#leagueprem

⇢ Although Walter had made a habit of attending all manner of gala, party, and socialite gathering that happened across his desk, in an effort to forge a more concrete political network - he was beginning to feel as though he ought to start avoiding them. Every other grand social event he made the effort to take part in inevitably resulted in hysteria. Whether it be a result of an interpersonal conflict or, more commonly nowadays, a supernatural interference.

This one, it seemed, was no different.

Because, despite the initial sense of ease and comradery rampant amongst the attendees, it had all very swiftly deteriorated into havoc. As not long after the party's inception, a writhing influx of ghosts had taken sudden residence within the event space. Their bulbous, vibrant forms obscuring the length of the buffet table, gorging their pseudo-human faces with both appetizers and crockery.

Eventually they began to fan out across the room. And the commotion had sent guest fleeing to the far reaches of the hall, scrambling through doors and out of windows with fearful squalls.

Peck dealt with the turmoil as well as he was prone to - immediately scattering towards one of the exits. However, halfway across the room, he collided headlong into another guest.

He really hadn't meant to wake her; he just figured that she'd be up when he got home from training. Hindsight makes it obvious that he probably should've checked before he dumped his bag - boots and shinpads and all - onto the hard flooring. "No, no, go back t'sleep," he tries to insist, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her curls. "Didn't mean to wake you. I was just about to make myself a cuppa Rosie, I was gonna offer you one, too, but. Shh. You're sleeping. You didn't wake up at all."

THREE YEARS. they have been divorced for three years—two, if you, like many, partake in the rags and snatched up the issue of star that dug through public record and got the exclusive on the filing for ANDILET V. MALCOLM. at least they'd enjoyed (in a sense) their first year of turmoil and separation out of the survey of the vultures.

ian never intends to see any of his exes again, unless he's fathered their children. of course, he spends a lot of 1994, 1995, and 1996 seeing much more of belinda andilet than he'd even seen when she'd had that ring on her finger. billboards, covers, tv interviews, all andilet, andilet, andilet.

so, is he entirely surprised when the inescapable torrent of his once and former lover's presence in his consciousness is broken by a call? one unfortunately answered by his current...fascination.

his voice is still a little taut from explaining to her that no, he does not know why his ex-wife is calling him, by the time he shuts himself in the bedroom, uncovers the receiver, and addresses belinda in a medium other than legal documents.

[ to: keeley work📱] o probably bc of the selfies i posted earlier [ to: keeley work📱] didnt start a 👊 w the pm this ⏰ [ to: keeley work📱] good fucking selfies if u ask me [ to: keeley work📱] ppl 💙 me x

her first reaction is to giggle. it's full of delight, a quick burst—not at all out of malice or to laugh at tanya. the question just hadn't been quite expected. not that it's unwelcome...

S IS FOR SPECTACULAR! i adore @tartt9, and i thank s every day for being so truly patient with me because i take forever on our threads, but i do enjoy them soooo much because s is just so brilliant of a writer and i think as far as portrayals go, i’m floored every time by the way s is able to bottle jamie up and present him in just a small paragraph. i also love their enthusiasm for football & while i know very little it’s nice sometimes to see something i don’t know about & learn and be in the know

"I'm not going anywhere..." There's exhaustion in his voice from a long day of travel. He's getting used to the jumps now that he's meant to stay awake for them, but they still make Glawen feel a bit ill, despite how gorgeous the view is from the bridge of the Shining Destiny. Fleet Supremus is a good title on him, just as General suits Bel. Not that Glay's known Bel by any other title, but he's sure there was a time when Bel was Fleet Supremus, when he was Pellis One. He laces a hand through Bel's, vowing to himself that he'll know these hands until the day he dies. He'd know them by touch alone, blindfolded, silenced, in a thousand different galaxies, on a million different planets. "Where would I disappear off to, anyways? You've got me trapped on this beautiful, massive ship," he jokes, pressing his forehead to Bel's chest, looking up at him. "I'm here. I'll be here when you wake, too. I'll be by your side, no matter what, General."

"Climbed in the window," is his response, like it's a perfectly normal thing to do at any time, let alone at almost two o'clock in the morning. "Wanted to see you. Wasn't about to start knocking on the front door, was I?" When Romeo's room is significantly less accessible via window - the height is prohibitive to that - he'll take any opportunity he's got to actually climb through a window. Especially hers. "What are you doing awake's the real question. Did I wake you? I thought I was being quiet."