#did you know eleanor means shining light

[crimson-dianxia]

t4t painland is real TO ME

original meme

[ghostie-in-wonderland]

Songs that remind me of the Obey Me Characters

some angst, some fluff

Lucifer: 

Eleanor Rigby – Cody Fry  Experience – Ludovico Einaudi  Colors – Halsey IDK he gives the gray vibe for like someone else’s blue (probably MC’s or his brothers)  All Too Well (10 Minute Version) – Taylor Swift 

Mammon: 

The Exit – Conan Gray The dude does everything for his family and has not healed one bit. Someone give this dude a hug fr.  Right Here – Chase Atlantic He’s always there for everyone else, and he’s honestly someone who’s MC’s ride or die. Consume – Chase Atlantic  Something in the Orange – Zach Bryan I think if he did something that caused MC and him to separate and go different ways, he’d be in the like top 5 listeners of this song within like four days. The Moon Will Sing – The Crane Wives Once again, does everything for everyone else and to make them feel better. He loves his brothers and MC so much that he gives up everything for them. Idk the lyrics “I shine only with the light you gave me” feels very Mammon-coded. 

Leviathan: 

How to Save a Life – The Fray  The Other Side of Paradise – Glass Animals  Heat Waves – Glass Animals 

Satan: 

Cosmic Love – Florence and the Machine Arsonist’s Lullabye – Hozier  Almost (Sweet Music) – Hozier I head cannon that he often feels like a replica/attempt of a replica of Lilith until MC gets there and he just suffers with feeling second best.  Better Man – 5 Seconds of Summer He tries to be a better person for MC especially (and for cats). 

Asmodeus: 

Someone to Stay – Vancouver Sleep Clinic Sort of goes hand in hand with the next one, but I think being the Avatar of Lust causes a lot of issues for him in that he is only seen as someone to sleep with and nothing more and I head cannon that he craves more than that. (Honestly, you can see multiple instances where it’s clear he does)  Someone to You – Banners  S&M – Rihanna  I can just see him loving Rihanna. Breakin’ Dishes – Rihanna 

Beelzebub: 

Alice – Peggy  The View Between Villages – Noah Kahan I think he finds it difficult and upsetting in seeing the differences between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. I think it hurts him in a way to think about life before the fall and doesn’t feel worthy of his previous home.  Try – P!nk  Viva La Vida – Coldplay 

Belphegor: 

Northern Attitude – Noah Kahan Except his “northern attitude” is just murder… and he tries to do so multiple times.  Fight or Flight – Conan Gray I think he would rather die than to cry in front of people. He seems emotionally constipated (and makes it other people’s problems).   

Diavolo:  

S.O.S – Jonas Brothers  The One That Got Away – Katy Perry  City is Ours – Big Time Rush I mean he is the ruler of the Devildom. 

Barbatos: 

No body, no crime – Taylor Swift Ft. HAIM If you called him for help he’d have one question… why didn’t you ask him sooner?  Jackie and Wilson – Hozier  House of the Rising Sun – The Animals He just gives old New Orleans vibes… I can’t explain it. He also just gives the vibe of this song, maybe not the lyrics (depending on your head cannons), but definitely the instrumental part.

Simeon: 

Ophelia – The Lumineers  Breakeven – The Script After the war and all, I think he really wished that life would go back to normal, but it didn’t. I think he struggles with a sort of guilt from being on a side away from those he considers brothers, no matter what the war was about. I think he wants his family back and he doesn’t know how to and he feels overwhelmed and like he is drowning in guilt.  Waiting for Superman – Daughtry  Mind over Matter – Young the Giant 

Solomon: 

Bad Omens – 5 Seconds of Summer He stays and helps MC through it all, despite there being times, something he even admits to, of MC leaving him. MC could choose him sometimes, but Solomon would choose them every single time. Unknown/Nth – Hozier Solomon is pretty much a lonely sorcerer and the only one fighting for the human realm a majority of the time. When MC comes along and (depending on y’alls choices) hint at being willing to help protect the realm, he probably feels a weight lift off his shoulders, while another one is placed on his shoulders.  Black and White – Niall Horan  Work Song – Hozier I don’t think anything could stop him from being there for MC. I mean, a timeline sure as hell didn’t. 

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals: Creep

Not a Voiceplay video I watch as often as others (though I've also listened to it a few times on Spotify), but I know there are certainly a few things for me to talk about with this one, and since I skipped I Can't Make You Love Me, this one can also kinda make up for it.

Creep was uploaded on the 15th of July, 2023, it's another guest feature of Anthony Gargiula, and, in a very rare case for Voiceplay, the credit for both video and arrangement goes solely to Eli! (And he also did the lighting design, of course.) Eli rarely does arranging for Voiceplay, and when he does, it's in collaboration with Layne, such as with the Queen Medley and Enemy. The only other time he did an arrangement all by himself (in the past 7 or so years at least, not counting the older stuff) was for Eleanor Rigby back in 2021. Anyway, let's get into this!

One thing I must immediately note/mention is that although Eli is credited with the video production overall, the description also says "w[ith] concepts from Casa de la Castellucci" (fancy! 😝) Apparently what this means is that Eli was explaining his video concept to Geoff and Kathy via videocall, and they (I'm not sure/can't remember which one first had the idea) suggested the usage of a mirror (a mirror which was then provided by Cesar - a real collaborative effort for this one!) (And Eli and Tony directed this together also)

I'm not sure what's larger - Cesar's vocal range, or his acting range!!!! He's so talented and multi-faceted! Give him an acting award!

Speaking of acting abilities!! 🥺

Note how Geoff is wearing a plain long-sleeve t-shirt here, which isn't inherently unsual or anything typically notable, sure, but apparently (according to comments I've read), Geoff used to struggle with body image issues when he was younger, and here he sings the line "I want a perfect body", so for him to be wearing something that fully covers his arms and chest for this one? Not sure if it was fully intentional, but oof, hurts my heart a little bit 💔

(Also, on a cinematography note, the transitions between the different guys each sitting in front of the mirror are very smoothly done 👌)

Group shot! Interesting to note that the guest vocalist, Anthony, is not sitting in the middle here, which is rare for Voiceplay, but not entirely new. This really was Eli's song/video all the way (but Good For Him, and everyone else still got moments to shine as well!)

Eli The Lighting Whiz at it again! (Also see how it kinda looks like Eli is conducting/controlling the lights in the second and third images here?)

More lighting changes!

Screencaps still don't do it justice, but what a freaking flawless transition! And apparently it didn't involve any post-production editing magic at all! According to a comment or two on a reaction video, the other vocalists got out the way when the camera was fixed on Cesar, the lights were changed/dimmed right down, and the mirror (which I think was on wheels?) was quickly moved in front of him. The result is honestly *chefs kiss*

Damn. Bravo boys, bravo!

Not a super massive post I know, and a bit more of a sombre video, but my next post will certainly be longer, and the video much more fun! Stay tuned!

[maelstroms-blog]

Part 3...i think

Thank you again to @tringstarruuu for drawing and giving me permission to write for their AU

Enjoy

Hob grunted as he sat up, followed by a swear and a sigh. Blearily, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, ignoring the rough texture of his face. It was just his nightmare, leaking into reality, but, when he looked down at his hand, it was wrinkled, sprouting with grey hairs. The nightmare was real. Hob covered his face, tracing the new grooves on his cheeks, balling his fists into his hair. In the pale morning light, his hair took on the colour of dandelion seeds, and that sent a jolt of pain into his heart.

He let out a watery sigh, trying to stop the heaving in his chest before it started. His old, weak chest, his every breath rattling. Flinging the blankets off, he swung out his legs, shivering as his bare feet touched the floor.

'That wizard,' he rasped, noting his changed voice, 'That damn, beautiful wizard.'

Surely, he would have the cure for this. Of course, that would mean travelling into the Waste-the very thought dampened his resolve. The Waste was a no man's land where the wickedest witches and wizards traversed. Cursing whoever and whatever they came across for fun, or fighting each other in some bid for new magic. No mortal dared to cross that land. Luckily, Hob had nothing else to lose. He would either end up lifting his curse, or dying. Win-win honestly. With a grunt and a worryingly creaking sound, he got up, looking out his window as he did.

The town was slowly waking up, bakers lighting up their fires, fishermen heading down to the pier, and over the bustling signs of life, his eye was drawn to the horizon, or, more accurately, the hulking mass of metal creeping over the landscape. The wizard Dream's castle.

Hours passed, and Hob was no closer to reaching that damn castle. Yes, the terrain was rough, craggy rocks dotted the non-existent path that an able-bodied person would struggle with. In Hob's current state, every step felt like it could be his last. He had to take more and more breaks, breaks that did nothing but fuel his irritation. The ache in his legs another nail in his coffin. It was his sixth break when he was seriously considering just staying there. keeping still until nature took over. The grass would spread to his extremities like a rash, roots would burrow into his flesh, maybe his skull could become a home to a family of birds. Eleanor would have liked that.

Before he could fall down that particular hole again, his fingers found something smooth. Polished wood. Hob turned, sticking out of a thorn bush was a stick. Dark, knobbled, with a shine that meant it was varnished. A cane, and it was a sturdy looking one.

'Are the fates finally smiling down on me?'

Wiping his hands on his shawl, he grabbed hold. It took an embarrassingly long time to free the stick, the tangle of thorns stronger than it looked. Then, with a sound like ripping fabric, the cane was finally free. Hob paused to take a breath, a breath he wasted on a cry of surprise.

A face was staring down at him, an eerie face. Black, triangle eyes with a crooked smile, carved on a big pumpkin, complete with a tattered suit and hat. Hob took another breath, trying to calm his racing heart, thumping against his tender chest. It was just a scarecrow. He released it, waiting for the inevitable clatter. It never came. Hob blinked and turned his head. The scarecrow, still standing upright, still stared him down with empty eyes. Hob blinked again, the thing didn’t even sway in the wind.

Suddenly, it turned on the spot, shoving its outstretched hand in his face. Hob jumped back, tripping over his own feet. This thing was bewitched, much like him. Someone obviously tried getting rid of the thing, and here comes Hob, dithering like an idiot, and frees the damn thing.

The fates had changed their minds.

Hob turned to run, not that he would get far, when something touched his shoulder. For some reason, Hob glanced back, not knowing what to expect. Hanging out of the scarecrow's sleeve was a stick, a proper stick. Hob just blinked, and it finally clicked.

'Are you-Are you giving me a stick?'

The scarecrow wobbled, its way of nodding,

'Oh.' Hob's cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

It was the perfect size for him. It took the strain off his knees, he almost felt like he could run, if it weren't for his back.

'Thank you,' Hob smiled, dropping it when he saw the scarecrow without an arm. Its empty sleeve flapped in the wind, its big, orange face staring down in silence. Before, he would have felt a twinge of sadness for the thing, instead, he felt nothing.

'Thanks again,' he clutched his shawl tighter, 'A place to stay would be more useful, though.' His tone was sharper than he meant, and the scarecrow turned its back, almost hitting Hob's face with its sleeve. The tapping of the stick gradually faded, leaving Hob alone once again, nothing but the wind and his thoughts for company.

'Well,' he sighed, 'That killed a few minutes.'

Now, back to the arduous task at hand, his knee was already protesting again. As he took the first step, the chill of a sudden fog crept in. Its cold fingers trailing down his neck. The dank, grey fog crawled down the hill like some lumbering beast, blocking his view of the horizon. Hob pushed through his groaning knees, lost in his thoughts a sound broke through. He thought it was his heart pounding in his ears, struggling with the extra strain. No, this was more wooden.

Hopping back into view was the scarecrow, trails of fog clung to him like cigarette smoke. Hob dropped the stick in shock, not at the sight of the pumpkin head, but at the huge machine behind him. Dream's moving castle, and it looked rough.

From where he stood, he heard the groaning creaks, just like his knees. The castle, though Hob was loathe to call it that anymore, was a wreck, there was no other way of putting it. Red rust covered the thing like moss, uneven patches were stuck to the metal, and the windows, what few there were, were cracked. Hob was embarrassed to even look at it. How the hell could this be a castle? If this was his only hope for a cure, he better get used to having a bent back. He shot a glare at the pumpkin headed scarecrow, even though it was only trying to help.

Still, even though he didn’t like it, it was here now. He staggered towards the would-be castle, pain stabbing his chest as he hurried. He huffed and puffed, the scarecrow hopping just a bit in front, goading him on. Hob would've cursed if he had the breath to spare. He reached out, straining to grab the rail. His fingers brushed against cold metal, stretching until his shoulder popped, and he had it. Almost dragging himself down in the process. He was on the steps with a terribly awkward hop, clutching onto the sought after rail. He waited to get his breath back before turning around,

'Come on, Pumpkinhead! Hop like your life depends on it!'

The scarecrow was in hopping distance, Hob reached out for him, but a bang came from above them. A torrent of black smoke spilled into the air, and the machine picked up speed. Hob had to grip the railing with both hands. The tapping faded; Hob looked up just in time to see Pumpkinhead swallowed up by the fog. He tried not to feel sad; it was just a scarecrow he told himself, and yet, he stood there, waiting for it to appear again.

With that over, Hob turned back to the little door, its awkward shape forcing him to duck his head. The handle clunked as he turned it, the hinges loudly resisting as it opened. Despite that, it snapped shut behind him, like he was an animal in a trap. Hob shivered, ears ringing from the abrupt silence. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, a spark drew his attention, the hearth came to life. The sudden light burning his eyes. The first thing he noticed were the books, piles upon piles of heavy tomes surrounded him. The dusty smell of paper making his nose wrinkle. Then, he found a chair, and nothing else mattered.

He fell into the chair, letting out an almost sinful moan. His knees and back cried out in relief. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back, the warmth enveloping him like a blanket. He didn’t even bother removing his shawl. He could feel slumber calling to him, the promise of a dreamless sleepHe could feel slumber calling to him, the promise of a dreamless sleep enticing him. He could hear its voice clearly, a chirping male voice,

'HEY!'

Hob started, wincing at the sudden movement. He blinked, finding himself staring into a face, coming out of the flames, no, it was made of flames. The flickering flames were like puffed up feathers, two burning coals peered into his soul like eyes, its golden beak making it look like a crow. Hob blinked again, yawning,

'Um…hello? Are you a crow?'

The fire crow blazed brighter, its beak clicking in annoyance,

'What's it look like?'

'…You look like a crow, a burning one.'

The fire crow huffed, light dimming.

'I'm not supposed to open the door to strays,' his eyes were the definition of a burning glare.

Hob, too tired and sore to argue, just sighed, 'Throw me out then,' he settled further in his chair, 'If you can.'

'I would if I could,' the flames swirled, sending out a wave of ash from the hearth, 'As you can see, I'm cursed, much like you.'

The words broke through the fog in Hob's brain, 'You know I'm-,' his jaw clicked shut before he could utter the word, Hob frowned, straining to unhinge his jaw. Luckily, the fire understood.

'Hard not to,' the fire crow tutted, he got brighter, leaning in close to look at him. Hob squinted at his light.

'And, brother, you got a bad one,' he hummed, the sound making an ember spark, 'Almost as bad as mine.'

With another crack, the fire crow was inches from Hob's face,

'Perhaps we can make a deal?'

Hob brought a hand up to his face, as if that would shield him from the heat,

'What?'

'A deal,' the grin obvious in his voice, 'You help me, and I help you,'

Hob scoffed, 'I may be old, but I'm not stupid,' he breathed out, watching the flames shy away,

'The one rule around these parts is never to make deals with demons,' Hob leaned forward, exhaling deeply. The fire crow cringed,

'And that's what you are, isn’t it?'

The flames flickered sullenly, '…It's not all I am.'

Hob sat back, shaking his head, amused, 'Right…'

'No, really, I know I'm a demon, but I'm cursed just like you,'

Hob sighed, rubbing a hand over his wrinkled face,

'Even if that's true, how am I meant to help? Look at me, I'm no use to you.' The words didn’t hurt as much as they once did. The old adage was true, Time heals all wounds.

'Why doesn’t the wizard Dream help you?'

The fire crow blazed, turning white hot, and hissing,

'You think I haven’t thought of that?! He's cursed too!'

That made Hob stop. He assumed Dream had trapped the fire demon. He thought he was so powerful that curses would bounce from him like water off a duck's back. But no, like a plague outbreak, each of them was infected with a curse. Just like that, what little hope Hob had was snuffed out, like a hearth doused in water. Something bubbled up inside him, an emotion, not the familiar bitter tang of grief, or metallic taste of rage, this was something else. A sound slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, followed by another, and another. Laughter. It had been so long he forgot the sound. It wrenched its way out of his throat, painful yet freeing. His only shot at returning to normal, and it was gone. He laughed louder. Leaning forward from the force, hurting his sides. Glancing at the fire, tilting his head like the bird he resembled.

'You alright?'

The question sent him into another fit, he flapped tiny flames in alarm.

'Alright? Alright!' He slapped his thighs, grinning at the demon,

'I'm screwed!' He chuckled, fresh tears springing to his eyes. He didn’t know what kind.

'Now, Mr fire/crow-whatever you are, if we're done here, I'm going to sleep and try to dream of happier times,' he waved his hand, 'Try to keep your flickering down.'

The fire grumbled, 'My name is Matthew…'

'Ok.' Hob sleepily shrugged. With that, he closed his eyes, and dreamed of nothing. Of course. Thank you, fates.

Thank you for reading, hope u enjoyed

Check out @tringstarruuu blog

Dreamling as Howl’s moving castle AU

[thepenguinhbo]

7 from the grumpy prompts for pinnguin pls c:

this is set in a very convoluted arkhamverse au that exists only in my heart, basically what if the events of my bat game were also a part of the rocksteady arkham series canon. what if rocksteady pengy was MY pengy lmao

7. “I can never say ‘no’ to you, can I?”

Penguin's men paid her a visit when she was visiting her cousin in Blüdhaven.

Or rather: they kidnapped her from her cousin's home, in the middle of the day. By no means was that her first rodeo; she knew what to expect the moment she opened the front door and looked at their faces. One of them - barely out of boyhood - she even recognized; Richter, they called him. A nice kid; good with computers. Used to be a part of the Riddler's crew - until Nygma grew jealous of Richter's intellectual potential and tried to get him killed.

As they pulled out a sack to put over her head, Charlie only sighed.

"Just a moment, boys," she said, turning around. "Annie," she called out to her cousin. "Don't worry. Don't tell Nightwing. Okay," she added, turning back to face the men outside. "Proceed."

By all means, they were cautious with her; gentle, even. Probably way gentler than they'd be had she not been known as their boss's flame.

Finally - after a lengthy, bumpy ride - she was lead out of the car, sat in a chair, and had the sack pulled off her head cautiously, as to not disturb her hair; and as she blinked a few times, her eyes trying to adjust to the bright light - Penguin, her beloved, patted her on the shoulder gently.

"Good to see you, darling," he said softly. "Now, I... Probably should apologize."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "You should. I mean, really, Oswald? You could've just texted me. Or did your phone explode again?" she added, rolling her eyes angrily; to be fair, his phone exploding wasn't even his fault. Black Mask had Riddler program Oswald's phone to explode after receiving a text from her; and it did - except one thing Mask and Riddler failed to anticipate was the phone not being held by the Penguin as the text arrived. "Annie's son wanted to play Minecraft with me."

"And have you snatched away by that glowstick twerp? Na-ah-ah," Oswald said, shaking his head. "Not a chance."

"Right, 'cause Nightwing's known to torture his suspects," she said, rolling her eyes again. "Worst he can do is talk my ears off."

can he though? i'm used to men who never shut up. case in point: a certain bird-loving arms dealer.

"I know you're mad," he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with his hand; and Charlie pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and looked away. Yeah - she was mad. Not about the kidnapping - that was expected. But the very reason she even was in Blüdhaven to begin with - was because she needed a breath of fresh air. After knowing Oswald for years, after sticking with him through thick and thin, after getting herself locked up in the Arkham City for him, getting kidnapped by the Joker, by Black Mask, by Victor Zsasz, by Riddler, by Bane, by Two Face, and countless other individuals who wanted to either get under Penguin's skin, or get to him, or any combination of the two, she thought she knows him. She thought they have built their relationship on honesty, on loyalty, on trust... Up until she found out that for the past months, Oswald - her beloved, the man for whom she dived headfirst into the unknown, the one for whom she risked it all - had been working with Thomas fucking Elliott. A man who hadn't just try to kill her - but literally eat her still beating heart too. He tried - and failed - to marry her mother; he tried to drive both Charlie and Eleanor insane. Hell hath no fury like an incel scorned; and Thomas was a shining example. "Charlie..."

"What?" she said, avoiding Oswald's apologetic gaze. "I'm all fucking ears, Oz."

"I've been selling him faulty weapons," Oswald said pleadingly; and Charlie had to stop herself from looking at him in disbelief. "All rigged to explode."

"Yeah?" she said, finally looking at him; and he looked back at her, and he looked a bit like a kicked puppy in the rain. "Funny how it's been six months of you two working together and nothing had exploded in his face yet."

"That's because I had to earn his trust first," Oswald said in a low, pleading whisper; suddenly, he got down on his knees, put his hands on her knees, and looked up at her; and her heart broke a little as she saw the shadows under his eyes, and his slightly sunken cheeks. "But it's going to happen any time now. The bastard's going down."

"Yeah, right," she said with a doubtful scowl. "Did you really have me kidnapped just to tell me this?"

The corners of Oswald's lips twitched slightly; and she wanted to yell and strangle him, as she instantly knew that he knows she has already mostly forgiven him. How could she not? She wasn't the only one who had risked everything for the two of them to work; back when he was sent to the Arkham City, the crime that cemented his sentence was him covering up for her killing a man in self-defense. Being in a relationship with someone normal and not a fellow criminal was always a risk; because the allure of having a normal life was always there. He had worked hard on earning her devotion; and as years had passed - she had made peace with the fact that he was the only one for her.

But then again - it did piss her off a bit that he knew that.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I wanted to look you in the eye too. Also, I... I have a favor to ask."

ah. there it fucking is.

"No," she replied immediately; hear him out, her heart sang. "No dice."

"Come on, luv," he said pleadingly. "Please?"

"No," she repeated; the walls of her defiance were already crumbling. "Forget it. I'm done being your bait. No."

In the end - after many rounds of pleading and negotiating - she did hear him out; and she did agree to his - somewhat ludicrous - plan of using her as a bait and a negotiator for Poison Ivy. And she did allow him to kiss her, even though she kept her arms crossed and her lips pursed; but as he kissed her, and his hands caressed her - one thing lead to another, and before she knew it, they were both naked.

"I can never say no to you," she breathed out with a gasp as his lips explored her neck. "Damn you, Oswald. Damn you and your words."

"I love you too, darling," he whispered back, his breath hot against her skin. "Quiet now. Wouldn't want my boys to hear us."

you owe me much more than a quick fuck, oz. this is gonna cost you at least three chocolate soufflés... my love.

[homely-lunatic]

I would love to elaborate thank you for asking! Buckle up because I tend to write a lot:

okay so this theory includes two parts: 1) what exactly MDR is refining via the numbers, and 2) why I think cobel is gemma’s mother. The first part is linked pretty heavily to the second, but I think it’s already a relatively popular-ish(?) theory so I’ll try to summarize:

Lumon is installing severance chips in people who are brain dead (possibly actually dead, but unresponsive/comatose is more likely) and using MDR to manually sort through and refine their memories. 

The numbers represent memories/experiences that that particular individual has had, and they’re sorted into equal amounts of each temper (possibly corresponding with the 5 senses/5 boxes?)

This is also why files expire, because there’s a finite amount of time that a person’s memories/consciousness/whatever remains viable for refining

This goes back to kier’s idea of each person having their own specific ratio of the four tempers, as well as the idea of “taming the tempers” and “kier’s children”

Lumon’s ultimate goal with this is to create a subservient employee with no ties to the outside world and no subconscious remnants of who they are on the outside; essentially a blank slate, like ms casey

Mark’s “freshman fluke” — the Allentown file, which is mentioned in the show as something that led to an increase in files being completed — was when he was given gemma’s file and was able to complete it in record time because, subconsciously, he knew her so well. 

The reason said freshman fluke led to more files being completed isn’t because mark did anything particularly different, but because it revealed to Lumon that pairing a refiner with a file belonging to someone their outie knew and/or cared about would lead to faster processing. 

So gemma has been fully refined, severed, and brought back as ms casey. She’s kept on the testing floor when she isn’t working and shows no traces of who she is (was?) on the outside. 

then for the second part:

we know that cobel is focused not just on mark, but on mark and gemma's relationship specifically. she’s constantly trying to gauge how much mark has moved on from gemma’s death, she inserts herself into devon’s life for an arguably still unknown reason and asks about him “seeing” gemma, she takes the candle, etc. we also know, thanks to what natalie said in episode 8, that this isn’t necessarily sanctioned by lumon. on a first-time watch this seems like she's only focused on mark, because up until episode 8 we have no reason to suspect that gemma is involved at all, but rewatching with the perspective that ms casey = gemma makes it really apparent that its about their relationship, not just mark.

cobel poses as a lactation nurse for devon, which she seems to be at least marginally skilled at considering she actually gets baby eleanor to start nursing, she’s good with the baby, and she at one point makes a comment to devon about giving birth; all of which seems to imply that she’s at least had a child. 

the theme of parentage/pregnancy/children is absolutely paramount to this show. pretty much every character has some kind of major connection to it in some way (irving's dad being in the navy like him, helly's dad being an eagan, dylan's whole thing with his kids, petey and june, alexa's a midwife, devon and ricken with their baby, gabby's nightmarish severed pregnancy, cobel's lactation job) and I'd argue that the entire process of severance is analogous to having and subsequently neglecting a child. on a completely thematic, meta level it would make a lot of sense for cobel's fixation on mark/gemma to be somehow related to parenthood.

in episode 5, when they bring out ms casey to observe helly, cobel tells milchick that she's trying something new with ms casey, to keep it between them, and uses the quote "the light of knowledges shines purer upon the virgin meadow than the beaten path." said quote seems to be a kier original™️ but the meaning is pretty easy to discern — it's easier to learn new things by trying something new or placing yourself in a new situation rather than repeating the same actions over and over again. this seems to indicate that she's trying to get ms casey to gain some kind of knowledge or learn something, and that she's doing it without approval from lumon/the board.

in episode 8 — and to me this scene stands out the most — when milchick and cobel are watching mark and ms casey's final wellness session before she's fired, there's a lot of stuff that,,,,, seems like it needs more context, I guess? milchick's line about how "it's good that they don't remember each other, it's a win" sounds like he's trying to convince cobel of it, as if she'd prefer the chips don't work. her reaction to mark and ms casey's session is also odd to say the least — she looks noticably happy when ms casey momentarily stops her robotic wellness facts spiel and starts having an actual conversation with mark, then only looks upset when ms casey goes back to the facts, and then sends her to the testing floor.

so all together? I think it boils down to this: cobel had a daughter, gemma, when she was probably 15/16-ish years old and at the myrtle eagan school for girls. she gives her daughter up for adoption, likely at the behest of the eagan family/cult/whatever you wanna call them. gemma gets adopted, grows up, marries mark, gets in a car crash and is rendered comatose, cobel finds out about this (from having kept tabs on her daughter?), has gemma brought into the severance/refinement program and is now, surreptitiously, trying to get her to reintegrate and gain some semblance of her former self back. she's fixated on o!mark because she sees him as the key to doing this, and the reason she's inserted herself into his outie life is because she's trying to see if this process is working on both him and gemma (if it works on him, it'll work on her too? something like that). her "trying something new" in episode 5 was an attempt at triggering o!gemma in another way, and in episode 8, during the wellness session, she briefly thought it had worked until it became apparent that it hadn't (back to square 1, back to the testing floor). it's also why she's so simultaneously against lumon and yet immediately rushes back to them in the finale given the first chance — ultimately she has to be working there to get gemma back, even though lumon is the entity responsible for her having to give gemma up in the first place.

another thing — and this could be me reading way too into things — is that this theory would pretty much perfectly parallel mark's s1 arc: a person (mark and harmony) brings another person into the world against their will (mark severing himself, harmony having gemma) but is immediately exempt from having any responsibility for this person they've created (mark never has to interact with his innie, gemma is given up for adoption) until something undeniably Bad™️ happens to said person (mark finding out about lumon's shady side from petey, cobel finding out about the car crash) and their would-be parental figure takes it upon themselves to make amends for this situation however they can, even though they're not technically directly responsible, and even though they'll never know the person they're trying to save.

obviously there's a lot of ways all of this evidence can be read and I seriously doubt I've predicted the show 100%, but I think it has some credibility (and I've obviously thought like, way too much about it to not post it somewhere alkdfslfk)

maybe I've just rewatched severance too many times but I am absolutely CONVINCED that cobel is in fact gemma's mother.

[marvelgeeklikestowrite]

Letters and lines quoted by Alex and Henry in their e-mails

Sense and Sensibility: “You want nothing but patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.”

Alexander Hamilton to Laurens: The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis. I say this to you because you know it and will not charge me with vanity. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you …

Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too entirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness.

Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky—1958: Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

Henry James to Hendrik C. Andersen, 1899: May the terrific U.S.A. be meanwhile not a brute to you. I feel in you a confidence, dear Boy–which to show is a joy to me. My hopes and desires and sympathies right heartily and most firmly, go with you. So keep up your heart, and tell me, as it shapes itself, your (inevitably, I imagine, more or less weird) American story. May, at any rate, tutta quella gente be good to you.

Hamilton to Laurens: You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent.

Dear Thisbe,

I wish there weren’t a wall.

Love, Pyramus

Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf—1927: With me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.

From Radclyffe Hall to Evguenia Souline, 1934: Darling—I wonder if you realize how much I am counting on your coming to England, how much it means to me—it means all the world, and indeed my body shall be all, all yours, as yours will be all, all mine, beloved.… And nothing will matter but just we two, we two longing loves at last come together.

Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickock—1933: I miss you greatly dear. The nicest time of the day is when I write to you. You have a stormier time than I do but I miss you as much, I think.… Please keep most of your heart in Washington as long as I’m here for most of mine is with you!

From Michelangelo to Tommaso Cavalieri, 1533: I know well that, at this hour, I could as easily forget your name as the food by which I live; nay, it were easier to forget the food, which only nourishes my body miserably, than your name, which nourishes both body and soul, filling the one and the other with such sweetness that neither weariness nor fear of death is felt by me while memory preserves you to my mind. Think, if the eyes could also enjoy their portion, in what condition I should find myself.

Richard Wagner to Eliza Wille, re: Ludwig II–1864 : It is true that I have my young king who genuinely adores me. You cannot form an idea of our relations. I recall one of the dreams of my youth. I once dreamed that Shakespeare was alive: that I really saw and spoke to him: I can never forget the impression that dream made on me. Then I would have wished to see Beethoven, though he was already dead. Something of the same kind must pass in the mind of this lovable man when with me. He says he can hardly believe that he really possesses me. None can read without astonishment, without enchantment, the letters he writes to me.

Wilfred owen to siegfried sassoon—1917:And you have fixed my Life—however short. You did not light me: I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun round you a satellite for a month, but shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze.

Jean Cocteau to Jean Marais, 1939: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.

[thefae-journal]

make a wish (don't tell me or it won't come true)

fandom: The Good Place ship: Janet x Eleanor POV: second person, Eleanor

word count: 3611 warnings: none

summary: “It’s not something people know. It’s a belief. I believe in it. The coin I threw into the fountain will grant my wish.”

or...

Eleanor finds an unexpected special something with Janet.

Also on AO3

The Good Place masterlist masterlist

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

i.

When you wake up, he’s not there. The side of the bed he sleeps on is empty. No indent in the pillow or the mattress. Instead, he leaves you a calendar, and he is on the cover. And every single page. Every Jeremy Bearimy. 

You don’t hesitate to hang it on the wall of your bedroom. 

Then you remind yourself that you love him. The tape you stole from Mindy St. Claire that’s definitely not Cannonball Run II—you’re not that creeped out by it anymore. You said you love him first. You didn’t expect him to say it back. 

He did. Hearing those words again, those three words, keeps you warm somehow in a place that’s already eternally warm. Even though the sun doesn’t exist. You’re still unsure of how this all works. 

You turn off the T.V. and slip the tape back into its case. 

ii.

It’s a few mornings later that you’re starting to miss him. You avoid all of the places you’ve been to together, especially the places you went to before he walked through that door. You don’t want to be reminded of him, of what you had, at least right now. Mourning a loss that you wish never came. 

You find yourself in your bed for most hours, holding the pillow where his head would be close to you. Maybe you can start by changing the sheets. Or the layout of the whole house. Anything to just make it yours. Not something you share, shared, with him. 

For some time, you contemplate this, wondering if you should change anything at all. If changing the interior of the house is going to help you feel any better. You groan and stare up at the ceiling, then over at his face that’s plastered on the calendar. The shine in his smile, his entire face really. 

He would want you to do this, right? He would want you to grow and discover yourself outside of him. Do things without him. And if that means flipping the house upside down, you’re going to flip the forking house upside down. 

You push the comforter away from you and dangle your legs over the edge of the bed. Your sock-covered feet barely touch the carpet. “Janet?” 

With a light bing, Janet appears in front of you—the Janet you’ve learned to appreciate during your time in the fake Good Place. The Janet that has grown just as much as you have, yet still wears that purple vest and skirt, and blue patterned blouse. Like she doesn’t have any other clothes she can wear, like she can’t magically change her clothes at will. 

Despite the many reboots this Janet had, and the upgrades that came along with them, that same smile paints her lips. 

She waves to you. “Hi, there, Eleanor. Is there something you need?” 

“I would like to reconstruct the house,” you say, gesturing for her to follow you into the kitchen. Days you’ve spent drafting up a blueprint, something that you learned from Michael during the time you took his spot as Good Place architect. 

On the kitchen island is the blueprint, a new design for the house. There is a rock at each corner to keep the blueprint from folding in on itself. And next to the blueprint is a bowl meant for cereal, to remind yourself to eat. 

While you worked on the blueprint, you sometimes forgot to eat, too focused on drawing lines and figuring out the ideal layout for your house. A house that just fits you now. A brand new house where there is no trace left of him. It’ll make it easier for you to move forward, until you’re ready. 

You don’t know when you will be ready, but you’re not going to force it. 

In one bing, the blueprint appears in Janet’s hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? I asked for you here. I’m ready.” 

...

It’s like breathing in fresh air. The atmosphere that you live in is entirely new, and you were right: you feel so much better. 

The kitchen is smaller. You don’t need a lot of room, and you don’t really cook, not when you can ask for Janet to conjure up something for you. Or you can cross through that green door and go to your favorite restaurant and not have to pay. You know that past Eleanor, before she was crushed by a line of grocery carts, would’ve loved that. 

Your bedroom is a bit bigger than it was, maybe because you’ve downgraded to a full-sized bed that was previously a queen. It can still fit two, if you happen to fall in love again, but of that, you aren’t sure. There’s a love seat on the other side of the room next to a walk-in closet. On the door, hanging there, is his calendar. You can never get rid of it. That, it always stays. 

Janet gives you a Nintendo Switch that has virtual console—for nostalgia purposes—as a house-warming gift. You tell her that she can stop by whenever she wants to play. All the games will be easy for her, being a vessel of knowledge, but she probably doesn’t care. And she might kick your ash a few times in Mario Kart. Well, any game you play with her actually. You don’t mind. As an apology, she summons a plate of shrimp for you. 

In the living room, on the couch, you hold that plate of shrimp. “You know, you don’t have to give me things every time I lose. I mean, it’s great.” You bite into a piece of shrimp and hum in content. “Third isn’t that bad. Whenever Michael joins us, he always gets in eighth. That’s when you give apology food.” 

Janet nods, and you set the plate down on the coffee table in front of you. “Maybe we should tell him that it’s better to have more acceleration over speed on his kart,” she says, playing around with the back bumpers of her Animal Crossing controller. 

“Nah.” You press A to bring you back to the title screen. “Another cup?” Before Janet can get a word out, you continue. “No using your Janet powers this time. It’s cheating.” You huff and select ‘two-player race’. 

iii.

You and Janet revisit the Good Place, or what it once was. A town with frozen yogurt shops on every corner. Literally every single corner. All frozen yogurt, which does get old after a while. 

The buildings and frozen yogurt shops bright and colorful, maybe even too colorful. A ‘happy’ town that could never be assumed as the Bad Place. And that little fountain. You sit on the ledge with her, your favorite Good Place frozen yogurt flavor in hand. She served it for you. Perfect swirls and just the right amount of toppings. 

You close your eyes as you take in each bite of the tasty treat with gummy bears and waffle cone crumbs. 

With the food variety that the actual Good Place has, you haven’t touched frozen yogurt. Not since you got there. Returning to it, the odd flavors that scale all the way up the wall of the frozen yogurt stores, brings a sense of calm, somehow. A feeling that was absent after Chidi went through that door. Arc. Door? Whatever. But it’s not what he described, when he knew that it was his time. 

For you, your life in the afterlife isn’t complete. Not yet. 

You just now realize how big the serving of this frozen yogurt is, and the cups of frozen yogurt in the past, before reaching the salvation of the Good Place, and put the cup down beside you after eating half of it. Full. “I think I needed this,” you tell Janet. 

She smiles, a softer one than her usual. “I know. Well, I know a lot of things. Would you like a coin to toss into the fountain? That is what humans do, right? To make a wish?” 

“I would love one.” 

A nickel appears in her palm, and she hands it to you. “Make a wish, Eleanor.” 

You balance the nickel between your fingers and allow yourself time to think of a wish. But how can you make a wish when the Good Place can give you anything you could ever want without a wish? It can’t bless you with a new love, what you’ve been craving lately because you can’t feel that with him anymore. Love that you are starting to miss. The afterlife and Earth are the same in that regard; you have to find love on your own. Does that mean it’s the only thing you can wish for? 

“Okay. I think I have one.” You turn a bit to partially face the fountain and toss the coin in. It plops into the water, doesn’t make much of a splash. 

Janet watches in awe and summons another coin. She drops it into the fountain. “Maybe both of our wishes will come true.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “What did you wish for, Janet?” 

She giggles and stands up, offering her hand to you. “If I tell you, it might not come true.” 

“Yeah. I forgot about that. I kinda think it’s stupid though.” You grab your frozen yogurt and take her hand. “How do we know if that’s real? You should know, knowledge not-lady.” 

“It’s not something people know. It’s a belief. I believe in it. The coin I threw into the fountain will grant my wish.” 

Back to the green door, you walk, throwing out your half-eaten frozen yogurt on the way. You also stop at a few places to reminisce. Your old house in all its scary clown glory, the train station that doesn’t lead anywhere. The large pond with that bridge. Or maybe it’s a lake. Some body of water. 

The area of green and the stage where all of the announcements happened. The fake talk shows and awful book signings. Really awful book signings. Except, on the grass that never grows, there aren’t any chairs. It’s empty.

iv.

Friday nights are movie nights. Nights where you pick a movie Janet has never seen. Of course, she knows about them and their general plot, but she’s truly watching the movie for the first time. A little light bulb glows behind her eyes at each moment that happens on screen, and it warms you. More than the blanket wrapped around you. 

Less than Janet’s arm wrapped around you. Your head on her shoulder. Every now and then, she strokes your hair, your short locks that tangle in her fingers. 

You thought, after entering this position, you would fall asleep, but Janet talking through the movie and asking you questions keeps you awake. Hell, she’s talking so much that part way through, you had to turn on subtitles because all you could hear, can hear, is her. 

She’s trying to understand. The different actions of the characters, why they make them. She searches her ‘knowledge-base’, you call it, and that’s the only time it gets quiet. You’re not sure you like the quiet—quiet meaning she’s not speaking—and would rather have Janet’s voice fill the space. It has a soothing nature. That’s all. 

That’s all. 

...

The credits roll, and you’re stuck, comfortable. You sink deeper into Janet’s embrace, cross your arm over her and hook your hand at her waist. You don’t pause the movie, exit, find another one to watch because you don’t want to let go. You don’t want to lose this, whatever the fork you’re feeling. 

Is it fuzzies? The weird flips in your stomach that people call butterflies? Whenever her fingers touch past the rolled-up sleeves of your plaid shirt, gracing skin. Only for a moment. Then finding the fabric again. 

She leans her head against yours, cheek to hair. “Do you want to watch another one?” she asks. 

Lips to hair. 

Tingles vibrate through veins, from the center of blood flow to your hands. You can’t speak. You can’t answer her. When you try, nothing comes out. She kissed your head, and your whole system is shutting down. Collapsing in on itself. Kind of like Janet after her first reboot. No thoughts, head empty, except for cacti. 

“Eleanor?” She rubs your arm. “Are you okay?” 

You hum a ‘yes’. Or try to. It sort of sounded like a weird whimper. Or just a really high-pitched hum that doesn’t match your voice register at all. You shake it off, ignore it. Pretend it never happened. Move on. 

Next movie. 

v. 

You asked her on a date, and, for a second, or more than a second actually, got nervous because Janet seemed confused. She wondered what the date was supposed to mean. She knows that friends go on dates and that romantic partners go on dates. So which was it? 

She ranted, one of her cute little rants, analyzing knowledge and data. Referencing pop culture and society—as much as she could understand of it. 

You don’t remember how long she went before you told her to stop. Grabbed her hand and tilted your head to the side. By that alone, without having to explain, she figured it out. 

“I’ll go on a date with you, Eleanor.”

...

At your favorite cafe in Arizona, thanks to the green doors, you sit at a two-person table and wait for her to show. Come through that door, not the green one, but the door of the little cafe. 

The cafe is outside your hometown, or was outside your hometown before you died. You’re not sure where it is now, if it’s still standing. How many years have passed on Earth. If it was torn down like that restaurant you got sick at that one time when you were a kid. Your mom told you then that you getting sick there was the reason why it was torn down. Honestly, you believe it. 

It’s Arizona. You had seen crazier things. Not as crazy as Florida, though. Jason won that point. And every other point. 

You order yourself a latte, and just as it gets to you, the bell of the cafe dings. Janet, wearing a different outfit for once, one you recognize from one of the reboots. A brown vest and skirt with a white blouse with small polka-dots. Her hair is tied half-up. She holds her thumb in her opposite fist, but lets it go to wave to you. 

Soon, one of those hands is in yours over the table. Her not-skin soft and warm. You brush your thumb over her knuckle. Conversation lingers, random things because she knows everything about you. Or you ask about her. The history of Janets. 

“I don’t know what would’ve happened if the judge ‘erased the Earth’,” she says, giving your hand a squeeze. “But I’m glad that she didn’t. I don’t know if I would exist ever again. Or if this would’ve ever happened. If the Good Place would’ve been fixed. I try not to think about it.” 

“You might’ve not met Jason. Me.” You bow your head. “You’re right. Let’s not think about it.” 

Twenty minutes or so you spend in the cafe before you leave, hand-in-hand. You show her around this little town, a town you wished you came to more. The family-run shops and the park a few blocks away. You lead Janet there, to the park you always attempted to drag your mom to. 

With her, you walk the path in the comfort of silence. At least between you. On playgrounds and grass fields, kids play, made-up games or tag. You rarely got that, at least when you were with your parents, because they pushed you and your needs aside. But this isn’t real anyway. Just an image the Good Place created for you. 

Yet somehow, it still hits. A light slap to the face. 

Janet stops, so you stop. You don’t know why, but once she opens her mouth, asks if you’re okay, you realize that your hand was tensed up. Muscles tight. 

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

...

In elementary school, when you would stay over at a friend’s house for multiple days at a time and come to this little Arizona town, you had a secret spot. A tree stump in the woods of the park, and in the rings of the stump marks your initials. Marked, because it might not be there anymore. Washed away or faded overtime. Or just gone. 

“I told my friends that this place was where I wanted to have my first kiss,” you say, approaching the lone tree stump surrounded by alive and growing trees. “Of course, that didn’t happen. I think maybe I forgot about it. I mean, I was just a kid then. I had dreams and fantasies. I played games where I ruled all of Arizona.” You kneel down in front of the stump and trace your fingers over the faint initials that rest there. 

Janet laughs. “That’s very Eleanor Shellstrop of you.” She holds her hand out to you to help you up, and you accept. She takes your other hand, too. “I don’t think it’s a silly thing to dream about. A special moment in a place that makes you happy.” 

You glance around you, at the tree stump, the almost too perfect leaves that carry wind. Or today, a warm breeze. Memories flood you. Your friends saving you from some pretend monster. You were the princess, and the girl you’re pretty sure you had a little crush on then was the prince. A knight that helped you down from the tree you climbed up as your own way to escape the monster. 

You cried so hard that day because you wanted it to be as real as it could be. You were actually a distraught princess that needed to be rescued. And now, you’re just a girl from Arizona that saved the universe. Changed the afterlife for the better. You’re a different person. You make things you want a reality instead of dreaming of it. Instead of pretending. 

That means you can make the kiss real, too. 

You guide Janet’s hands to your waist, tugging her closer, while your own link behind her neck. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes. It’s more than okay, Eleanor.” She leans forward to press her forehead to yours. Noses, lips, inches apart. “I think I love you. We’ve spent so much time together, and I’m enjoying every second of it, even beating you at Mario Kart.”

You giggle. “I knew that you getting first place every single time wasn’t luck! You were using your Janet powers even after I told you not to.” 

“Guilty. When we get home, I’ll make sure to give you extra apology shrimp.” 

You’re looking forward to it. Home. With Janet. Shrimp, so much shrimp. And rounds and rounds of Mario Kart until you grow tired and fall asleep in her arms. Oh, woof. “I think I love you, too.” Pause. Exhale. Your hands settle on her shoulders. “Can I kiss you?” 

“You can kiss me. Right here. I would like to be kissed, very much, yes,” Janet says, pulling away just a bit, enough to see you. 

Enough for you to see her. The light in her eyes. The freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. Quiet, but noticeable at a close distance. A distance that becomes not existent, lips on lips. You cup her face, gentle. 

She doesn’t taste of anything, her lips, like you might’ve imagined at some point. During one of the hundreds of reboots. Or several of the reboots. Despite that, there’s something about them that captures you. A pink fire burning beyond your skull. They’re perfect. Feel perfect. Just like she is. 

The kiss is short, shorter than you would’ve preferred. But you’re letting Janet take the lead, and she ends it after a few seconds to hug you. She brings your head to her chest and whispers another ‘I love you’. 

No ‘I think’.

vi.

“I never told you this, but what I wished for came true.” You pause the game of Mario Kart and lean back on the couch. Eyes meet. “You know, back at the fountain.” 

It’s been a few Jeremy Bearimys since that day in the woods of an Arizona park. Left in the Good Place, it’s just you and Janet. Michael now living through his life on Earth, Tahani making tests, and eventually designing Good Place neighborhoods. You get to see her sometimes, but not often enough. You’ve sent her postcards to all the places you went to with Janet, and she congratulated you on your new found relationship, as weirded out as she might be about it—she still hasn’t quite processed Janet’s relationship (and marriage), to Jason. 

Janet sets her controller down and reaches out to twirl a strand of your hair, then retracts her hand. “It did?” She nods to herself and does that thing when she thinks. When her nose crinkles and she hums, a long, drawn out hum. When she tilts her head, then opens her mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “Oh. I believe mine did, too. What was your wish?” 

You turn to face her, bringing your legs up on to the couch. “I wished to find love again. What about you? Not telling me did make your wish come true, huh?”

“Yeah.” She looks down at her lap, her thumb held in her opposite hand as it always is. “I wished to never be alone. I’m not alone. You’re still here, with me.” 

“And I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

[marvelnator]

"Nice suit you got there"

Pairing: Kate Bishop x fem!reader

A/N: bye bye homophobic people, this is only for my gay besties; ALSO PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS

Warnings: Flirting, Language

Summary: You have to go to a charity event, were you meet the one and only Kate Bishop. Until then, you didn´t really know her, but that changes soon.

(gifs not mine)

I walked into the big building. The walls were high, the lights were shining way too bright and there were way too many people. My parents were walking next to me, but I didn´t concentrate on them. The only important thing now was, to get drunk so that I had to leave earlier. A waiter walked past me and I grabbed a glass of wine. "Darling, your father and I will talk to some people", my mother said with joy. I just nodded and stood there- alone- in the big hall.

I looked around a bit, as I saw a tall black-haired girl standing a bit further away. I shrugged my shoulders, emptied my glass and walked over to her. She nodded with her head as she saw me come over. I nodded back and stood next to her. "Nice suit you got there", I said with a smile. "Thanks." She looked beautiful, the way she put her hair back, the way the suit looked on her body. "I´m Y/n", I said as I gave her my hand to shake, "my parents made me go here, but to be honest- I have no idea what this is all about." The girl smiled softly as she shook my hand. "Kate Bishop." Wait- WAIT. "You- you are Eleanor Bishop´s daughter?!" She nodded. "Oh." Kate raised an eyebrow as she stared at me. "Does that change anything?" I started to panick. This wasn´t good. "No- everything is fine- shit- I um I will be right back." I walked away from her as fast as I could. I almost ran to the end of the hall, into the toilet room. I went into one of the cabins and sat down on the floor. Her mother worked with my father. Yeah- not a problem, right? Oh there was a big problem. I knew Kate. Not really- my father just always told me stories how I used to play games with Eleanor´s daughter when I was little. What if Kate remembered me? Wouldn´t that be weird? Now I was a grown up who liked women- and I actually caught myself finding her more than just attractive. Fuck.

Suddenly I heard a knock on the door. I slowly stood up. "Who is there?" I waited for a second, but as I heard no answer I opened the door. Kate Bishop was standing in front of me- in her perfect black suit. "I- I´m sorry if I did anything wrong but- if then- tell me what please? Even if I just got to know you, I don´t want to see you like that- you seem sad-" I looked up at her- since she was taller than me- and gulped. "That is the thing....we knew each other before. We used to play together." Kate´s eyes widened. "Y-you remember that? That is so cool! I thought I was crazy thinking that it was you who used to spend time with me but I was right!!! Wow- you really got bigger." She let out a tiny laugh. "I mean- we both really grew up so...." I smiled at her, and felt myself blush a little as she grabbed my hand. "Already flustered? That wasn´t even all I could do yet."

A/n: does anybody want this to continue?

[eleanorbloom]

Marry My Lover (Bryce x Eleanor Proposal Headcanon)

A/N: Well, I thought I wouldn't do it because I was too invested with this fic, but I've been thinking adult life is so fucking hard that maybe I'll never find the time and inspo to finish this fic, so... well, why not realease it to the world as headcanon/very-poorly-written-fic. If later I find the inspo, maybe I'll write it, maybe not, but I think posting this will lift a heavy weight off me.

Please forgive me my grammar mistakes and poor english, I mean, I know it's not poor, but I went really basic here, other way I would've never finished writing this lol

Tagging my WYR readers, in case you're interested in reading this @curiousconch @romereadingshop @utterlyinevitable @lahellacute @chocopeppermintcake

Also this is sumbission for @openheartfanfics Weekly Trope Challenge, week 2: Weddings & Proposals (@openheartheadcanons)

Marry My Lover

Bryce had wanted to propose to Eleanor for a while, considering both spontaneous and prepared ways to do it.

One of the first ideas was proposing on a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, as it was the place of their first date. But none of their shifts let them assist for a couple of weeks, so he decided to look for something less complicated.

As he saw their annual meeting with the gang was coming, he decided he would propose on that occasion. Surrounded by friends, the people who helped them get together and supported them in the most difficult times both personally and as a couple.

So he would propose at Donahue’s. With a song, no less. Marry Me by Bruno Mars. A cheerful song, Eleanor loved Bruno Mars and simply matched with the tone he wanted to have on the proposal. Happy and spectacular. He wanted to make her feel the luckiest, most loved woman on earth.

So when he decided what he would do, he shared the news with Sienna so she could help him orchestrate the event. He would arrive a bit later than Eleanor, Sienna would keep her distracted, and then whoop, Bryce would appear at the center of the bar singing the song.

On the day of the meeting, Bryce was in the locker room when he received a text from Sienna: “All set, B! We’re waiting for you”. He breathed deeply, excited and a bit nervous at the same time.

They had talked about marriage, about a life together thousands of times, but it was different just taking the step and doing it, of proposing marriage. Marriage. Damn.

But at the same time, it was just a confirmation of the love they had for each other. Their love that had grown exponentially, to unknown highs and depths in the three years they had been together, and he was sure that their love would keep growing and getting stronger with each day.

After getting ready, he texted Keiki: “Hey Keiks, are you there already?” “Oh, yeah, hidden in the parking lot, super spy.” “Awesome, I’m coming out of the locker room I’ll be there in five” “Okay”

Bryce didn’t want her to miss it for the world. Keiki would kill him if he let that happen. Luckily for both Bryce and Keiki, she was studying close to home, more than close. Cambridge. BS in Physics at MIT, so as she was living just a few minutes away from Boston, they saw each other pretty regularly, once a week or once every two weeks depending on how busy the three were.

Keiki was excited about it, but there was just this strange smirk on her. Bryce thought it was just the fact that her brother would propose to Eleanor at last.

Once at the bar, he greeted their friends, Elijah, coming from Chicago, Jackie, from Baltimore, and Sienna coming from New York. Aurora was the only one living in Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital as attending and part of the new Diagnostic Team there.

Everyone was happy but at the same time with this strange smirk, like they were hiding something.

“And Elle?” he asked.

A few moments after the question was made, a guitar started to play. He looked at the center of the bar, and found Eleanor, on a yellow dress, and matched hatband playing guitar and singing: We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Bryce couldn’t believe his eyes. His ears. His skin. How a shiver ran down his spine, making tingle every inch of him; how his stomach fluttered at the sight of her there, beautiful and singing and… Surprising him.

It was Lover by Taylor Swift, because, how not, his girlfriend was a Swiftie since High School, so once a Swiftie, always a Swiftie.

Bryce knew almost every song of the last two albums she had released in the last couple of years because they had blasted the speakers of their home for weeks. Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever, ah Take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover

After singing the chorus, Eleanor handed the guitar to Rafael, who continued with the melody, and took the mic in one hand, singing the second verse as she started walking slowly towards him. We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call She took his hand on hers and softly pulled him to the center of the bar

And when Eleanor sang “And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”, both chuckled knowingly, because they knew how true that was, wherever he goes, he enchants.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

It had been three summers indeed and nor he or she couldn’t imagine a summer without each other.

Eleanor kept singing, every word with meaning, it was like the song was written for them, especially “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” Because who else on this planet was a magnetic force but him?

Bryce was beaming the whole song, smiling, laughing, biting his lip, showing how happy, flattered, incredulous and in love he was.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To this day, after more than three years, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had the chance to love so much and be so loved. So happy, so free, so understood. And he would probably live this luck, this love, forever and ever with her.

When the song ended, Eleanor took out something from the pocket of her yellow dress. A velvet box. When she opened it, a silver ring with a diamond at the center shined under the multicolor lights of the bar. Eleanor took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles softly before asking: “Bryce Lahela, mi amor, we both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. In these three years you have made me nothing but happy. The happiest luckiest woman alive. I want that for the rest of our lives. Would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes sparkling, shining so bright with emotions, with love, with adoration, with happiness, “Yes, babe, yes! The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Everyone cheered, Sienna was crying, Kyra too, and even Keiki had shed a tear.

Eleanor put a ring on his finger and both kissed sweetly in the middle of the bar.

After a few moments, Bryce kissed her hand and chuckled, “Well, now it’s my turn.”

Eleanor stared confused at him, and when she heard him shouting “Música maestro!” she understood.

Eleanor couldn't believe it either. When the notes of Marry Me by Bruno Mars started playing, she covered her mouth with her hands just like Cecilia Bolocco when she won Miss Universe in 1986. “No way, love!” she squealed.

After a few verses, Bryce took her hand and turned her to the wall, where a video was playing. Videos of colleagues, nurses, even patients, with thumbs up singing along “Don't say no, no, no, no, no, Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” Then, her parents showed up in the video, beaming as they sang along too. Even her grandparents from Chile, Ricardo and Ofelia, appeared in the video asking the same.” “Oh my god,” Eleanor couldn't hold it anymore and simply let the tears fall. Tears of joy, of happiness.

Then Bryce started to walk around the bar, singing with a persuasive tone, asking the patrons to join him in his singing, as if he had to convince her to marry him. Friendly patrons would nod and show their thumbs up and sing along for a couple of seconds.

Once the song ended, Bryce bend on one knee and took the velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, where a beautiful rose gold ring was there, with a round diamond at the center and smaller at the sides. “Well, you won me. This was my idea too, but you were faster, or maybe you had friends who took your side and decided to help you instead of me.” Everyone chuckled. “Or maybe she just asked before you did,” Jackie teased. “Either way, I’m honored and flattered, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to propose to you. I mean, I’ve dreamed about this day practically since I met you.” “Awww, mi amor.” “I want all summers with you and all winters, especially winters so you can keep me warm on snowy nights.” Eleanor giggled, her eyes full of tenderness, “Of course, my love. Summer, fall, winter, spring, all of the seasons and all of the years I have left on this planet.” “Good. And you, Eleanor Andrea Bloom, would you marry me?” “Yes, my love, mi amor, sí, sí, yes!” Bryce put the ring on her finger, and again, people cheered and clapped. Keiki and Jackie whistled.

When Bryce and Eleanor got off the stage, the gang approached them, filling them with congratulations and hugs, and just love for the happy, recently-engaged couple. they disclosed how everything had happened -Eleanor indeed had asked help first, she had been practicing guitar for more than a month with the help of Rafael.

After a while, Bryce took Eleanor’s hand and led her to a quiet place so they could have a moment for themselves. They smiled and laughed without saying anything, still processing what had happened and trying to understand the happiness they were feeling. their hearts were simply overflowing with happiness and love. “You know? I can say people, mostly women, have asked me a lot of things in my life, some of them shocking, some of them rather cute, but never had a woman proposing to me, so this is a first. You're definitely a keeper.” “Oh, that's why you're agreeing to marry me?” she asked, feigning offense. “One of the four hundred million reasons, babe.” Eleanor smiled pensively, earnest, “You deserve everything, my love, everything. And that includes being proposed, because, damn, we’re too far from gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity.” “I agree.” “And because I really wanted you to know that I wanna marry you, and spend the rest of my life with you, just as much as you do.”

Completely spellbound by the sincerity of her love, now and always, Bryce simply bit his lip and leaned to plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

There was nothing else to do but be happy.

____

Ps: Here pics of Bryce and Eleanor engagement rings. I had the idea of a collage, but it would've also taken me a day to finish it, lol sorry

Thank you for reading! ❤

[nikkywrites]

Name Meaning Tag

Rules: Search and post the meaning of your OCs’ names (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! Bonus if you can find something for their last name too

Thanks for the tag @pluttskutt I’ll answer this for TDWAD’s cast as that one is characters I actually named and is decently sized (why do all my wips have no more than three characters?). I'd also like to point out that when naming them I did not look up meanings at all so this is a learning point for all of us. Let's see how accurate they are.

Also I need to settle on last names, so just first names.

Lila

Arabic: Simplified spelling of 'Leila' that means "night" or "dark beauty" or "one who was born at night".

Hebrew: Sometimes considered a pet form of Delilah, which means "one who has weakened or impoverished another".

Sanskrit: Derived from 'Lila/Leela'. Means "play, amorous, sport"

First of all, she was born at night. Fun fact. Don't ask why I know that but it's fun that it fits with her name. The Hebrew meaning is... kind of scary in that it does sort of fit in a way I will not elaborate on. So it’s decently accurate, though she’s not very playful.

Colin

Greek: Shortened English version of 'Nicholas' meaning "victory of the people."

Gaelic: English form of the name 'Cailen' meaning "child, young creature, cub, whelp."

I need to figure out his character more, but he's not super young and I don't think he's gonna be super victorious either. Sorry, buddy.

Ward

Arabic: "Blossoms, flowers."

English: "Guardian, guard, watchman."

Irish: Anglicization of 'Mac an Bhairds' or reduced form of 'McWard' meaning either "son of the bard" or "son of the poet”.

I got Ward's name thinking of protection wards and am a little surprised it doesn't mean 'protect' but 'guard' works too. And maybe the flower meaning will be sort of relevant? I don't have his backstory 100% figured out. It's also a semi decently popular last name.

Xia

Chinese: "Summer, great, grand" or "glow of the sunrise".

Greek: Variant of Xenia that means "guest, stranger" or "welcoming, hospitable".

Her name is actually pretty accurate. She is grand in her family and she fits in more with guest/stranger than she does welcoming.

Ella

Greek: Diminutive of Eleanor meaning "sympathy, compassion" or "shining one, bright one." Also possibly connected to the Greek word Hellas, which is the Greek name for Greece.

Latin: "One who heals."

French: "Little cinders, light."

Spanish: "She, her" or "young girl, feminine."

Hebrew: "Goddess."

German: Norman version of Alia meaning "all, other, fairy maiden."

So everybody want their claim on the name Ella, apparently. But surprisingly, they're all decently accurate. I’ll admit to not being 100% settled on her name but given how well it fits, I might stick to it.

Davis

Hebrew: "Beloved"

British/Welsh: "Son of David"

Davis is apparently more commonly used as a surname so it fits in the regards that he's strange. Sadly, I have to report that his father's name is not David and he’s a bit of a black sheep, so he’s not all that beloved. Poor Davis. Maybe he should do his work.

Tagging: @dragon-with-a-pen @notwritinganyflufftoday @dontcrywrite and whoever else would like to do this!

[strongsassysexysloane]

Dreaming

. . . .

A/N: It's been a while. I'm so tired but I needed to read/write something new. To see Jack Sloane again. And my self indulgent brain came up with this.

Sum:- When dreaming becomes too real.

. . . .

The smile that was spread across your lips was completely wiped away when you opened your eyes. There was nothing wrong with the day, it was Saturday, the weekend, it was a good day but your dream was a hundred times better.

It was still only seconds after the fairytale dream you were just experiencing. The detail was so real that when you rolled your head on your pillow and opened your eyes, you were expecting her to be there. She was there moments ago, why wasn't she there now? Your mind had painted her perfectly beside you, in your bed, in the morning light, peacefully sleeping beside you.

Usually the dreams were more edgey and naughtier than a simple morning daydream but this wasn't simple at all. This was bliss. The heartfelt feeling of waking up beside the person you loved most in this world, moments before they woke to see you smiling back at them. Your brain decided to wake you up seconds after your love opened her eyes and then yours shot open. To the real world.

The world where they person you love doesn't know anything about your feelings. They barely know you look at them twice when they walk by or smile whenever they walk into the room. At least you thought they didn't. She walked into your space every morning and your whole world felt right. It was such an overwhelming feeling that sometimes you felt wrong for feeling it but then she smiled at you and that thought faded away.

You pushed the dream and feeling away as you stretched under your sheets. Today you were meeting her at the markets, your usual weekend catch up away from work and grocery shop. You'd buy fresh veg and fruit at the markets then grab a coffee and treat with her before going your seperate ways for the weekend. The thought of seeing her brought back that ache you woke up with. You couldn't keep this up much longer. One day you'd slip up, mention something that happened in your dreams because it felt so real and she'd run away, scared. She didn't scare easily but this would definitely make her turn and run.

Morning, I'm up.

With the morning text sent, you still had the dream still at the forefront of your mind, you got up and hopped in the shower. There was no point pushing it away, it would stick around like all of them do. There was a beep from your phone as you dried yourself with a towel.

On my way, J

You smiled at the initial. She always did it even though she was saved into your phone from day one. Your friend mentioned she never signed off like that with her messages but it was just a letter after all. It seemed silly to you that a simple letter in a text message could mean something more but your brain liked to hang onto that as well.

The minutes passed by like hours as you got ready and collected everything you needed. You checked your front window too many times just in case she rocked up before she messaged you. She always messaged just as she pulled up so you knew.

"You look cute today." She greeted you with a bright smile as you slipped into her Mini Cooper.

There was no hiding the blush that coloured your cheeks. "Thank you. You look beautiful like always." You laughed trying to play off the massive compliment you usually don't let slip.

"Why thank you, I'd like to say I put some effort in this morning but I overslept and had to hurry to get here on time." She explained, pulling away from the curb.

You frowned, there had never been a set time. It was whenever you had both woken up that whomever was ready first would text to see if the other was coming. "You don't have to rush, it's our weekend, there's no schedule."

She thought about her words for a beat. "Yeah but the earlier I get up, the earlier I get to see... The bestest vegetables the farmers have to offer." She forced her classic cheeky smile so you would hopefully ignore the pause in her words.

You couldn't ignore the pause in her words. There was no way you could but you skipped over it in conversation. You continued on about what you were after this weekend, plans of meals you were planning on cooking. There was relief in her posture, her shoulders rolled back and your brain noted this.

She had been dancing around her words lately, if you were really being honest with yourself. You tried not to get your hopes up too high with it but she was pausing in her sentences more around you. Picking and rearranging her words. Like she was going to go down one road at the fork but skipped to the other at the last second. Eleanor had pointed it out on more than one occasion, thankfully when Jack had left, but you pushed it away as nothing.

The morning stroll through the market was peaceful, hardly anything off topic apart from what was right in front of you. She stuck to the topic at hand which wasn't unusual but usually you'd be onto other topics by now. It was like she was staying in safe territory or you were overthinking this completely.

She brushed by you as you were picking up some fruits, her fingers brushed yours, the touch sending sparks up your arm. You watched her flinch, her eyes darting to yours before, "I'm sorry, there wasn't-"

"Jack, there's nothing to apologize for. You've grabbed my hand on several occasions, bumped me more than that, why are you sorry now?"

"You're right. Wasn't thinking." She forced a smile and you heart slightly dulled. She walked away far too quickly for you to gage her reaction. Something was definitely off with her today.

You walked around the market in mostly silence after that, only saying which stalls you wanted to pop into and then once the shopping was done you walked side by side up to the last coffee stand at the end of the market.

"Two large black coffee's with three sugars." She slipped her card to the barista before you could fight her to pay.

You took a deep breath and touched the tips of your pointer and index finger to her palm. This silence was killing you and you needed to get her attention. You were testing how to start the conversation by the way she reacted to your touch.

"Hey, what?" She spun around ready to fight whoever touched her and you held in a laugh. "Was that you?" She half glared with a curl to her lips.

You nodded, "You've been ignoring me since the incident in the fruit stand."

She rolled her eyes at the word incident. "Dramatic much."

"Says the woman who's been keeping at least a metre radius of me and hasn't said more than five words to me since. What's up Jack?" You were far too cheery at the end of that question, like it wouldn't change the dynamic of your relationship henceforth.

The barista called her name so you guessed she'd use that as a distraction. She handed you, your coffee before she added even more sugar to hers. You laughed the first time you saw her do this, asked why she didn't ask the barista to do it for her but she couldn't handle the baristas judgement. You didn't believe it but let it slide. It was probably that the barista refused to tarnish good coffee with the sugar content she needed.

"The way you looked at me this morning, the way you look at me almost every morning. It sets something on fire with in me." She slipped her coffee like a can of worms hadn't just been unleashed and started walking. You didn't a double take and skipped to catch up. "You called me beautiful like it was the most natural thing in the world when-"

"It is, you are." You whispered, hiding behind your coffee cup as she stared at you. You were half expecting a sass for cutting her off but she did this shy shale of her head with a smile you hadn't seen before. Was she shy?

"There you go again. These feelings I have, I've had for a while... I don't want to ruin our.." She stopped at the bonnet of her car, placing her bag of food on the hood and you did the same.

This was all happening so fast. This wasn't how you imagined it going, you really hadn't imagined it going at all. This never happened, you never got to this point in your daydreams.

"Friendship?" She said it so hesitantly it made you laugh and for that you got a shove. "Say something - other than I'm beautiful."

"I'm glad you agree." You jumped out of the way of the next shove and took a sip to hide your massive grin.

"Smart ass. I've said a lot of feelings right now. You're making me nervous."

You take a step forward, placing your empty cup beside your bag and take hers from her hand. Slowly, giving her time to step away, you take her hands and hold them between you. "I had a dream this morning." The smile you had from your dream comes back, the feeling of bliss, comfort and love. You couldn't believe you are going to say what you thought you never would. "I was lying in bed..."

"Very imaginative." She holds your hands tighter so you can't break your hold and playfully shove her.

You just laugh and shale your head. "Nah those dreams are off limits." You wink and she throws her head back with a loud laugh.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." She gives you the mischievous grin you love.

Oh how you wanted to know hers. "I'm about to if you'd let me finish." She scrunches her lips shut to make a point. "Much better. As I was saying. I was lying in bed, I opened my eyes to a new day. The sun was shining into my bedroom, I rolled my head to the side and I was filled with pure bliss and a grounding I'd never felt before. There was this beautiful, stunning woman to my right. She was still asleep, hair tossed from a good night sleep and a small smile on her lips." You think you see tears in her eyes or maybe they're in yours. "That woman is you Jack. I woke up and the world came crashing around me, that I don't have that reality but I still smiled knowing I get to see you today and almost everyday at work." You pause and now you know you're the one crying because her hand slips out of yours and it comes up to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"That's the most pure, heartfelt thing someone has ever said to me." She smiled, that smile you saw in your dream as her eyes fluttered open and saw you. Your heart skipped a beat. "I want that. All of it, with you." She learnt forward, hesitating a second before her lips met yours in the softest touch you'd ever felt. You weren't sure she was kissing you until the air in your lungs disappeared.

"Bit forward don't you think?" She was too confused, her brows furrowed as she pulled away. "To have you in my bed. Thought we'd have dinner first." You winked and her confusion disappeared and quickly became frustration. Something, you guessed, that would happen alot over the next week, months, years.

"Think your smart ass can handle lunch? I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet." She slipped her hand back into yours.

You smiled, leaning forward placing a more confident kiss to her lips before answering. "Think I can manage that." You beamed, getting another kiss in reply. This was going to be fun.

. . . .

[avionvadion]

I'm wondering. Did you name Eleonora after the voice actress for Maleficent, Eleanor Audley? Did you intentionally give Ellis Walt Disney's middle name? Because if you didn't, damn those are huge coincidences. xD

HOLY FRICK

Is that actually her name!?????? AND HIS NAME!??? Dude why am I so bad at actually planning this 😭 All the cool things are always coincidental.

Yeah no, so Eleanora is actually a twist from an original character I made named Irene. Irene is also spelled Eireen, which is the Greek Goddess of Peace. So “Irene” means “Peaceful”. I wanted to change the name up to keep things from getting confusing with all my many fanfics, so I went through a list and found “Eleanor” which means “Light”.

I didn’t think that sounded “pretty” enough for a fanfic about Disney villains though. But as it turns out I also listen to a lot of Marianas Trench. They have a song called “Eleonora” and another one called “The Killing Kind” and I thought it sounded perfect. I searched up the meaning which was “shining light/bright light” and I went OHHHHH YES THAT and thus “Eleanora” became the thing.

Then I searched up last names involving flowers and boom! “Quince” which is a thorny plant. So you have Irene Thorn(burn) and Eleanora Quince.

As for Ellis... I hate to admit it, but I really just wanted something that sounded similar to Eleanora. 😂 I had no freaking idea Maleficent’s VA was named Eleanor and that Walt Disney’s middle name was Ellis. This is hilarious. Almost genius. But yeah, it’s coincidence. 😭

Edit: I DO know Disney backwards is Yen Sid, though, but that’s mostly because of Kingdom Hearts... 👀

[roseofithaca]

Right Here

Quick Hellstrop brotp mini-fic.

Fluff, hint of one-sided romantic feelings, emotional hurt/comfort.

It wasn’t until he saw the leather jacket on the desk that he began to worry. Before then, when he’d seen Eleanor make a rather impromptu exit out of Tahani’s party, he’d been a little confused. In what crazy dimension did Eleanor Shellstrop leave a party before all the shrimp had been devoured? The platters had barely been touched.

He’d waited a while, in case she came back, mingling among the fake residents, the real humans as well as the rest of the team, head constantly rotating back towards the door for a sign of her re-entry. Na-da. 

After making his own excuses, he followed the scent of her perfume, which had also left a pink mist in her wake, visible only to his supernatural eyes. He regrets having told his friends about that aspect of his abilities a little, mainly after Jason compared him to the sniffer dog that slobbered over him once at a bus station. 

The path lead him to their office, or the ‘Hot God’s Throne Room’ as she’d once named it. Hardly a false analogy, Michael had silently thought.

“Eleanor?” he’d asked, making his way in. All of his adversary-turned-friend-turned boss that awaited him was the jacket on the desk that she’d worn over her dress on the walk to the party.

That and two pairs of high-heels kicked unceremoniously to the side.

“Oh, Eleanor...” He whispered, grasping the jacket in his hand, instantly inhaling the odour of discomfort and anxiety. 

The smell said half of it. The fact some of her clothes had been hastily abandoned here rather than at her clown house said the rest. Something was wrong.

Fortunately, a burned out Eleanor is easy to track. 

It doesn’t take him less than fifteen minutes to follow the pink trail in the air, cutting through the deserted town, over the fields, out towards the lake. Ah, of course. As soon as he recognises the significance of her destination, he knows what prompted her to leave in such a rush. He doesn’t need to follow the trail, he knows exactly what wooden bench she’s going to be sitting on.

She doesn’t look up as he treads closer to her, head buried between her knees pulled up onto the seat, hugged to her chest. The little bumps on her exposed shoulders tremble while the rest of her stays rigid.

“Getting chilly?” he says, softly.

Eleanor lifts her head, the tiniest of gasps, her eyes sparkling with the briefest flash of excitement before they dim. Disappointed.

Were you expecting someone else? Of course.

Tears mark her blotchy cheeks that she rushes to dry with her fist; “No...Just way too hot at the party and I thought I could cool off back at the office but it was like a forking oven, so I came out here and....now I’m cold, yeah.”

He nods, understanding all too well how the world can turn into a furnace when everything feels as though it’s about to collapse in on you. And this is coming from a guy born and raised in magma.

Eleanor might not have had anxiety attacks the same as him. Her usual response to stressful situations was to lash out, toss over some cakes, kick some chairs, consuming a ton of alcohol on the way. Without any of those options being acceptable for an Immortal Heavenly Being; her only outlet was to do as she did as a frightened child; and hide away.

“Here,” he doesn’t wait for her to accept the offer as he removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders, just to cover the little bumps; “Wow, you’re small...It looks like you’re popping your head out of a molehill made from cloth.”

“Shut up, you flagpole” Eleanor manages a chuckle, sniffling after, tugging it around her shoulders, “...Thanks.” she remembers, with a mumble.

He lingers, this time waiting for her consent; “D’you want company?”

“No...” she responds, staring out at the vast body of water beneath the full moon; “I wanna be by myself.”

“Okay...”

He starts to step away, only for her to grab his hand.

“What the fork are you doing?”

Michael blinks; “You just said-”

“Yeah. By myself. And you’re like...ridiculously similar to me that we’re practically the same person, so you can stay.”

He blinks again.

“That’s...insanely confusing!”

“Just sit down, dummy.” She tugs him again. As she wishes, Michael places himself down beside her, taking note of how short of breath she still is from crying. As soon as he’d noticed the tears shining, he’d had to ground himself to avoid rushing forward to dry them.

Now he’s close enough, having been invited to share her space, he dares to reach out and rub her back.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” he whispers, softly, “No one’s gonna be out here, you can cry if you want.” Fork the garbage Donna fed her about hiding her emotions. 

She sniffs, gulping for air; “M’so sick of crying...And I thought I was over this, I mean...We’re so close to the end and I’m sure we’ve got this but...Fork.” Eleanor looks down; “Seeing them dance...Seeing him kiss her...They look so happy.”

“Not half as happy as when he danced with you.” He’s tempted to give her the memory of their little dance in the rain in #119, in case it stopped being fresh for her. He’d been so pissed off about that not being enough to spoil their date at the time. 

“What does it matter if he doesn’t remember that?” She scoffs, untucking her knees and looking back at the lake; “What does the first kiss we have here mean anything if he comes here with Simone, all the time, and they have dozens of their own kisses!?”

“He will remember. I promised, I’d give him all his memories back when this is over.” It can’t come soon enough. Saving humanity was beginning to come second to just seeing her be happy again.

Eleanor’s shoulders slump; “...And if he still chooses her? What then? We could win this whole thing and he could come back and I’m just...back to being alone!”

“Okay, now you’re being an idiot.”

“Thanks, pal! And you wonder why I refuse to call you Hottest Savior?!”

“I mean it!” He almost growls, putting his hand on her shoulder; “Do you really think you’re gonna have none of us around you, on the one in a billion chance that Chidi doesn’t wanna get back with you? You don’t think what you’ve got to look forward to in the Good Place extends beyond being with him? C’mon. Chidi would the last person to want you to be thinking like that.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes; “Yeah well...Sometimes I wanna say ‘fork Chidi’. I mean...obviously I wanna fork Chidi but I mean-.”

“I get it.” Damn horny bipeds.

He reaches out to take her hand, linking his fingers between hers, caressing the joint of her thumb with his own.

“Listen. If you were ever alone without him, do you think I’d have followed you out here? Do you think Tahani or Jason or Janet wouldn’t have noticed, if not me, and done the same?” He lowers his voice, inching closer.

Eleanor pauses. 

Her other hand moves up to touch with the hem of his jacket covering her.

“It’s always you.” she mumbles, eyes casting over his chest. I’m up here, he wants to say, or would that crane her neck?

“Yeah, well...I could say the same about you.” The first one to ever pick him up after an existential breakdown. The last one who held him during a crisis, paralysed at the thought of losing his friends in the worst possible way. “Who else knows rock bottom better than us, hmm?”

Finally, she smiles; “We pretty much founded the place. It’s like our own little kingdom at this point.”

Michael shyly smiles. Hades and Persephone. All those times, in his past, when he pictured Eleanor at his side, not as an oblivious victim but his partner. His one worthy equal. Then he found himself constantly bested by her, beaten, to the point he was at her heels, following her lead, waiting for her to say jump so he could ask how high? Willing to cast himself into the fire if she deemed him unworthy, or she needed him gone. 

He will never understand how Chidi could resist her pleas to stay. If she asked for Chidi’s memory back tonight, even at the risk of dooming humanity, he would obey.

Perhaps the knowledge that he shouldn’t is all that stops him from making the offer in the first place.

Fork, when did his arm find its way around her shoulders? When did she start leaning in so close? She’s practically snuggling against him now. She must be getting cold.

He waves his hand, warming up the night breeze that passes over the lake. She still doesn’t move away. He doesn’t exactly push her either.

“Y’know...The reason I was looking to find you at the party when I saw you leave was I was gonna ask you for a dance.” he confesses, needing to break the tense silence.

“Oh, really?” She glances up, raising an eyebrow; “Well...I’m not walking all the way back.”

Michael nods; “It’s okay...I was expecting a ‘no’.”

“Did I say ‘no’?”

He looks to see her giving that cheeky smile. Shirt, he must be blushing. She always looks at him with that smug, endearing gaze when she knows she’s succeeded in teasing him.

It feels a shame to pull away from the cuddle she was beginning to relax into as he gets to his feet. Probably for the best none of the humans come across their Goddess sleeping in the arms of her Architect out in the open...especially Chidi, no matter how chaste it may be.

“No trying to trip each other to fall in the lake, deal?”

Eleanor groans, leaving Michael’s jacket on the seat; “I guess...Spoilsport.”

Neither are going to make that promise. What would be the fun in that?

He gives her his best ‘devilish’ grin and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance, Boss?”

Eleanor’s eyes flutter up and down his front before locking his gaze again, her tears all but dried. “Only because you’re rockin’ that tux,” She gives him her hand; “You may, buddy.”

He gently tugs her up onto her bare feet. Without her heels, she barely meets his neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, smiling as he moves her onto the pier, beneath the strung up lights along the boardwalk. 

A snap of his fingers and a song begins to play on the invisible surround sound system.

If I see you next to never, How can we say forever?

Fingers smooth gently up her back as he holds her close. Her head rests into his chest as they sway to the 80′s ballad. Stroking her shoulders, he finds the same little bumps are still there, but no longer trembling. He wishes he knew enough about being human to understand what that meant. So long as she no longer feels alone, that’s all he wants.

“Michael...” she murmurs, sliding her other arm around his side.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here.” 

He resists the old urge to make a nonchalant quip for humor sake and gives into the sentiment swelling beneath this suit. He kisses the top of her head, whispering adoringly;

“Always.”

Wherever you go, Whatever you do...

It feels a little wrong to be dancing with Eleanor Shellstrop in the spot where she had her first kiss with the love of her life, but as she pointed out, he’s had just as many dates here with Simone. Michael allows the remnants of his demon past to find a weird taste of satisfaction, for Eleanor’s sake anyway. It’s hardly as if the nerd was here to see it, or even care in his current state. Maybe one day, in the future, if he’s feeling particularly petty and satantic, he’ll brag to Chidi’s face about how he had one of most romantic, moonlit dances with his girlfriend. Because only a fool would give up that chance, even if to save the Universe.

All for no other reason than to make sure his friend is always grateful for being the one Eleanor Shellstrop loves with all her heart, and wanting to make up for every moment he missed with her this year. Just as Michael thanks Upper Management every day that he has the honor of dwelling in a fraction of it.

Whatever it takes, Or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you.

[maximoff-pan]

57 with Peter Maximoff? 'cause your writing about him makes me soft 🥺

Prompt:

57. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

Character: Peter Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Word Count: 1.4 k of (hopefully) tooth rotting fluff....like maybe you’ll need a dentist after reading???

A/n: Anon, you’re way too sweet! And honestly, writing about him makes me soft, so I really hope you enjoy! (I know I did writing this)....Anyway, I also want to note that this (the beginning), does not perfectly (or even close to perfectly) follow the plot or script of days of future past. I just somewhat mimicked it....It doesn’t have a ton to do with the movie, but just in case anyone is confused, that is what it’s based on. I also had to check the timelines, so I think they’re right. It says that Peter is born in 1955 and DOFP takes place in 1973, so that’d make him approximately 18. I’m sorry if that’s wrong, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

You distinctly remember the first time you met Peter Maximoff. And thinking back on it now, you’re not sure there’s a world in which it’s possible that you could ever forget it. You’d both been so young, barely 18, and yet, as conflicted as you’d felt when you’d first laid your eyes on him, there was an instant connection between you. It was unbelievably undeniable...something not even Charles could explain when he’d met the pair of you.

You’d both met Charles, Hank, and Logan on the same day. You’d only known the three mysterious men for a few more hours than Peter had, them picking you up from your home because your mutation was integral in breaking Erik out of the Pentagon. (Personally, at the time, you didn’t see why your mutation of invisibility would be so helpful....but Charles more than insisted. So you just said, ‘sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and went along with them...for the adventure of course). Unfortunately (or fortunately, you’re not quite sure), your next stop was to convince some teenage speedster to join you....hence, you meeting Peter.

“You’re not cops.” Was the first thing you heard out of his mouth.

His voice had taken you back. He’d managed to sound both arrogant and insecure, all in one utterly short sentence. How on earth could anyone manage that? On a first judgment, this boy gave you mixed feelings. Was he an ass? Or was he just scared...nervous, or maybe both?

Logan simply scoffed, his arms folded across his chest. “And what makes you say that, kid?”

“Rental car.” Peter tutted, a glimmer shining brightly in his eyes. “And you really expect me to believe some rando teenage girl is working as an officer for whatever joke of a police force you claim to be a part of? I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” You spat at him.

The grin that plastered itself on his face was vomitous. “You’re excused princess.”

That nickname made your blood absolutely boil, and your skin crawled with frustration. You turned to Logan bitterly. “And we need this klepto ass clown why?”

“Unfortunately, his mutation is exactly what we need.” Hank broke in, speaking for Logan.

Honestly, if Logan could’ve made the choice that day, he would’ve left Peter behind. He thought you and your mutation were enough, that unlike Charles and Hank, Peter was not a necessity, he was just a fucking nuisance. He much preferred you....but he was stuck with both of you.

If he had been able to make that decision, at the time, you would have agreed with Logan wholeheartedly. Peter annoyed you to no end, and from the moment you met him, he continuously tried to rile you up. But today? Today you’re very much glad Logan had not been granted permission to make that decision. If he had, then you’d never have met Peter. You’d never have met the love of your life, your husband, and the father of your children.

You never would have been truly happy. But thank god Logan hadn’t made that decision....thank god....

Now? Now you’re happily married. You’ve put your X-Men days behind you, trading them in for teacher’s positions at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Soon, you’ll even be teaching your own children, twins James and Eleanor, and baby Wyatt (in that order, oldest to youngest)...but for now, they’re still too young to be learning at Xavier’s. For now, you’re spending your last few months on maternity leave, before you head back to teaching.

Home life has been crazy, two toddlers and a new baby will do that to you. And Peter has been your absolute rock. (You’ve also been his, which he tells you everyday, but you never seem to believe it)...

You live right off campus, so Peter’s commute to work is practically nonexistent, which means he’s able to be at home with you fairly shortly after his work day ends. (It’s literally a lifesaver), and Peter loves being at home with your kids. There’s honestly nowhere he’d rather be....except maybe cuddled in bed next to you, the house completely quiet from children screaming or babies crying.

“The twins go to bed okay?” You ask your husband as he tiredly walks into your shared bedroom.

“Define okay.” He jokes. You tilt your head, shooting him a look of uncertainty. “In all seriousness,” he starts, “probably the best bed time this week.”

Peter’s beaming with the pride that he could get his children to actually behave and go to sleep at a godly hour, and it warms your heart. You can see it in his being, just how much love he has for them.

“I’m glad.” You smile. “Wyatt’s down. Out like a light.” You gesture to the baby sleeping in the crib next to your bed.

Peter’s eyebrows raise, a mischievous grin on his face. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“That’s definitely not what I thought you were going to say.” You laugh softly. “I was expecting something more along the lines of... ‘let���s have sex.’ Instead, you ask your wife, let me remind you in case you forgot, your wife, if you can have a simple kiss? Ladies and gentlemen, I married the most wholesome man on the planet!”

He responds with a laugh of his own, your antics more than amusing him. “So you’re saying, we could’ve had...” he pauses for a moment, feigning innocence and whispering, “sex?”

“We could’ve.” You shrug. “But you passed up on it.”

Peter throws you a goofy grin, eyeing you up and down. “I’m still taking that kiss though.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

“Mhm.” He finally leans in, placing his lips softly on yours. At first the kiss is gentle, but as the seconds pass, the intensity grows. You don’t know when exactly that it happens, but suddenly you find yourself on Peter’s lap, basically straddling him. Your mouths move in harmony, harder and faster than a few moments prior.

He lets out a groan of approval as you rake your hands through his long (ish) silver hair. Taking this as your opportunity, you deepen the kiss, propping yourself off of Peter’s lap, and pushing him further into your bed.

His hand grips your arm, securing his other arm around your waist and flipping the two of you over, him now on top. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. It’s like the perfect storm of anticipation. You both want to take things further, desperately, but the universe decides it has other plans for you (not allowing you a moment free from parenting), when your son begins to cry.

“Peter.” You murmur into his mouth. And as much as you don’t want to stop whatever this is, you also don’t want the wailing baby to wake your other children.

He pulls back reluctantly, letting out of sigh of frustration, as he watches you crawl across the bed and scoop Wyatt out of his crib. The crying stops almost instantaneously, and you both feel some sort of relief flood through you. If there was any plus side to come from this, at least Eleanor and James hadn’t woken up.

“It’s alright baby boy.” You coo as Peter watches you lovingly. “Mama’s got you.”

“Daddy’s here too.” Peter nearly sings at your baby son. “And he loves you very much.”

“Mommy loves you more.” You tease, speaking in the same sing song voice your husband had just used.

Peter scoffs. “I don’t think so.” He sings back. “Mommy and Daddy love you equally.”

“Oh I’m sure they do.” The sarcasm in your tone is evident, and at that, he reaches over to gently tickle your sides, careful not to disrupt your position with Wyatt.

You release a gentle string of giggles, feeling Peter’s fingers halt their actions. “I surrender! I surrender.”

“You see that Wyatt?” Your husband asks your son. “Your Mommy has me absolutely whipped. I couldn’t be a happier man.”

“And I a happier woman.” You pause, leaning down to whisper in Wyatt’s ear, just loud enough for Peter to hear. “Besides, your Daddy’s been whipped by me since the second he first saw me.”

Peter simply shrugs, grinning down at his little family. “You’re not wrong.” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he hums lightly. “Your Mommy’s definitely not wrong.”

[cerseiwondered]

Number 33 plssss

I think I received this prompt over a month ago, and I’m SORRY.

So, this story is set on the same universe as this one, only six months before. So it’s like a prequel. And it follows the same women football rivalry vibes.

Prompt: “An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.”

-

“Smile!”

Sansa smiled for what it felt like the thousandth time, carefully holding her trophy so it would be visible on the picture in a way that it didn’t seem like she was trying to make it visible.

“Nice. Congrats, girls!”, the photographer said, before raising his camera again and going after Sarella Sand, who had won one of the midfielder positions of the Team of the Season.

Sansa turned to her teammates, Wylla and Brienne. The three of them had been chosen as a part of the CONWEBOL -  Westeros and Essos Football Confederation -  2019 Team of the Season, making their club, Stone Hedge United, the one with the biggest number of players on the squad.

Which was pretty cool, especially because the Athletic Club of Hill Horn had been the winner of the Women’s Conquers League, the world’s greatest club competition. Yet, on the TOTS, Sansa had been chosen as the best right-back, Wylla as the best striker, and Brienne as the best goalkeeper.

“Oh, look at her,” Wylla shook her head slightly, green hair catching the light with the movement, as she focused somewhere behind Sansa.

And the redhead spun around solely to see the grinning face of Margaery Tyrell.

Margaery, who was wearing a glorious blue dress, just a bit tight on the torso and loosely falling on the floor, with her entire arms bare and an unbelievable plunging neckline. She smiled to a camera, holding her Team of the Season left-winger trophy with one hand and her Couronne d’Or, the golden crown awarded to the Best Player of the Season, with the other.

“Notice how she’s holding the crown a bit higher than the squad trophy,” Wylla noted, and Sansa chuckled.

“Who can blame her? It’s the greatest honor a player can be given,” Brienne argued.

“Yeah,” Sansa sighed, taking in the shine of the enormous piece of jewelry in Margaery’s hand.

They were all at the CONWEBOL The Best Awards, the annual event that took place every October, in King’s Landing. The Couronne d’Or was the most coveted trophy, and that year Margaery had won it for the third time, more than any active player.

Which irritated her, because Margaery defended Raventree’s City, Stone Hedge’s biggest rival, yes - but also because it just meant a whole new year of Margaery’s poorly concealed arrogant attitude and superior little smirk, and those annoyed Sansa more than anything else.

Especially when that smile was directed at Sansa herself; and Margaery really enjoyed smiling like that at Sansa when they met before matches. And talk to her, always with the same ironic gaze and that smirk that made Sansa feel like she was being furtively laughed at.

Sansa just couldn’t quite understand why Margaery liked to provoke her so much. Yes, they played for rival clubs, but it wasn’t like Sansa was Margaery’s biggest opponent when it came to awards; they didn’t play in the same position, and Wylla was Stone Hedge’s main woman, therefore the one who could challenge Margaery when it came to the Couronne d’Or.

“Look, there is Coach Mormont!”, Wylla exclaimed, driving Sansa’s eyes away from the other woman. “Let’s go talk to her.”

They did, and Sansa quickly forgot all about conceited brunettes and overestimated individual awards as the party went on. It was always one of Sansa’s favorite events of the year; meeting all of her current and former teammates and coaches, getting a chance to talk to players from other clubs that she usually just got to interact with on the field; seeing all those women she would normally see on dirty uniforms wearing those spectacular gowns.

And there were cameras everywhere, and the food was amazing, and the champagne… The champagne was one of a kind, and when Sansa drank one glass a little bit too fast she decided it was perhaps time for her to go to the restroom and take a deep breath.

But she was just the tiniest bit tipsy, hardly enough to let her display her displeasure when she opened the restroom’s door and found Margaery, leaning against the counter and redoing her makeup.

Before facing Sansa with the largest smile, “Hey! I was waiting for an opportunity to talk to you.”

“Why?”

Margaery’s smile turned into the smirk Sansa loathed so much, “To tell you my crown was not the most shining thing in the party tonight.”

Now Sansa did roll her eyes, even as she felt a blush creeping up her neck. She was wearing a tight, long-sleeved silver gown that stopped mid-thigh. Her neckline was not nearly as impressive as Margaery’s, though.

“Thank you. You look nice as well,” she answered through an almost uninterested tone.

Margaery gave a small smile as she lowered her eyes, and for a fraction of a moment, Sansa felt bad for giving her a perhaps indifferent response - before reminding herself that that was Margaery Tyrell, her club rival and someone she and all of her teammates had learned to dislike very much.

Until, “Congrats on your awards tonight.”

Margaery said it so naturally, as she put some lipstick on.

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “I only won one award.”

“Oh, right,” Margaery pressed her lips together. Her lipstick was matte colored, and it looked nice.

“Perhaps when you said awards, plural,” Sansa, better yet, the champagne started, “You were thinking about the multiple awards my team won. You know, the club with the most players on the squad of the season.”

If she knew that would result in Margaery smirking all over again, perhaps Sansa wouldn’t have said it.

“And I was very happy for all of you,” Margaery lied. “I’m so happy your club managed that when it still had the chance.”

Again, the words left her mouth like they were the most ordinary thing to say.

But they weren’t.

“What do you mean?”

Margaery shrugged, “Well, you know. Now that the VAR, the video assistant referee,” she explained it as if there was any chance Sansa wouldn’t know what VAR meant, “Will be officially used in all of our competitions next season… Forget I said anything.”

She averted her gaze back to the mirror, but Sansa pulled her by the arm, and she stared back at the redhead with wide and, Gods dammit, amused eyes.

“Are you possibly implying that my club is benefited by the refereeing?”, Sansa laughed.

“It’s not me, darling,” Margaery shook her head with a falsely innocent look on her face. “It’s the statistics. If it weren’t for refereeing mistakes, your club would’ve finished the league with nine fewer points.”

“And how many points would your club have lost if it weren’t for your diving? You are the biggest diver in the league.”

“I’m the most hunted player in the league, you mean.”

“Too bad I cannot say the same about last chances of winning anything,” Sansa shot to her. “You’ve probably already won the next Couronne d’Or too. Considering you no longer have to do anything win it.”

Margaery’s eyes now widened with her not expecting those words, and Sansa liked it.

“Considering you got it this year without winning the national or the Conquers league, consequently, not winning anything important.”

Margaery blinked. “I literally scored fifty-one goals this season.”

“A true champion,” Sansa scooted closer, feeling the scent of Margaery’s luxurious perfume, almost closing her eyes with it, “Takes their clubs to the top. They don’t just break goal records against farmer clubs and call it a day.”

Deep down, Sansa knew she was wrong; Margaery was the best, most skillful and creative player in the world, and she deserved the recognition she got. Still, the look on her face at that moment was priceless and Sansa would not let it go.

“Eleanor Mooton,” Athletic Club of Hill Horn’s right-winger, “Should’ve won your trophy. You know that full well.”

Margaery twitched her jaw, and her voice was controlled, “Are you saying all of this because you are aware that you will never win a Couronne d’Or while I play and you hate the thought of it?”

Sansa gave a smirk of her own. “I’m a defender. I will never see the face of a Couronne d’Or, I’ve always known that.”

That was no surprise; the only players who were considered Best Players of the Season were forwards or midfielders.

“You can see the face of it,” Margaery’s voice was husky and Sansa’s ears perked without her perceiving why. “You can see the face of three of them,”

She stepped forward and Gods, they were close and Sansa hadn’t realized it.

“In my shelf. In my bedroom.”

And then it was Sansa’s turn to blink. “What?”

Margaery closed the remaining distance, her hands grabbing Sansa’s jaw and yanking her in.

Their lips touched, and Sansa was shocked. Margaery’s fingers slid from Sansa’s face to her hair, nails stroking her scalp, and Sansa shivered with the feeling of it.

Her mouth tasted so good, like champagne and something sweet, and she sucked on Sansa’s lips, leading Sansa to shut her eyes. Her tongue tried and invaded Sansa’s mouth, stroking Sansa’s own tongue, outlining her lips, and she pulled the redhead’s bottom lip between her teeth and-

It was over.

Before Sansa could do anything, touch Margaery, kiss her back properly, it was all over.

All there was left was that stupid smirk and Margaery’s flushed cheeks.

They jumped away from one another when the door was opened.

“Hey, we were looking for the two of you,” it was Irri, a Dothraki woman who played for the Dragonstone Football Club and who had won one of the centre-back spots of the Team of the Season. “They are taking pictures of the squad.”

Margaery only smiled before leaving the restroom, cleaning her lips with a paper towel and indicating Sansa to do the same, and the redhead followed her weakly.

She felt almost numb when she positioned herself among the other players. And every single nerve of her body responded when Margaery, who was right next to her, whispered in her ear,

“My real bedroom, with my trophies, is a bit far away. But my hotel suite isn’t.”

Sansa gulped.

And the cameraman shouted, “Smile!”