sydney, pikachu, Michelle, Gowan, Madeline, Ellen, Marissa, Lana, Lilly, Ella, rose, may, Ramona, melody. ( @bitch-with-some-4000-names) 363

Tera , elfilin , carol, taranza ( @tmhj) 367)

ash ( @i-give-worms) 368

Jayne bishop ( @thegreatgeodo) 369

Josie & Scarlett ( @knight-real) 371

sir A. Goetia. ( @pennyroyald) 372

swiper ( @mronion) 373

grammarly ( @unofficially-grammarly) 374

Walmart ( @walmart-the-official)375

Whataburger ( @whataburger-possibly-official) 376

Vemödalen ( @no-such-thing-as-originality) 377

Sydney (Anon) 378

roselyn (anon) 379

Saioa (anon) 380

hygiea 10 ( @hygiea-official)381

Alex, Allen, Asher, Caelus, Calxe, Dalisay, Ennui, Fae, Joy, Kai, Li, Liit, Loe, Mia, Nemo, Nihil, Noël, Oakley, Pelex, Sasha, Somnus, Tama, Ramasses, Rin, Rowan, Willow, Zephyr, Zora ( @joyliit) 401

Alexandria (taken permanently from ^^)402

James/jamie and Martin/marty ( @throat0fdelusion) 404

Caesar & Charlie ( @caesars-crazed-ramblings) 406

Cosmo or Nyx! ( @spacecatdraws) 408

Africa ( @pennyroyald) 409

choccy milk, shortcake, cakepop, mossy ( @analog-autistic) 413

Michael (anon)414

Sally (anon) 415

blue (anon)416

William Shakespeare (<-never heard of the guy/j) ( @shakespeare-official-account) 417

Haejin Min ( @the-name-gifter) 418

fae ( @the-name-asker) 419

vee ( @urlocaldisaster) 420 (hehe)

Dr. Graves ( @the-gimmick-scp-researcher) 421

Zeus (anon) 422

Copi-Copi, Elemento, Adjetivo, Mente en Blanco, Chaucha, Yo Soy, Calugoso, Duquesa, Reina, Coliforme, Tepo-Tepo, Yo no Fui, Fierro Malo, Palmerita, Neumatex, Cortachurro, Etcétera, Maletín, Duque, Guasón, Jefe, Moneda, Cucky, Pelusa, Tía, Legui, Reality, Chester, Chu, Ro, Playita, Palmera, Señor, Re Frito, Pescado, Chamuyo, Calendario, James Bond, Rata, Cabeza de Chaya, Neumático, Repetido, Añico, Rucia, Gonzo, Chino, Cortéz, Albertito, Also, Cabecita, Bigote and Mutante (anon)

jaiden and blook ( @blookdoeswhatever, @jaidentheautisticwurm) 424

jaya (anon)425

425

6/50 states

Items:

frog

worms x3

an Olive Garden I guess???

(Ooc: ^^the blog persona)

(Ooc: the blog persona (not mod) is pansexual, pangender, and demisexual! They like sewing and stealing names.)

(if you see me put your name on my main no you didn’t

my main is @buggz-owlz)

names that are given to us will be under #name giver

and names we steal will be under #name stealer

all asks will be under #name stealer questions

colors are just random colors we associate with the name given.

that’s all for now! Bye!

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 16! 🎃

Lock, Shock, Barrel, and Calliope questions that call for quick answers will be under the cut in batches of 10-15 🧡

Previous bulk questions batch

First one to complain would be called a BABY so they were all troopers!

LSB always go as themselves for Halloween—a witch, imp, and ghoul. Removing their masks to reveal that they're the real deal is still their favorite trick!

There are so many to choose from! The Fog Juice prank is a classic (and the queen agrees)

You mean what did Lock do when Barrel was on his date with Belladonna? Run off, finally realize his feelings, panic, cry, spiral...

Calliope is my OC!

Jack isn't the best at noticing that sort of thing. Maybe Sally drops a line about it years later and he's like "Is that so??"

They'll swim in the town lake if they're looking for something brisk, but for more beachy days they'll head to 4th of July town during the off-season or a secluded human world beach!

Lock and Barrel love junk food! Mac n' cheese, pizza, and candy count as 3 balanced meals! Shock has a more sophisticated palate, enjoying things like salads, tea with honey, or a lemon-lavender cake.

Thrift stores or hot topic type places. He looks the most human so he just walks in haha. If they're wearing something cool, Sally made it. If they're wearing something with a corny pun on it, Barrel found it.

Shock and Lock never force Barrel to accompany them so there's nothing Barrel ever needed to refuse. And the mischief Shock and Lock concoct is (mostly) harmless, which Barrel doesn't mind participating in. He loves being with his friends, so the activity doesn't really matter. If they're having fun, he's having fun!

[bigfan-fanfic]

Reclaim (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

Could I request Dean's bf taking him out to just spend a day or two doing whatever childhood things he never got to do, no matter how much he huffs about it not being a big deal.  Just fluff and carthartic stuff, that kind of thing

A grumpy bearded man glares at you from a swingset that is far too small for him, his bowed legs bent pretty far.

"Are you happy now?"

You chuckle. "You didn't even swing."

"It's too small."

"Then go use the big boy set. Not my fault you wanted to go for the kiddie swings."

He huffs and stands indignantly.

you laugh harder. "This was kinda supposed to be fun, Dean."

"But, like... this is all kid's stuff."

"You're never too old for some of this stuff!" you cry, and pull him along to the swings. "Don't you have any fun stuff you used to do as a kid?"

"Uh... target practice with Dad?"

"Wow. Yeesh."

"What?"

"So, like... you never really got to have a childhood."

"Dude. You can't just say crap like that to someone's face. Besides, it's not a big deal. I can-"

"I know what we're doing today!"

"Oh boy."

You challenge Dean to see who can get higher on the swings before you chicken out - mainly to stop your competitive boyfriend from trying to go all the way over.

And then when you hear the tinny calliope noises of an ice cream truck you go running, calling out for Dean to come with you, and you both chase down the truck.

It's silly and stupid, but then the ice cream salesman tells you about the fair in town, and you give Dean an excited stare.

"......"

"...."

"...fine."

Dean usually doesn't get to stay in any town long enough for any local events, so a county fair is still relatively new to him.

The overwhelming amount of sight and sound is enough to burst his bubble of attempted adult disapproval, and you catch a glimpse of the goofy kid he probably would have been.

He grins, and eventually takes the lead in pulling you to the different attractions.

You gorge yourself on fried county fair food - Dean is in fried heaven, defying all the angels to come up with a food better than the fried oreo, but even his insatiable appetite can't conquer a huge funnel cake with a dollop of ice cream that won't even melt all the way on the hot day because it's so big - not without your assistance.

You make him do the petting zoo, and he tries to impress you at the dunk tank, pitching a fastball that sends some cute local guy splashing.

He wins you prizes, accepts those you win for him, and admits that it's probably just about as fun as that time his dad took him into a bar for the first time and showed him how to hustle pool.

For now, you'll take it.

He even lets you drive home, since he's tuckered himself out so much. You let him lean against you, and you grin to yourself when you hear him quietly ask-

"Can we go again tomorrow?"

[the-voldsoy]

Parallels/references/a couple theories about TMAGP EP1:

grouped in order of actual theories, vague things i noticed, and even vaguer comments! (using the same terminology as in TMA for ease)

HEAVY Spoilers !!

Stronger:

“Colin, mate, you know you’re never getting out of here” +won't leave until they figure out the errors “Or they finally kill me” → couldn't quit the Archives because they thought they just wanted to understand and know (but later found out they could only get out by dying or blinding)

Lena talks about cake → Mr Spider doesn't like cake + Elias seemed to love the stuff

pub called The Seward -> Peter Lukas vibes?

“There has to be a way to do this online” → haha ! you wish. (AKA supernatural interferes with internet so it cant be dont online)

“There's this box for a "Response 121" on the form.” → MAG121 is the episode Jon is woken from his coma/brought back to life by Oliver Banks

Talk about how there used to be a separate “Response” department → Elias tells Jon its their job to watch, not interfere (iirc)

Old as shit computer → old as shit tape recorders

AKA: the computer seems to be the only thing that can handle the supernatural

“ "Dolls comma watching" or "Dolls comma human skin" “ → violently Stranger and possibly Eye, has me in mind of MAG24 (the one the Calliope is first mentioned in, where the boyfriend is turned into a doll iirc) 

Barely understandable, long as shit file names →barely understandable, long as shit files names by Gertrude 

[in response to where the files go] “some long dead database that no one will ever look at or care about” → the Archives were unmanaged, decrepit and barely used by anyone outside of them

Work during the night - no sun, cut off from outside world → worked in a basement - no sun, cut off from outside world

Martin (and later Jon) taking the statements → did the same in TMA but in reverse (although I’d love to know if there's any reason behind them being called Chester and Norris, besides what's stated?)

Haha Martin and Jon (and Jonah) are now part of the World Wide Web → shit now they're part of the Web (just like with the tape recorders !!)

Someone talks about how they're sorry, they should've listened, couldn't face not hearing him again → martin @ jon and vice versa

Stranger statement with hints of the Dark → first TMA statement was a Stranger in the dark, and it does put me in mind of the Anglerfish tbh

Sorting system for the statements (although there's is a Lot more detailed and v different) → Smirke’s Fourteen

Gwen openly does not like Lena → literally anyone @ Elias

Asked if they were tricked into working here → well, we know the Archives and Elias

“The awful, terrible thing that landed you here?” → most of the Archives (excluding Sasha and maybe Martin) had something that made them Marked, that mostly led to them working there

Someone who's into spelunking listed the Institute as “cleared” → who could that be (if we know them at all)? Buried avatar, i'd guess, but we don't really know any of them

Photos of the Institute don't show up → photos of the supernatural don't work

The Institute was “weird”, made the subject paranoid → lingering Eye

Fire twenty years ago that burned the Institute → Like the fire at Hilltop Road? Or like that time Gertrude tried to burn down the Institute?

Third floor was the most burned → assuming that's the top floor (and correct me if i'm wrong), wasn’t Jonah in (and later killed) on the top floor?

“offices like little cells” → employees were certainly trapped ! also Millbank Prison

Worried non-existent doors were going to slam shut → the Distortion

Weren’t any papers → left behind before the Institute came to this Somewhere Else (assuming it's the same Institute)? (we need an actual name for the original universe and this Somewhere Else)

Suspicious stains on some floors → my darling, that is blood ! or possibly squished worms, or ink. or possibly something Else

“an old wooden thing with a bunch of similar symbols on” → genuinely unsure what this could be

Strange symbols → For all the Fears, or just the Eye, i wonder? I think i remember them saying something about an Eye symbol at this point, but now i can't find where

“you get a job, I get a fresh victim. It’s all in your contract.” → Elias @ his employees

 “To new beginnings, with old friends” → to a new beginning, with our old friends Jon, Martin and Jimmy Magma :)

“You’re not as clever as you think you are. You think you've got us all fooled, that no-one knows you're listening, But I do. I know. I’m going to find you and then…” → hi what did he mean by this

They (jon, martin & jonah) are Watching and Listening and following through technology→ just like Elias (Panopticon vibes tbh) and Sergey Ushanka

Vaguer (idk if theres anyhting here, but wanted to include it anyway):

Alice loves coffee -> Martin loved tea

Meeting in a cemetery → Sasha with Michael pre-prentiss attack, Naomi Herne 

Not wanting to stay at home because it's full of memories → Jon moving with Georgie, Martin moving to the Archives

Gwen Bouchard wants Lena’s job → Bouchard (appeared to) climb the job ladder quicker than he should have

Heh bug list → corruption

 “You don’t seem like the usual hopeless wasters Lena hires” “The awful, terrible thing that landed you here?” → okayy no need to be rude. But anyways the OG Archives crew were actually pretty disconnected from the rest of the world +were barely there by choice?

“freight cars near Brighton” → hey where did Melanie get her first Slaughter mark ?

“it’s not too awkward working with an ex?” → Georgie and Jon?

FR3-d1 -> i feel like there's something there, but i cannot figure it out

Just words that made me irrationally scared:

Stranger(‘s)

Distortion

Opposites:

Starts with a party for someone leaving → couldn't quit the archives

“ …you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here.”

please put any opinions/additions in the tags !!

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is the wedding singer hired to perform at Dream's wedding reception(s) (.........each time he's left at the altar.). A 5+1 romcom.

Hob was hired as a joke by Dream's friends for his wedding reception -- Dream's super intense about his romances and all in for getting married (and his parents/family are soooo buttoned up) that a wedding singer like Hob should (hopefully) losen things up.

1. Dream's wedding is called off a week or two before; Hob charges his 75% cancelation fee;

2. Dream is left at the altar this time; Hob sees him in passing. He charges his full rate since he was ready to go and all set up;

3. A pregnant Calliope calls off the wedding the day of, and since the reception venue is attached to where she and Dream were going to be married, she talks Dream into eating cake and dancing with her -- they'll co-parent, but one of them had to be honest about how ill-suited they were for each other. Hob tries to make sure everyone has fun --- and sees Dream for the first time and is smitten by the sad sack pretty man dancing oh so poorly with the hugely pregnant lady;

4. Left at the alter again (and knowing Hob was at the reception venue), Dream's friends (Matthew, Jessamy, Lucienne, Joanna, Cori) drag him to drink and dance to Hob's singing. Hob finally gets to talk to his favorite broken hearted cutey;

5. At this point, Hob and Dream are friends (it took a while for Dream to get with the program) and while Hob really really likes Dream (he loves him so much), Hob could only watch the train wreck of Dream asking another person who doesn't really understand (or love him like Hob) to marry him.

Hob was not hoping for a repeat of the runaway bride/groom (above all he wants Dream to be happy) .....but on the off chance Hob was bad luck for Dream's weddings,,,,,,Hob agreed to sing at the reception; and

+1. Hob refused to sing for his own wedding!! He needs all the good luck he can muster to secure Dream as his husband.

I live for the idea of Hob being like "Hmm. I like this weird little man. Let me study him like a bug. And also marry him."

And listen, Hob prides himself on the fact that all the couples he's sung for have been very successful! Not a single divorce among them! Dream is managing to spoil that record all by himself, and Hob is determined to see this poor wet cat happily settled down.

He pulls out ALL the stops with romantic playlists and backdrops, sexy lighting, the whole shebang. He's never tried so hard to make his set a success, but he's determined to make the ambience perfect for Dream.

And it still doesn't work. Calliope seems like a lovely lady, though. She even thanks Hob for putting in so much effort. And says she hopes to see him at Dream’s next wedding. Oof.

Admittedly at weddings number 4 and 5, Hob is less determined to make the whole thing a success. He's not actively sabotaging them (Dream definitely doesn't need his help in failing to get married)... but he's not exactly sad when he gets to put his arm around the poor abandoned groom and comfort him in his hour of need. At number 5 Dream falls asleep with his head in Hob’s lap while he sings a soft lullaby, and Hob decides right then and there that there will be no more failed weddings. HE is marrying Dream, and he's not going to let anything stop him.

And so he doesn't perform at their wedding (because he's secretly afraid that it might bring bad luck). And they do make it to the altar, and through the vows, and to the reception - without a single hitch. Dream doesn't seem to stop smiling all day, and it's like he can hardly believe it when they cut the cake and have the first dance. Hob catches him pinching himself several times, which is just adorable.

And much, much later, when they finally tumble into bed to enjoy a sleepy, cozy wedding night... Hob sings Dream to sleep with "I do" by ABBA, and they start the rest of their lives together. Hob is determined to regain his record of 100% successful marriages, and he's not letting Dream go!!

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (15/22)

Chapter summary: You make a decision about Vision, the video, and your lingering feelings for your ex-wife

Chapter word count: 6.6K | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: If you decide to yell at me after this chapter, I guess this is a good time to tell you that I'm smol.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Sixteen

--

Fifteen

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer - David Kushner "Daylight"

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over. 

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart. 

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers," 

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had. 

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law. 

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment. 

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this,  I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.  

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag. 

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine." 

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.” 

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it. 

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena. 

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie. 

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move. 

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground. 

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down. 

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines. 

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game. 

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins. 

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far. 

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.  

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular. 

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes. 

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. 

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now. 

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret. 

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return. 

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth. 

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh. 

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.  

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Result of the DB/Z/Super Poll:

Tie for first place:

DBS Beerus x f!reader

“You don’t say?” Bulma’s eyebrows furrowed with interest as Jaco brandished a holographic flyer. “And this pop star is taking the galaxy by storm through music? Sorry, that doesn’t seem really like our kind of thing.”

The Galaxy Patrolman scoffed, acting wounded while taking back the device. “That right there shows that you have no idea! She’s dubbed Goddess of Music for a reason and you are just too thick to realize why.”

“Come again?” She growled menacingly with steadily growing embers within her gaze.

“I’m just saying that if you of all people on Earth haven’t the slightest understanding that having her grace this planet with a performance is heavenly then you clearly do not wish to know that I’ve heard rumors she’s looking for a place to lay low for a while.”

Rumbling earned their curious gazes to rise in time to spot a dust storm worthy of classic writing lore a moment before nearly being billowed by the wind following a figure who appeared from its core with golden eyes wide and ears standing at attention, a slim tail lashing behind them. Purple-gray hued skin, not a single strand of hair to be seen, large ears and manicured paws for hands, the God of Destruction himself was barely recognizable courtesy of the glimmering stars threatening to give away the hidden emotions swirling within. “Run that by me once again, little man.”

Amused, Bulma couldn’t help but poke light fun when spotting Whis appearing a moment later with several bowls of whipped parfaits wearing a shocked expression. “Oh, there you are. I forgot you were hanging around somewhere nearby.” One of the suspended bowls slipped underneath Beerus’ nose and earned their raised brows when he paid it no mind. “Okay, spill it. For you to ignore food means that something is special about this girl.”

“You just don’t know the music of Calliope and even if you heard it I doubt you’d appreciate it.” Jaco’s hands rose when noticing a certain glare from the feared entity, beginning to sweat profusely. “A-all I’ve heard is that she may be taking a break from tour and is currently in search of somewhere to recuperate! One of the guys at work knows someone who knows someone—”

“Get to the point.”

“—from the sounds of it she’s expressed an interest in Earth but she isn’t sure if this corner of the cosmos is ready for her music!”

Almost in the same manner of a rocket, the mighty God of Destruction appeared inches from Jaco’s face. “Tell me you’re not joking or I swear I’ll destroy you now.”

“It’s the truth! I swear it on my life and I would never lie to Bul—I mean to you!”

Tension hung heavily in the air as the slanted golden eyes bore into the small patrolman until he straightened stiffer than a ruler. “If what you are saying is true, and I’m not saying I believe you, then there is much work to be done.”

Bulma shared a questioning look with Whis who looked just as lost as the Earthling woman.

….

Golden eyes narrowed with disgust while regarding the stage. “Wrong, it’s all wrong. Start again.”

A unified exclamation rose from the people who had been working diligently since appointed beneath his guidance. “That makes seven redesigns in the last four days!”

“Well, then, make it eight and stop wasting my time by doing it right the first time I asked!” Beerus snapped, visibly deflating while settling into a nearby chair resting beneath its umbrella. “I can hear your condescending snickers from here, Whis, so you better shut up before I destroy you along with those ingrates.”

Beside him appeared a tall fair blue skinned individual who cooed softly to the rich chocolate desert within his hold. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean offense.” Between his lips disappeared the spoon laced with thick fudge, powdered sugar, tart cherry, and fluffy cake that earned his bright smile and wiggle of the spine. “Oh, Almighty, this is truly divine!” He momentarily grew serious when no interest was shown by the God of Destruction. They’ve come to know each other very well in the past several centuries, he boasted to practically know the cat-like deity better than a dragon its own scales, however these last few days have been truly interesting to behold. As if something had come over the once stoic, cold, indifferent being. The desert was placed off to the side, with regret, before he fixed his gaze upon Beerus. “Come now, is it truly worth getting all excited over something so silly?” If he noticed the sudden heavy pressure within the air Whis chose to ignore it. “That musician was looking for a place to relax, not put on a show. Wouldn’t it be rude to shove something like this into her face and practically demand a performance when she’s utterly exhausted from traveling or worse?” So sooner had his words faded to silence did the chair become vacant. “My lord?”

Wordlessly, he stalked towards the incomplete stage as the workers quickly retreated upon seeing his approaching form. They were left speechless and highly frustrated when with a tap of a claw the entire structure was rendered to piles of ash. “What are you fools going on about now? I just saved you several more days of complaining so show a little gratitude.” Beerus fixed each in turn with narrowed eyes. “Or perhaps you wished to be entombed within your failed production.”

Both of his ears perked when telltale pings sounded from the scepter his Angel used.

Whis, taken by surprise, stood and peered into the sphere. “Would you look at that, an unmarked ship is approaching Earth as we speak.”

Disappointment permeated the air as Beerus returned to his seat. “Don’t get my hopes up like that.” Swiping the desert, he began eating with vigor and gusto worthy of a God of Feast rather than a God of Destruction.

“Would you like another?” A soft voice came from the side, earning Whis’ pout before it turned into a grin as several similar dishes were placed carefully across the table. You cast a smile, and a wink, from over your shoulder when Beerus took a moment to take in your appearance. “I made those specifically for you by my own hands so I can’t wait to hear how you like them.”

Almost too faintly for you to hear came a unified gasp from the pair before near identical croons of happiness.

Bulma brightened when you stepped into the kitchen, hands clasping your own. “You’re truly a lifesaver, seriously. When our chef that they’ve attached to became ill I wasn’t sure what I was going to do! Then dad said you were looking for work and had recommended you for the position! I hope they weren’t too rude.”

“Trust me when I say I’ve encountered much worse.” You grinned brightly. “It’s nice to be doing something like this with my hands. I better get back to work though to make sure our guests stay satisfied.”

“Too true,” the blue haired genius waved while walking towards the entrance, “but be sure to take as many breaks as you need!”

“Will do!”

It wasn’t until the door closed with a hiss that you released a sigh of relief. A pair of headphones were procured as if from thin air that you secured upon your head and faint notes of music could be heard as you went about the kitchen. What should you make this time?

….

Alarms blared wildly as Bulma sat upright in bed, blinking wildly when spotting her Saiyan husband by the window staring down as flashing lights. “What’s going on?! Is it the media again?” Her arms crossed. “What did you do?”

“Quiet, woman, I’m trying to listen.” His narrowed eyes slanted farther. “Appears that the authorities who wear blue are preventing someone from entering.”

A glance at the clock earned her groan before swinging her legs over the bed’s side. “It’s four in the morning, it’s probably (Y/n) trying to come to work. Guess dad forgot to add her to the directory.”

“Don’t move.”

“And why the hell not?”

Vegeta’s lip curled. “Your interference is not needed since they have turned from detaining to entertained.”

Blinking, she crossed the room to peer out of the window alongside her Prince and felt her jaw hit the floor before a face breaking grin lifted her lips.

….

“How were those deserts?” You asked with a smile, clearing away the dirty platters and dishes to place them upon the cart you’d brought. “I hope they were to your liking.”

“Truly amazing, my compliments to the baker!” Whis hummed.

Beerus made to ignore your question if not for the nudge of a food. Clearing his throat, his golden gaze met yours, earning a warm ember to nestle within your gut. “They were perfectly adequate and acceptable.”

No sting of disappointment came at his words, only appreciation, earning his blink of shock when you genuinely smiled instead of withered beneath his gaze. “I’ll make the next ones even better, you just wait! I want to hear from your own lips that my food is delicious. Then I’ll share with you my super-delicious-ultra-special desert.”

“Perhaps you should make it instead of hyping it up.” A smirk appeared upon his face. “Why boast when you can flaunt?”

Whis’ lips parted to reprimand the God of Destruction’s jab but they pursed, eyes widening, when you cocked a hip and lowered your face to be inches away from the deity.

“And when was the last time you made anything with those hands, hm?” There was no mistaking the challenge within your tone as a slow blooming smirk raised your lips the longer silence filled the air.

With a huff, he turned his head. “I’ve done things with these hands you couldn’t scarcely imagine, human, so I suggest you mosey on back to the kitchen for our next course. Besides, I am a God of Destruction not of confections.”

A bell was struck, ringing clearly through the air as the surrounding outer backyard that belonged to the Brief family.

“Thanks for joining me! We can start off easy with a simple meringue.” You clapped your hands, internally relishing when Whis smirked at the scepter he quickly hid when anger filled golden eyes locked upon him. The outside had vanished to be replaced by the all too familiar kitchen you’ve come to call home.

“What the hell are you playing at?!”

“Lord, would you mind cracking a few eggs?”

The glare was fixated upon you as a carton passed from your hands to sit before him. For a moment you surmised that he would still fight but for some reason, after his gaze meeting yours, he picked up one of the fragile shelled items. It almost immediately shattered between his claws. This earned his great displeasure once noticing a certain Angel suppressing a chuckle.

“No worries,” you soothed, placing another within his hand, “let’s try again.”

“Treating me like a child will earn you my wrath if you’re not careful, human,” he growled lowly. Despite his own words, Beerus indeed handled the egg with a bit more care as you showcased how he should rightfully crack.

Yolk and whites were separated with each egg he successfully freed from its shell. Sugar was added to the whites, which were made into fluffy clouds courtesy of a handheld whisk procured from a drawer. It was then that you revealed a pretzel pie crust that had been cooling in the refrigerator along with a bowl of previously prepared cream cheese. Both Destroyer and his Angel watched with fascination as you helped them to fold the meringue into the mixture, farther earning their wide eyed expressions when you lightly smacked reaching purple-gray hued fingers.

“Ah-ah, no snitching until its done.” A dollop of whipped cream appeared upon Beerus’ nose. “You can munch on that until I say its done. If you’d like, you can pick what toppings should go with it.”

Upon his forehead appeared a growingly frustrated tick mark while Whis happily disappeared into the nearby pantry. Surely this female knew just what he was capable of and to not irk him farther. His assumption was completely thrown out the window when you took a moment to fix him with a serious expression. The need to snap and question you was stifled when noticing something that made him pause. “That earring. It looks familiar.” Beerus eased himself closer, eyes narrowing to get a better look at the lone piece of jewelry you wore.

Panic made your heart begin to pound harder as his breath wafted your face. “O-oh, this? It used to be a necklace but the chain broke and thought that—”

“It suits you.”

Shock and awe filled you at his tone of sincerity. Did he, the God of Destruction, just compliment you? “Thank you very much,” you managed once he retreated far enough for you to breathe fresh air, “that’s kind of you to say.”

“I simply can’t decide! Lord Beerus, shall we go with sweet or savory?”

Like a glow stick, the fragile atmosphere cracked audibly when the deity huffed. Though that did make an idea come to him when you hurried to help the Angel carry in possible options. “I think we should be a bit adventurous and try something combining both. What do you say with including chunky salt and a sauce?”

“I like where this is going.” You smiled, searching the cabinets until brandishing a sea salt shaker then selecting both caramel and white chocolate chips. The entirety of your attention fixated upon the pair when they voiced doubtful objections, your gaze meeting gold. “Do you trust me?”

What an odd question. In the many years of being in his position, Beerus had never hears such an inquiry made of him. Such things meant little to beings such as himself because it was unnecessary. Yet the way you were looking at him, with those eyes and the unique air about you, set his mind, possibly very soul, at ease. “I suppose I can indulge you. Yes, for now, I shall.” Deep within his being something warmed as your cheeks lightly dusted pink.

“I promise to not betray it.”

And he believed you.

….

A frustrated growl filled the air when Destructor and Angel returned to their original seats beneath a large umbrella. “Seriously? Why do I have to wait two hours?” Beerus scowled, nostrils flaring slightly while stretching then settling. “What a bore. Just what are we supposed to do to pass the time?”

“And just where have the two of you been?”

He didn’t have to open his eyes which had closed. “None of your business, Bulma, move along.” Indignation filled him when a finger swiped across his skin, fangs shining brightly as he revealed them with a venomous hiss. “How dare you!”

Bulma blinked while inspecting the residue upon her skin. “Is that powdered sugar?”

“And what business is it of yours?”

“We were helping a certain young female create a desert within the kitchen not too long ago. Now we simply have to find some way of entertaining ourselves until its ready.” Whis’ bottom lip protruded in a pout. “I’m simply dying to taste it but I’ll hold out because of her assurances it would be to die for!”

Blinking, the blue haired woman blanked then brightened. “Oh, you’re talking about (Y/n), right?” Bulma bit her lip as Beerus confessed to not asking for your name. This was almost too good! “Well I have some good and bad news for you.”

Both sat upright with stiff spines, eyes widened once she finished speaking. “What do you mean she left?! What about our desert?!”

“Something came up for her and she had no choice—”

“Find her now.” Beerus’ growl earned their partial amusement when he failed to notice a figure who appeared from behind.

The tap of your finger upon his shoulder earned a sideways glare before it melted into something akin to admiration. Gone were your rudimentary clothes to be replaced by spectacular clothes that swayed with each movement of your body. There was no denying that he instantly knew who you really were. “I’ve been looking for you both. I should’ve known to start here first.” A decorated container was procured with a wave of your hand that slipped itself into his hold. “I hope you’re satisfied with tasting something you’ve made with the people you care for most. Cooking is one of my fave pastimes and I had a lot of fun! Let’s be sure to do this again sometime!”

Incomplete words leapt from between his quivering lips as you pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

“Be sure to take good care of Earth, okay? I definitely want to come back the next time I need to recharge!” With a wave and bow, you disappeared in a flurry of sparkles.

Bulma and Whis failed to contain their grins when the God of Destruction practically melted into a puddle with an equally goofy smile. How odd to see such a being as himself in such a state. Their amusement, however, was short lived as he carefully placed the desert upon the chair he’d vacated then faced the two of them with steadily growing malice.

“How long have you two known that she was Calliope this entire time?”

[sweetcheeksschemmenti]

Untitled Excerpt

For the insatiable Melissa Schemmenti lovers who need new fics:

Here’s a (completely unedited) little bite of a piece I’m working on. Calliope is a server at a restaurant that Joe and Melissa frequent and she’s sick of seeing the redhead treated so horribly.

Melissa Schemmenti x female OC

Warnings: Nasty Joe being verbally gross.

Anyway, more to come soon!

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 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 he looked directly at Calliope’s chest, completely unashamed. Callie noticed the hurt in Melissa’s eyes before she 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.

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, chat with Cal about anything and everything when the night slowed down and she had the time. 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.

Once a month, Melissa would dine alone while her husband was out of town on business. On those nights, Cal would drop off a slice of cheesecake or lava cake 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. Melissa would stay well past close to talk with Callie in the dim lit dinning room, often being the very last customer to leave. Conversation after conversation, Melissa revealed more about her situation with Joe and it broke the server’s heart. She confided in Calliope that she knew he was cheating on her, she just couldn’t find the right time to leave.

[seiya-starsniper]

#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 🍰😄

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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. 

[artmolonara]

Grandiose - A Lumpy Where's Waldo choose your own adventure:

*** Thought it would be fun to try this, please enjoy :o) ***

There were screams and calliope music in the air, along with the harsh metal chimes of carnival games, and the periodic thunderous roar of a coaster. It truly was one of the largest carnivals you'd ever attended.

You hadn't even know it was going to be coming to town, but the smell of funnel cake and things deep fried had been so thick on the wind that you recognized it immediately, and practically swam through it till you reached the gates.

Times had been tough, and you deserved to have some mindless R&R, try your hand at some of the games and get a cotton candy or two. Just blow off couple of hours and forget everything going wrong in your life for a little while.

The sun was setting now, and all the multicolored lights began to switch ON on all the rides. The tiny points of reds and greens lit up the sky like stars, and moved about at such speed that, if you blurred your eyes, they formed spiraling rainbows.

It was so mesmerizing that you didn't pay attention to where you were going until it was too late, as you bumped into something soft, scratchy, and slightly wet. Your eyes refocused on something red and white. Peripherals told you it was a person.

Without meeting their eye, you apologized and walked past them.

But then, a different smell hit your nostrils.

A metallic smell.

There was dampness on your hand. In this light, you couldn't really tell what color it was.

But then a sudden shriller scream caused you to look towards the carousel, and, seeing what was there, you didn't need to know the color. You knew.

A bright crimson splash rotated round and round, and a small crowd was gathering around to gawk.

Someone was dead. The puzzle pieces started to connect. You quickly whipped around to try and see whom you have bumped into.

He was standing right behind you, waiting.

Now you fully took him in, and as the features became clear, horror crept up your spine as you recognized the killer who had been all over the news.

"Hello," Waldo said with an splitting grin. There was blood on his sweater, his cane, and his teeth.

Panic flooded your system as instinctively you turned to run towards the crowd, towards safety in numbers. But to your surprise, now he was in front of you, as if he had always been there, between you and the crowd of onlookers fixated on the rotating bloody mess.

You glanced back behind you, disbelieving how he could have moved so fast, but sure enough he was gone. The long line of game tents behind you was darkened and vacant.

You looked back to the crowd and Waldo before you. His eyes flashed like the carnival lights as the screams of excitement and horror reached a crescendo. He seemed to be waiting for you to make the first move.

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