#de Odette got down she’s okay

[froody]

GIRL NOOOO. NOOOOOOOOO.

[ohtobeleah]

I can't stop thinking about dot having a nightmare and tooster comforting her🥺 he would be so good with her

We need a break from all the angst don’t we? 🥺🥺 here the Terms of Endearment Masterlist if you wanna read it.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Oh my heart can’t take this. Picture it. 

One of the things that your OBGYN had told you not to do while you were in the later stages of your third trimester and boarding on what you thought would be your fourth, was to move house. 

Did you and Bradley listen? No—

Because you needed a bigger house for your growing family and when you found this one on the market, two story, four bedroom, two and a half bathroom, massive entertainment areas with an open plan kitchen smack bang in the middle of a cul de sac just a twenty minute drive from base? You and Bradley put in an offer the real estate and previous owners just couldn’t refuse. A few weeks later? You were signing off on all the paperwork and being handed the keys. 

But just because you’d both found the most perfect house to make a home for your growing family, that didn’t negate the fact that your OBGYN had been right. 

“Mama!!” Dot's cries could be heard down the hall in the dead quiet of the night. “Mama—!” With every passing second that she wasn’t being attended to, her cried became more pained, desperate to be consoled after the nightmare she had just been startled from by a loud clap of thunder followed almost immediately by the bright drawn out flashes of lightning creeping in through her curtains to eerily illuminate her new bedroom. “Tooster!” 

“Okay—“ It’s your deep sigh that’s laced in exhaustion that has Bradley immediately rolling over to kiss your cheek. You’d both been lying there for a few minutes wondering if your now four and a half year old would soothe herself back to sleep. “I’m coming bubba.” 

“No, no you stay in bed mama I’ll get her.” Bradley Bradshaw never thought he could fall any more in love with you, until you told him you were pregnant. “You stay here, sleep, I’ve got her.” 

“Mama! Tooster!” Dots screaming out as the thunder outside rawrs on, so much so it even makes you jump a little as you sit up to rest against the headboard, baby bump engorged and in the way of practically everything you did nowadays.

“She sounds like someone’s slitting her throat.” You're tired and swollen and exhausted from unpacking the copious amounts of boxes. “Better hurry Tooster—“ 

“I’m going, I’m up.” You don’t know if Bradley was trying to convince himself or you that he was awake, but regardless—his feet hit the carpet as he pushed his boxer briefs clad self up and out of the comfort of the bed he shared with you every night. “You know you can’t even blame me for this one, she’s all you.” Rooster teases as Dot's ear piercing shrills echo out from down the hall, forcing you and Bradley to both frown and hiss at the overly dramatic sounds escaping from your clearly distressed four year old daughter. “My daughter, your DNA—“ 

“Oh I can’t wait to hear the end of that gag when your daughter is born Bradshaw.” Rooster would from time to time remind you that he had no involvement with the creation of Odette Dolan. Although he loved and cared for her as his own and would tell every Tom Dick and Harry that Odette was his daughter, there was always the odd occasion when she’d do something overly dramatic or totally inappropriate that would remind Bradley Bradshaw that Odette was 100% without a shadow of a doubt not his biological daughter and that whatever personality trait she was exhibiting was passed down by you. “I can’t stand that joke—“

Bradley just laughs to himself as he’s padding around the bed, leaning over, and kissing your lips softly. Placing a gentle hand over your stomach that’s harboring his unborn daughter. One of his old T-shirts adorns your bump. Nothing else quite fit you at the moment. 

“You can’t stand it because it’s the truth mama—“ Bradley coos against your lips.but you and Bradley both know that Odette hangs out with Bradley far too much to not mimic him and his mannerisms. Bradley was Dot’s dad in all the ways that counted, that mattered—and although he’d joke and tease you that she wasn’t his, he loved her far too much to not want her to be. 

Hell, he loved your daughter so much he’d even mentioned the possibility of adopting her, but to be able to legally adopt Dot Bradley had to live in the same house as you and your daughter for at least four years—and Jaidyn needed to relinquish all his parental rights before anything could go through the courts. So—at this point in time, Bradley Bradshaw had his hands tied. He just needed to wait for the right time. 

“MAMA!—“ Dots screaming. “MAMA! HELP—!” 

“Rooster, if you don’t go see what’s wrong she’s going to tear her throat apart.” You sigh, looking up at the man you loved, the man who’d become your best friend, your partner in crime.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Bradley mumbled against your lips just one more time before he’s departing from the bedroom he shared with you. Rubbing his eyes when he hits the hallway light on, the bright hume of yellow and white force him to squint as he wraps his fist around the door handle of Dots door, her cry’s still raging on as he opens it slowly—trying his best not to startle the already hysteric four year old he loved so dearly. 

“Odette darlin? S’wrong baby?” It’s almost instant, as soon as Bradley is taking a step into the darkness of Odette's room—there’s a huge clap of thunder that quite frankly even startled him. He can’t imagine how fast her little heart must be racing as she screams out for painful hot tears of sadness. 

“TOOSTER!!!” 

“Hey, im here baby im here.” Bradley coos as he switches on the fairy lights that hang above and around the top of Dots little toddler bed. It looks like a house delicate white white tulle drapes that hang down the sides and across the top. “I’m here Dot.” 

“I’m scawed—“ She sniffles out, trying to regulate her breathing when she realises her Tooster is here. “S’loud and I had a bad dweam—“ 

“Oh well that's just no good, is it princess.” Bradley’s mumbling as he climbs on into the toddler bed, ducking down so he doesn’t smack his forehead on the white beam that runs across the top. “How about I stay in here for a little while?” 

“Won’t mama miss you?” Dot asks as Bradley lays down again the side of the bed closest to the wall, collecting dot in his strong arms as he settles in. Wrapping his daughter up in his arms against his chest. 

“Hmm, probably, but mamas a big girl you know.” 

“Mamas scared of tunder too.” If there’s one thing Bradley never wants to change is the way Odette talks. She still has trouble with her R’s and K’s and in some cases her H’es, but it just melts his heart. “Is she otay?” 

“Mums more than okay Sweetheart, she’s probably already snoring her head off.” Bradley nuzzles his nose against Dot's cheek, making her giggle as she squirms in his grip. Her tears still wet on her lashes. 

“Mama doesn’t snore.” Dot yawns, climbing herself up onto Rooster's bare chest, the warmth he radiates reminds her that although there’s a fierce and ferocious storm rumbling away outside, she’s safe in her Roosters arms. “You do Tooster.” 

Bradley scoffs out loud, like fuck you don’t snore. You snore louder than he does. It’s because of the baby, he knows it, but still he agrees, closing his eyes because he’s tired and it’s nearing three in the morning. 

“Well now you get to deal with me snoring because I’m not leaving this bed.” Bradley sticks his tongue out, he can’t see Dot smiling down at him as she climbs the expanse of his torso but he hears her laugh. He’d take that sound over her cries any day of the week. “Why does the thunder scare you?” Bradley liked to talk to Dot like she was a big girl, he wanted her to feel like she could always talk to him, always come to him about any of her problems, her trials, her tribulations in life and he’d be there to listen, give advice. “You know your grandma used to tell me that thunder is just Santa busy in his workshop with all his elves and that lightning is just him testing out all his Christmas lights.” 

“But I don’t have a gwandma Tooster, I have a uwncle Jakey.” It was true. Dot didn’t have a set of grandparents on either side of your families. It was something the pair of you never really thought about until you fell pregnant. The idea that your growing family was just so…..small. “Can I meet gwandma?” Dot asked as she finally settled into Rooster’s side. Pulling up his little blush pink covers as she did so. 

“She’s in heaven darlin, been there even before you were born.” Bradley hoped his mum could see him now, being the one thing he thought he’d never be. A dad, a good dad he hoped. 

“Why did mum bownded me?” Bradley couldn’t help but to smile and stifled a loud laugh for this time of night. Rolling over onto his side as Dot laid on hers. He was cramped in her toddler bed that he and Jake had spent far to many hours putting together. But he’d stay here all night if that meant she felt safe. 

“Why did your mum born you?” Bradley cooed, bornded—that was Rooster’s new favourite word. Drinking in the sight of the little girl who looked more like you every day. “Well, If I'm being perfectly honest with you Dotty girl I think your mama bornded you because she needed someone to show her she wasn’t finished fighting.” It was probably a far deeper response than Dot had the capacity to comprehend, but it was what Bradley truly believed. “But she also bornded you because you were in her tummy and she couldn’t keep you there forever, you got too big.”

“Like mama is now with the new baby?” Dot asked as she yawned again, her eyelids heavy as she tried to stay away, enjoying the conversation she was having with her Rooster. “

“Exactly like mama is now.” Bradley replied as he kissed Dots forever, once again wrapping her up in his arms, pulling her close to his chest as she settled into the warmth of his chest. “Get some rest sweetheart, I’ll be here in the morning.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Ow! Ya little turd.” With a grown and a huff you were rolling over in bed. Your unborn daughter was going to grow up to be a kickboxer at this rate, you were sure of it. She’d been using your ribs as target practice for her future opponents from the moment the sun had begun to rise. “Bradley I swear to god if this child of yours doesn’t stop using me as her personal soccer ball I swear I’m gonna opt to get my tubes tied after delivery.” 

When you were met with nothing but silence, you rolled over, a hand caressing your stomach as you did so. To your surprise there was no Bradley, just an empty bed that was closed and lonely. 

“Huh—“ It took you a moment to put the pieces of the foggy puzzle together. It was Sunday which meant sleep in day, but where the hell was your soon to be husband? “Oh! Right!” As if your unborn daughter was telling you that you’d make a great detective, she kicked you hard and kicked you fast against your bladder, forcing you to groan as you struggled to sit up in the middle of the bed your Fiancé had abandoned you in. “Okay, that’s it—you’re definitely your fathers daughter you little shit.” 

As you waddled down the hall, you rubbed your eyes and stretched your back. Feeling awfully large as of late as your daughter overtook your uterus. She was Bradley’s for sure. He was a giant, six foot three on a good day. But even as your annoyance grew, your heart melted as you pushed open the door to your daughter's room and saw Bradley Bradshaw curled up and cramped in your daughter's bed. He dwarfed her, but wrapped in Bradley’s arms laid your sleeping tot. Completely anchored by all the love that radiated off Rooster. 

“I can’t feel my legs—“ Bradley grumbled when he caught your smirk, watching as you leaned against the threshold of the door. “I’ve got pins and needles in my lower back.” 

“If I wasn’t already pregnant Bradshaw you’d be in a world of trouble.” You teased, seeing Bradley all curled up with your daughter in her toddler bed made your heart grow so fond of the man who’d swooped you off your feet a few years ago, kept you safe, protected you from the real monsters of the world. “I like this, I like this a lot.” You giggled, circling your finger Bradley’s way as he tried to sneak out of Odette's bed without disturbing her. 

“Oh really?” Tip toeing across Dots room. Bradley wiggled his eyebrows as his hand’s gravitated towards your baby bump. “That’s good to know—“ He mumbled as his lips took yours hostage before he ducked to kiss your stomach over the shirt of his you wore. “Good morning my beautiful girls.” 

“Love when you go full dad mode.” You beamed, watching as Dot stirred Bradleys shoulder. “It’s a real turn on.” Looking at his watch, which had no watch on it, Bradley mulled over his next move before shooting his shot. 

“I reckon we’ve got about ten minutes before she’s up and at it.” 

“Go—“ You giggled, racing out of Dot's room behind Bradley, two giggling messes, quietly shutting her door behind you. “Go!” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Author Note: If you would like to send in concepts for Terms of Endearment, requests are always open. xxx - Leah

(Dots Bed)

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014  @blindedbythelightt  @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde  @americaarse @avaleineandafryingpan @phoenix1388 @xoxabs88xox @je-suis-prest-rachel @pono-pura-vida @rosiahills22 @starset21 @anarchyrising

[mst3kproject]

The Man Without a Body

You want a real classic MST3K plot point?  How about an animate severed head!

The title character is sixteenth century French astrologer Michel de Nostredame, chiefly remembered under the name 'Nostradamus' for writing down his visions of the future in the form of confusing poetry that could only be interpreted after the events it describes have already come to pass... which strikes me as a pretty useless form of prediction.  What's the point?  Especially when you're talking about stuff centuries in the future so you won't even be around to tell everyone you told them so.  If you're gonna be a dick about it, you can just keep your stupid prophecies to yourself!

Ahem.  Sorry.  The Man Without a Body also has Robert Hutton from The Slime People.

Carl Brussard is a rich fuckwad with a brain tumour.  His doctor suggests he see a specialist in London, Dr. Merritt, who may be able to replace the diseased parts of his brain with new tissue.  That sounds good, but Brussard sees a way to sweeten the deal... what if his new brains were to come with some psychic powers?  To this end, he hires some guys to help him dig up Nostradamus, and gets Dr. Merritt to reanimate the prophet's severed head.  Nostradamus would rather keep his brains, so he ruins Brussard through bad financial advice.  Brussard then goes mad with rage, kills a bunch of people, and destroys the equipment keeping the head alive.  Dr. Merritt tries to save the head by transplanting it onto the body of his lab assistant, whom Brussard had shot, but the brain is damaged, and the resulting composite creature goes on a rampage of its own!

I'm pretty sure even Nostradamus didn't see that coming.

When I say Brussard is a fuckwad, I mean this guy is a fuckwad. Within the first few minutes of the film, a servant tells him his (horrifyingly young) mistress Odette is threatening suicide, and he replies that she should get on with it.  I spent the rest of the movie rooting for the tumour.

As I'm sure you can tell from the summary, The Man Without a Body is fucking bonkers, which makes it that much more shocking that it's fairly competently made.  The sound is good, the print is crisp, and the actors are mostly competent.  Parts of the film were actually shot in London, and there's even a couple of nice practical effects – I particularly enjoyed the preserved eyeball in Dr. Merritt's lab, which is still capable of looking around.  But like, say, Devil Doll, or The Undead, all that hard work went into something that it at best ridiculous and at worst incomprehensible.

You may recall that Devil Doll and The Undead were two of the several MST3K movies that explored the relationship between soul and body.  The Man Without a Body is not interested in this, but another thing it does have in common with those other films is that all three take a fairly interesting idea and then steadfastly refuse to make a story out of it.  Devil Doll was about an evil sorcerer who could trap human souls... and used them to put on a depressing puppet show.  The Undead looked at reincarnation and time travel but never for a moment tried to make sense of either.  The Man Without a Body likewise has something of a cool concept in Nostradamus taking revenge on these people through his confusing prophecies... but instead, the plot just kind of wanders around.

We start off with Brussard's need for a brain transplant.  Dr. Merritt acknowledges that implanting part of somebody else's brain will introduce elements of that person into the host... so is the movie going to be about that, with Brussard inheriting Nostradamus' precognition?  Nope, the transplant never happens and nobody but Brussard really believes it's going to.  Okay, so they've got Nostradamus awake now... is the movie going to be about his gift of prophecy, or maybe about him being pissed off that he wasn't allowed to die when he should have, like Jan in the Pan?  No, he never predicts anything except maybe by lying to Brussard about the stock market, and it's debatable whether that was supernatural.  Perhaps the ending will be Nostradamus' brain taking revenge on its tormentors using the lab assistant's body?  Not that either.  He just wanders off, scares some people, and dies.

Actually, I think the closest MST3K analogue for this movie is not Devil Doll or The Undead, but The She-Creature. The She-Creature was trying to cash in on two popular film motifs at once: reincarnation as in The Search for Bridey Murphy, and murderous fishmen as in Creature from the Black Lagoon. The result was aimless nonsense.  I'm not sure how popular Nostradamus movies were in the late 50's, though I know they were around and would probably appeal to the same demographic as the reincarnation movies, but there were definitely head-in-a-pan films and we've seen several on this very blog.  It's not hard to imagine somebody trying to combine them, but as in The She-Creature, they couldn't find a way to make the pieces fit together coherently. Which is very weird, because you'd think 'mad scientists bring Nostradamus' head back to life' would write itself.  You just have to have him prophesy their doom.

I cannot imagine why you would make a movie with Nostradamus in it, and then never have him predict anything.  As I noted above, his whole thing was predicting the future in deliberately obscure verse!  He did other stuff, but that's what he's remembered for.  If his revenge on Brussard had been to give him some cryptic prophecy that Brussard thinks means 'sell your stock' when it really meant the opposite, that would be Nostradamus-y, but in the actual movie he just tells him, “sell.”  If there's no prophecy in the movie, then why did the head even have to be Nostradamus? They talk about his predictions... why does he never make one?  It's like if they made a movie about King Henry VIII and never mentioned any of his wives.

(Yes, that shot is in this movie.  No, I don't think I will explain.)

One thing I did like was how The Man Without a Body avoids mad scientist stereotypes in the character of Dr. Merritt.  When I first saw his lab, full of organs being kept alive in tanks of Science Juice and a living monkey head just sitting on a table blinking at people, I was sure this guy would be a classic cackling nut case.  To my surprise, he turns out to be the sanest guy in the room, especially any room he shares with Carl Brussard.  Once Nostradamus awakens, Merritt very sensibly wants to talk to him and learn from him, while Brussard is still obsessed with the transplant, telling his life story to the head and trying to convince Nostradamus that he is Carl Brussard!

I guess Brussard's increasing instability is the actual plot of the movie, though that really reduces Nostradamus' head to one hell of a cameo appearance.  There are a couple of other things, like Odette trying to bribe Merritts' lab assistant into letting Brussard die, or Brussard's watery attempts to save his fortune, that go nowhere at all, so this is what we're left with.  Either way, the absolutely most bizarre non sequitur in a movie full of weird irrelevancies is the ending.  Dr. Merritt decides that the best shot he has at saving Nostradamus' head is to transplant it onto the dead body of his lab assistant.  One might assume that this would give Nostradamus at last the power to escape his captors (I'm sure we all agree that the first thing Jan in the Pan would have done with a body was to murder Bill).  Instead, we are told that the brain was damaged by the electric shock and the result is merely a shambling abomination.

I guess this is supposed to be a tragedy, since the characters have been describing Nostradamus as one of history's greatest minds.  They make a point of saying that he understands the modern science they've been teaching him, and the audience imagines that he might go on to contribute to it, maybe with Brussard's fortune for funding. Instead, that mind is destroyed by the most unnecessary of accidents. What the audience actually feels is mainly disappointment that the film-makers didn't have a little more imagination.  The ideas behind the movie are so loopy that we really expected more out of it at every point, especially when it climaxes in a monster stumbling around frightening random strangers.

It's really hard to make a human head grafted onto a human body sound like a monster, and it seems that the people who made this movie had trouble making it look like one, too.  Rather than just being... well, a guy with stitches in his neck... the composite creature has some kind of bandage-covered box around its face.  This looks very strange, and I have no idea what it's meant to represent.  Maybe it's there to make the creature's silhouette easily recognizable in night sequences?  It looks fucking ridiculous, and makes the final moments of the movie into an absolute joke.  Again, I think Nostradamus is supposed to have hanged himself because he doesn't want to live as a monster, but his head was only just sewn on this other guy's body so the stitches rip and the body falls, leaving this giant box of head swinging in the ropes.

I'm glad I don't try to rate he movies I watch, because I would have no idea what score to give this one.  It's definitely bad: it's very slow and spends a lot of time on irrelevant bullshit, and it doesn't seem to know what to do with a situation that should obviously be expected to go in certain directions but never does.  On the other hand, the ideas behind the movie are so weird that I kind of want to recommend it, just so you can have the experience of sitting there in silent amazement, wondering who the hell came up with this shit.

[ladybeug]

so, swan lake themed miraculous ladybug episode -

There’s a ballet dancer, and she thinks she’s the best ballet dancer in paris, and she tries out for swan lake because she wants to be odette. She is not cast as odette, and she’s so angry that she gets akumatized about it. 

While that’s happening, there’s a loosely swan-lake themed plotline where adrien sees a girl he thinks is ladybug - but he’s not sure. she’s got black pigtails and everything and he risks being late to class in order to follow her down a couple streets, trying to get a good look, to see if she’s ladybug. he eventually has to go to class but it’s bothering him that he wasn’t SURE if it was ladybug. He wonders if they’re not soul mates bc he can’t recognize ladybug on the street, or something. 

Class is interrupted for an akuma attack. The akuma is the black swan, who dances around paris terrorizing everyone and insisting she’s the best ballet dancer in paris: 

She challenges everyone to a dance, and magics them into compliance, and then insists that she’s a better dancer than them. Once she’s established she’s a better dancer, she announces that they can’t dance the role of odette, and instead she magically casts them as minor roles in swan lake. like, the cignettes, or the national dancers, or something. They have to go around dancing like their role. (Chloe gets recast as a jester, and she does very funny jumps and leaps and hates it) 

Enter ladybug and chat noir: they see people dancing and leap into action! chat noir goes in for a pretty simple strike but as soon as he gets within like, 10 feet of the black swan, she challenges him to dance and he’s like, ‘no way!’ but she says ‘then why are you already on pointe’ and he looks down and he is indeed already on his tip toes, ready to dance, so he tip-toes away from her as fast as possible to avoid confrontation and casting. 

ladybug and chat noir can’t fight her because they can’t get close enough without being invited to dance. Ladybug casts lucky charm to help and her lucky item is a macaron. Indeed, the solution is to feed the kwamis magical ballet themed kwami transformers, or whatever that stuff is. yknow like in frozer. They turn into ballet dancers, with magical ballet outfits, that look like odette and siegfried. i drew ladybug’s but chat noir’s came out bad. please someone else draw it. hes gotta be wearing tights and a little prince jacket... anyways,  ladybug -

(bonus: ladybug concept sketch:)

As ballet dancers, chat noir and ladybug challenge the black swan to a dance. They do the pas de deux from act 2 across the rooftops, and kick black swan’s ass. I don’t know how but i imagine them doing this thing where odette falls backwards and siegfried has to move to catch her. But off of buildings. And still with the grace and control of ballet dancers. 

Black swan is forced to admit that..... she is NOT the best ballet dancer. She surrenders, and ladybug is able to break her akumatized ballet slippers and free her. 

Chat noir, overcome with the romance of their dance, gets all starry-eyed at ladybug. She is like okay... see you later then.... and he says ‘yeah... <3<3<3...’ and when he transforms back he talks to plagg all dreamy-eyed about how the girl he saw earlier wasn’t ladybug because when he meets ladybug there will be no doubt he’ll recognize her instantly. 

plagg is like sure buddy. sure. 

end episode. 

[1dfangirls35]

The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers ballet au in 5 acts

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think

Banner: @booksncoffee​

Act II

Sorry for the intermission guys but I’m back! 

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion. 

Eight Weeks Until Opening Night

Giselle's left hand grips the cool metal of the bar, her legs shaking uncontrollably beneath her -a result no doubt, of her five mile run this morning before rehearsals. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea after all.

Giselle hears Teagan enter the studio after her, announcing her entrance with the loud thud of her duffle bag hitting the floor. Giselle watches as Teagan grabs her pointe shoes out of the bag, taking a seat on the floor a few feet away from Giselle.

Giselle hates that Teagan has to be here, taking part in Giselle's solo rehearsals. The role of Odette was challenging enough- a true feat of technical perfection and stamina. She didn't need Teagan, the person who could snatch her dream role out from under her with just a few missteps, to watch her struggle through her early rehearsals. It makes Giselle feel like she is the prey, and Teagan is lurking in the shadows simply waiting for a moment of weakness to swoop in and swallow her up.

"How are rehearsals with Harry going?" Teagan asks, breaking the silence.

"Fine," Giselle responds shortly. But rehearsals are not going fine. They are an all-out disaster.

In the week and a half since the cast list had been announced, Giselle and Harry had yet to practice beyond their scheduled company rehearsals and it was showing. Giselle had tried on numerous occasions to suggest they work on the basics on their own but Harry had pushed it aside saying, "You've just got to know the choreography better."  Giselle left every rehearsal feeling like a complete and utter failure- unworthy of dancing with the likes of Harry Styles.

"A dancer like that can make anyone look good," Teagan says with a tone that implies that Giselle needs some help "looking good". Giselle ignores the comment, instead, mentally running through the choreography for the Act II variation.

Anna Elliot interrupts Giselle's mental rehearsal as she enters the room. It's strange to see Anna in a black tracksuit instead of a leotard and tights, her dark black hair falling around her shoulders instead of pulled back into its usually neat bun. Her face looks tired; her usual bright smile absent. Giselle supposes it can't be easy for her to be on the other side of the stage, leading the rehearsal instead of dancing it.

"Ladies," she announces. "We are going to run through the Act II variation today. Giselle, you'll go first."

Giselle nods, pulling up the waistband of her white practice tutu as she positions herself upstage center in the studio. She tries to ignore Teagan's narrow eyes staring at her as the pianist begins  to play.

As she dances Giselle thinks through each and every movement. Smooth développé, lifted attitude, airy bourrées. When she finishes her chaîné turns at the end of the variation, she exhales deeply- not realizing how much she had been holding her breath.

She looks towards Anna for approval. "Nicely done Giselle. Now I'd like you to work on those  chaînés at the end. Really make sure they are tight and quick."

Giselle nods in understanding.

"But overall, beautiful execution of the choreography. We really just need to fine tune."

Giselle smiles smugly, glancing at Teagan who stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Teagan," Anna announces, gesturing for the understudy to take her stab at the variation. Giselle watches as Teagan runs the variation, but mentally she's thinking about all the things she could have done better in her own.

"Well done, Teagan. Now your attitudes were a little sloppy, let's work on really lengthening that back leg and lifting your chest okay?" Teagan nods. "But I loved the emotion that you put into your dancing. Giselle?" Anna calls, grabbing her attention. "Did you notice the emotion that Teagan puts into her movements? It's something that I'd like you to work on incorporating into your variation. The audience needs to feel what Odette is feeling through you. Let's do it from the top."

Giselle runs the routine again. She tries to 'portray the emotion' like Anna wants, but instead her heads caught up in executing her turns and keeping her arms sharp. When she ends the variation, Anna looks over at her with disappointed eyes. "More" is all she says.

Giselle runs it again. And another time. And each time, Anna tells her it is not enough. That Giselle needs to embrace being Odette. That the audience needs to understand the pain of her being trapped in this body of a swan with no escape.

"Teagan, why don't you run again. Giselle pay close attention this time."

Giselle feels her frustration grow as she watches Teagan again. Teagan's movements are still sloppy, and she messes up the step-over turns at the end, but when she finishes Anna looks over at Giselle like they've just watched the most magnificent performance. "That is the emotion I need to see Giselle."

Anna looks down at her watch. "Well I think our rehearsal time is up for today. Keep working on that emotion Giselle, its a very important part of this ballet."

Giselle nods and smiles, but inside her guts are wrenching at the thought of this rehearsal getting back to her mother. She has to do better. She must.

******

If Harry had learned one thing in his time as a professional ballet dancer, it was that relationships and commitments were the hidden poison of a professional dancer's career. He'd watched many sets of partners fall in love, only to ruin their careers in the aftermath of their failed relationship.

That is why Harry chose to remain unattached. Well, the why he chose to accept anyway. He wasn't a man that ignored his needs, but a night with Harry Styles was just that- a night. No feelings and no attachments.

Take for example the girl he took home last week after the party for his addition to the company. What was her name again? Eliza, yes that's right. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Eliza. She was pretty, a fair conversationalist and perfectly good in bed. Harry had supposed she must even be a decent ballerina, considering she was a corps de ballet member at the American Ballet Theatre. But to Harry, Eliza had only been a nice shag and a body to fall asleep next to on a night when a bustling New York City felt a little too lonely.

Apparently, however, Harry had been less than clear with dear Eliza about this, because as Harry chats with the tall, auburn-haired dancer standing in front of him as they warm up for company class, he can see the daggers of jealousy emitting from Eliza's eyes. He doesn't know this girl's name, the new one, but he can already sense the desire wafting from her body. The way she's learning forward to be closer to him as she stretches. The way she's laughing theatrically with every word that Harry says. The way her eyes are lingering on his lips for just a second too long as he speaks. He's beginning to think she might be a little much for him and makes a mental note to choose a different spot at the barre for tomorrow's company class.

He knows he's in trouble when the second the reverence ends, Eliza rushes over to him with and without saying a word slaps him across the cheek with more force than he thought possible out of her thin little arms.

Harry's skin stings from the blow, the corner of his eye watering ever so slightly. He presses a hand to the injured tissue in response to the attack. But this is not the first time Harry's received such an offense, and it likely won't be the last.

"So what are you just jumping on to the next one?" she shrieks. Harry looks around the room, noticing that people have stopped packing up their things and are now staring at him like he's a caged animal at the zoo.

"I'm sorry love, I'm not sure what you mean," Harry says in a low voice, hoping to signal to this highly emotional girl that this was not the time nor the place to have a reaction like this.

His words, however, appear to have the opposite effect because he watches her eyes flair with a new burst of anguish.

"Rachel!" the girl shouts, as if Harry has the foggiest idea who Rachel is. "Everyone in the room could see how much she was flirting with you. Did last weekend mean nothing to you?!" Eliza's thrown her hands up now, gesturing wildly in a way that's anything but graceful. "You said you would call and you never did."

Harry glances at his audience.  Mistress Ivanova is standing in  the corner with her arms crossed, looking less than pleased. He grabs Eliza's arm, pulling her towards the door and into the hallway. "Let's take this outside."

When they stop in the hallway, dancers bustling past them on the way to their next rehearsal. Eliza looks up at him. Her brown eyes are tinged with red and Harry wonders if she's about to cry. He'd made a mistake with this one clearly. She was too emotional. Too clingy. Too easily attached. "I never said I would call." Harry says softly, trying to keep his voice calm but firm.

"But you said you had a 'lovely time last night. Thank you.' Eliza sniffles.

She isn't wrong about that. Harry thought. And he did have a lovely time. He usually had a lovely time. But that certainly didn't mean he planned to repeat it. "I did have a lovely time Eliza." he begins, watching as her eyes flicker with something resembling hope. "But that doesn't mean I was going to call."

"It doesn't?" the girl sniffed, bringing her hand up to wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

"Listen, love. I don't do dating. I don't do commitments. I don't do relationships. It's nothing against you. I'm certain you're a lovely girl. It's just..." Harry pauses. "How I do things."

Eliza looks at him wide-eyed, like Harry has just burst her forty-eight hour fantasy that they were going to run away together and travel the world and fall in love.

"I'm sorry if you got the impression that that was simply more than a one night thing. That was never my intention."

"Okay," she says timidly, and he can tell she's embarrassed. She shouldn't be- she wasn't the first girl to react like this. Harry seemed to draw admirers to him like mosquitos to sitting water. Some knew it couldn't be more than a one-night stand, others, like Eliza, reveled in the fantasy that they were the one that would convert Harry Styles into a life of commitment. The later were always disappointed.

"Are we good then? This won't happen again?" Harry raises his eyebrow. He's already fearing the repercussions he may get from Eliza's little outburst. He is already on a short leash here at ABT, and this was surely not going to help matters.

"We're good," she replies softly, but her face is filled with defeat.

"Well then, off to rehearsals." Harry adjusts his duffle bag across his shoulder and makes his way towards his rehearsal studio.

Harry already knows he's late when he enters the rehearsal studio. Giselle's standing there with her arms crossed, tapping the tip of her pointe shoe against the floor with impatience. She doesn't scare him, but the face of Mistress Ivanova when he enters the room does.

"Mr. Styles," she announces with a voice that resembles that of a mother about to lecture her young child. "Let me be the first to say that I take little interest in who you choose to spend your personal time with. When the choices made in that personal time, however, disturb my class and my rehearsals, it becomes my business. What happened today was completely unacceptable. And it will not happen again. May I remind you that you are on a very short leash here at ABT. Another incident like today and you will be replaced."

Six months ago, when Harry was at the Royal, he might have argued back. Reminded this instructor that she could replace him all she wanted but that people had bought their season tickets to see HIM- not some understudy. Reminded Mistress Ivanova that he could have a spot at any company in the world, and that it was HER job to make sure he stayed. But that kind of reaction, that thought process, was exactly what had landed him in this position in the first place- half a world away from home. Alone and at risk of losing a career in dance. So he bites his tongue and simply replies, "I understand."

He glances over at Giselle, who has something resembling a smirk across her face. When his eyes meet hers she quickly turns away.

"Now, we are going to work on the Act II white adagio today. I presume you two have spent some time together working on partnering so this should go smoothly." Mistress Ivanova claps her hands and signals the pianist to begin playing the music.

The fact that they hadn't practiced quickly becomes apparent. Their timing is completely off, the promenades are wobbly,  and the dancing seems forced and unfamiliar.

"Maybe if you weren't making your way through the entire corps de ballet we could actually rehearse together," Giselle mutters under her breath as Mistress Ivanova leaves the room with a face that looks less than pleased.

"Maybe if you didn't act like I was about to drop you every time we promenade..." Harry begins.

"How do I know you aren't going to drop me when we've barely danced together?!"

Harry laughs. "I'm Harry Styles. I don't drop my partners, no matter how...annoying I may find them."

"Oh please," Giselle rolls her eyes. "Are you trying to make everyone in this company hate you? I mean if you keep at it with the corps and you'll have to skip company class all together." Giselle preps for a pirouette then relevés, feeling Harry's firm grip on her waist as she turns and he stops her abruptly. "Although I don't know, I get the sense that you like all that attention."

"Believe me Giselle," he accentuates the end of her name like it's a bad sound. "The last thing I want is to get emotionally involved with any of these company members."

Giselle preps for a pirouette again, this time Harry stops her smoothly, and she comes to balance in passé before lowering herself back onto her heels.

"Seems like Eliza was emotionally involved this morning. Sex will do that to people."

"Sex is just dancing without clothes, love." Harry replies, and the way his eyes meet hers in the mirror while his hands are placed on her waist sends a shiver down Giselle's spine. "Haven't you ever spent the night with someone just to escape?"

"Of course." Giselle responds, stumbling in her words only slightly. "But I know the importance of keeping my career and my private life separate."

The truth of the matter was, of late, Giselle hadn't had much of a private life. It was ballet this, ballet that. Any hours not spent in the studio were spent icing her achying feet and tired muscles. Giselle had done it once, the whole relationship thing. He was a young businessman who she met at a fundraiser for the company and he had been wonderful. Until she began to spend time with him instead of in the studio, and her mother quickly noticed her regression of skills.

Natalia Korsakova had been quick to express her distaste in the relationship and the effect it was having on her daughter's dancing. But luckily (or unluckily) for Giselle, she didn't have to be the one to break it off. One night she was laying in bed, watching a movie with a man she thought she might be falling for. Two days later, he simply stopped answering her texts or picking up his phone. He simply dropped out of Giselle's life with no explanation.

After that, Giselle knew better then to get involved with anyone who might distract her from her career. She decided maybe it was for the better, after all if there was one theme to be taken from the world of ballet, it was that love rarely ended in happy endings. There were far too many leads who sacrificed their lives in the name of love and for what? A pretty pas de deux in a pancake tutu of the afterlife?

"Hmm," Harry replies, but by the way his lips have formed into a kind of half smirk Giselle doesn't think he believes her.

They run through the variation again. It's better, their timing not nearly as disasterous as it had been a half hour earlier, but it still feels off. Unfamiliar. Like they were two strangers dancing, which Giselle supposed they were.

Mistress Ivanova doesn't return to the studio. Instead, it's Viktor who appears, twisting his hands together in awkwardness as he steps towards the front of the room. "Mistress Ivanova sent me in to run you through the variation again. She says she doesn't want to see it again until it, and I quote," Viktor pauses for emphasis. "No longer looks like it's torture to dance with each other."

Giselle hears a low chuckle leave Harry's lips. Was he amused by this? The fact that his inability to do what was asked of him had pissed off Mistress Ivanova.

"Let's run it. From the top," Viktor gestures to the pianist that has also returned to the room.

Giselle sighs, taking a deep breath before making her way to the starting point. The run the piece once- Giselle falls from the promenade. A second time- Harry doesn't stop her on the last pirouette. The third time is less technically faulty, but when Viktor stops them again, his face looks less than thrilled.

"Look guys, I know it can't be easy, being thrown into rehearsals with someone you've never danced with before. All your issues can be fixed easily once you are more comfortable with each other. More familiar with each others movements. It's going to take time, and rehearsal. And that's going to have to be rehearsal outside of normal hours."

Giselle glances over at Harry. His lips are formed in a straight line- emotionless.

"Just please. Practice before next weeks rehearsal with her?" Viktor's eyes are pleading this time, like he doesn't want to have to be the bad guy in this situation anymore.

Giselle nods, but out of the corner of her eye she notices that Harry remains completely still.

"Well, that's all for today. Thanks guys." Viktor announces before leaving the studio.

Giselle sits down, untying the ribbon of her pointe shoes. "So when would you be available to practice?"

Harry scoffs. "Practice? I don't think I'm the one that needs to learn the fucking choreography."

Giselle is taken aback by Harry's harsh tone. But she wasn't going to put up with this. Like it or not she was Harry's partner. And like it or not, they were going to have to put in some time if they wanted to keep their roles as the stars of the show. Harry was simply going to have to realize that he had just as much to practice as she does.

"No one said anything about the choreography," Giselle replies, her voice strong. "This isn't the Royal, Harry you can't go walking around like you own the place."

"And you can?" Harry scoffs. "Just because your mother's got a spot on the board doesn't make you the star of the show, love."

The word love at the end of his sentence almost cushions the blow of his words. Almost.

"You don't know the first thing about my relationship with my mother," Giselle spit back.

"And you don't know anything about starring in a show-clearly."

Giselle doesn't respond to this one. Instead she just narrows her eyes. "Tomorrow night, after rehearsals. This studio. We have to practice Harry, I won't have Mistress Ivanova storm out of another one of our rehearsals."

"And what are you going to do if I don't show? Are you going to run and cry to your mummy?" Harry taunts.

Giselle stands, slinging her bag across her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow," she states firmly.

She can feel her blood boiling as she exits the studio and makes her way towards the staircase. If this was what it was like to be Odette, maybe she wasn't cut out for it. It was hard to imagine a scenario and which her and Harry's partnership would result in a magnificent performance.

"Giselle!" she turns and sees Viktor from the corner of eye, near the end of the hallway. He rushes towards her.

"Good job today. Harry may not be the most..." he stops, his mind searching for the word, "enthusiastic partner."

Giselle offers a weak smile. "You can say that again."

"If you ever want extra practice, I'd be more than happy to run through any of the variations with you. It may not be the solution to all your problems but..."

"Thank you Viktor, I appreciate it." She smiles and makes a step towards the door. "Sorry to hear about your retirement by the way, I'll really miss watching you on stage."

Viktor shrugs. "I guess sometimes it's just time to let one journey come to an end. You won't miss me too much though, I'm gonna be more involved with rehearsals." He smiles, but Giselle can see that behind his blue eyes, pain hides.

"Good. Well, I better go get some rest. Caleb has been texting me non-stop about our dinner plans for the evening," Giselle gestures towards the stairs.

"Better get on that then, don't want to keep the man waiting. Good night Giselle."

"Goodnight," she replies.

******************************

Giselle wishes she hadn't agreed on dinner with Caleb as she opens the door to her apartment. But Caleb was her best friend, and after a long day of rehearsals, his company was something that she desperately needed.

As Giselle sets her black duffle bag on the floor inside her bedroom, her phone begins to ring on the kitchen counter. She leaps across the floor to reach it, but when she glances down, the name on the screen makes her pulse quicken. Could this day get any worse?

"Hello mother," Giselle brings the phone to her ear, walking over to the couch and laying down, her feet up in the air.

"Giselle," her mother replies curtly. There's no darling at the end of her name. That's how Giselle knows this isn't a happy check-in motherly phone call. It's going to be the kind of phone call Giselle wishes she could mute. But then again, that's what everyone of mother's phone calls was.

"I ran into Mistress Ivanova this afternoon. I have to say Giselle, I was quite disappointed when I asked about rehearsals and she told me that she had to leave your pas de deux rehearsal because of how much work needed to be done. How many times have we discussed the importance of going into rehearsals prepared?"

Only a million times. Giselle responds in her head, but instead she remains silent.

"Now what on earth is going on between you and Harry Styles? Do you know how hard we worked to bring him here? I hope you are being a good partner. Have you been following that diet I sent you? Getting your extra mile in in the mornings?"

"Yes mother," she responds in monotone. She won't mention the street tacos Caleb is bringing over for dinner. She can't listen to that lecture tonight. "I've been trying to get Harry to put in the extra time, but he seems uninterested."

"Well try harder Giselle. You can't be the reason he doesn't stay at the company. Can you imagine the embarrassment I would get if my own daughter was the reason we lost out on one of the premier male ballet dancers of this generation? I don't know if I could show my face at a board meeting ever again."

Of course it was her own reputation her mother was concerned about. It didn't matter that Harry Styles might ruin Giselle's chances of every making principal. All that mattered was that Natalia Korsakova maintained her legacy.

Giselle hears a knock at the door. Caleb, thank god. She rises from the couch and makes her way to the door. "Find a way to get things going with Harry.  Rehearse with him. Next time I speak with Mistress Ivanova I don't want to hear a negative thing about your performance." Giselle opens the door to see a smiling Caleb, brown paper bag in hand. "You have to do better Giselle, this may be your only opportunity to prove you can dance at a principal level."

Caleb mouths "Your mom?" and Giselle nods as he enters the apartment, setting the bag on the table and then making his way towards the white cupboards for plates.

"I know mom. It won't happen again. Listen, I've got to go. Caleb's going to run through Act II with me for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay," her mother sighs on the other line. Like it's a terrible inconvenience for her to have been on the phone for so long. "But don't forget to reach out to Harry about rehearsals too."

"I won't. Goodbye mom."

"Bye," Natalia responds, but Giselle barely hears her words before hanging up.

Giselle slams her phone down on the kitchen table which results in a raised eyebrow from Caleb "What'd she have to lecture you on today?"

"My disaster of a pas de deux rehearsal," Giselle shakes her head, making her way to the sink and filling a glass of water.

"And why was it such a disaster?" Caleb asks, setting a plate and napkin in front of Giselle's spot.

"Because Mistress Ivanova walked out on us,"

Giselle watches as shock fills her best friend's face. He stops what he is doing. "She what?"

"She walked out. And she won't rehearse with us again until we don't 'look like it's torture to dance with each other."

"It's that bad?" Caleb asks, now taking a bite of his taco.

"Worse. I mean it's been almost two weeks since cast posting and Harry has yet to agree to practice with me outside of rehearsals. I mean how our we ever going to dance with each other if we don't practice!"

Caleb opens his mouth to say something but Giselle continues. "I finally had enough today. I told him we are practicing tomorrow night. Doubt he shows though. And then what? My one chance to prove myself and it's a complete disaster."

"Gi," Caleb says, reaching for her hand across the table. "Take a deep breath."

She looks into his brown eyes and follows as they inhale and exhale in unison. It was an action they'd done a million times before, backstage awaiting their first performance as company members, when Caleb submitted his first choreographed routine to a local amateur dance company. It always seemed to bring them back to center, wherever they were, whatever the stressor, one deep breathe and things began to fall back into place.

Giselle would like to say that this worked a miracle. That the thought of failing her mother yet again wasn't racing through her mind. But it still was. Fainter, but still lingering.

"I just don't know what to do with him, Caleb. Harry Styles has to be the worst partner in the world."

"He's definitely proved why he got kicked out of the Royal. Guy's got an attitude."

"Why couldn't you be my partner?" Giselle sighed.

"Because, as Mistress Ivanova would say. I waste too much of my time on that choreography dream," Caleb sighs.

"It's not a waste of time, Caleb. You're choreography is groundbreaking."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But do you know what is groundbreaking? These tacos."

Giselle hasn't touched the fried, greasy mess wrapped in foil in front of her. To be honest, she isn't even hungry. If she had been alone in her apartment, she'd likely have opted for a salad, if anything at all. But Caleb was one of those people who believed food was the best cure after a long day. And Giselle needed his company more than anything, so she forces down the greasiness bite by bite.

Caleb begins to fill Giselle in on his own Swan Lake rehearsals. As well as the piece he is choreographing that he hopes Gregory, the artistic director will consider for the school showcase come spring. Then he updates her as always, on Finn, the coffee shop owner from down the street that he is infatuated with.

As they chat, Caleb's favorite street tacos grow heavy in Giselle's stomach.

Giselle makes her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her with a click. She examines herself in the mirror, bringing a hand up to pull at her cheek. Her chin looks large, like she's had just a few too many street tacos, and her collarbones lack the definition that usually makes them stand out from her shoulders. Her mom's words echo through her mind. "Eat less Giselle. Exercise more Giselle. You need to be a good partner Giselle."

Giselle doesn't want to. She's been so good for so long, but yet- the urge is coming over her and it's so strong she can't ignore it, because she just knows that if she does this she will feel better. Just this once. Just until that heavy feeling of greasy street food is no longer lingering in her stomach.

She flips on the faucet, letting the sound of running water drum in the background.

She walks over to the toilet and kneels down, the gray ceramic tile of her bathroom floor is cold and hard, and her knees crack as she adjusts her weight. She leans over the toilet, her mouth open and her fingers nearby, willing up the strength to just do it. A few moments, and she could forget those tacos happened all together.

Giselle closes her eyes and executes and soon her dinner is staring back at her from the toilet bowl. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, reaching up and flushing the evidence. She then moves to the sink, cupping water into her hands until there's enough to gargle in her throat and rinse the sour taste from her mouth. She reaches for the pink toothbrush on the corner of the counter, applying a thin line of mint toothpaste before beginning to brush.

As she brushes, she tells herself this is just a one time thing. A solution to one poor dietary decision. She wasn't falling back into her old habits. This wouldn't happen again.

As she spit out the minty foam and looked in the mirror once more, Giselle told herself she felt better.

"Gi?" Caleb knocks on the door, bringing her out of her trance. "You alright in there?"

Giselle opens the door quickly, forcing a smile on her face. "Fine, tacos just didn't settle well." She pushes towards the couch, eager to get something else on her mind. "Shall we watch the next episode of The Crown?"

"Sounds perfect," Caleb replies, settling into the couch beside her.

**********************

Harry's not sure who is more surprised as he walks into the rehearsal studio later the next afternoon- Giselle or himself. He hadn't wanted to show up. But after the events with Eliza and the way rehearsal went, he knew he didn't have much choice. This didn't have to become a regular occurrence, just enough to get the Director off his back - and his obnoxious partner. Plus, dancing was better than sitting in his tiny New York City apartment alone, which seemed to have become even more lonely in recent weeks.

"Look who decided to make an appearance," Giselle says, hands on her hips as Harry slings his duffle bag to the side of the room.

"Yes I'm here. No need to gloat about it," Harry snaps. He wasn't sure what had come over him lately, this newfound bitterness. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that for the first time in his career, he was feeling the pressure of messing up. He could lose everything.

Harry had always been arrogant. He knew that about himself. It was the role he played to protect himself- from getting too close and getting hurt all over again. But as this personality trait slowly burned through his professional life, he began to wonder if it was doing more harm than good.

"Well then," he asks. "Shall we rehearse?" He looks at Giselle, who simply stares at him. The tip of her pointe shoe tapping against the Marley floor. What was she waiting for?

"Look Giselle, you don't like me. I get it. I'm not particularly fond of you either, but I showed up today and I'm ready to figure this out. This partnership. So can we please just rehearse?"

Giselle stares at him, slightly amused by the reversal of roles- the fact that for once Harry Styles was the one begging for her to practice with him. Her lips curve into a half smile. "Okay."

"I think we should go back to the basics. Finger pirouettes, whip turns, the whole lot." Giselle nods in agreement. Where had this Harry come from? She felt like at any moment she might jolt awake from her bed and realize this was all a dream, because this was certainly not the version of Harry Styles she had encountered during their first two weeks as partners. She wants to ask him about his sudden change of heart, but decides to bite her tongue. It didn't matter why Harry was here, just that he was.

Giselle stands in front of Harry her feet in relevé. She reaches for his hands, one above her and one beside her.

"How's that for grip?" Harry asks.

Giselle's startled that he's asking for her input. "Good...ya...let's just see..." She raises her leg to passé, then développé it to the front and turns. "Maybe bring my left arm a little more forward," she suggests, then turns again. "Yes that's better."

They continue this formula through the basics. Whip turns, fish dips, shoulder sits, promenades. Harry tells Giselle when she's not holding enough of her weight. Giselle tells Harry when his grip is too strong, too lose.

He's calmer today- more present. Giselle can see that he actually could be a very good partner- when he tries too. He's gentle with his lifts, steady with his balance, and although she doesn't trust him fully, she doesn't get the sense that he's going to purposefully let her fall on her face.

Giselle even thinks, that as she stares into Harry's eyes after a dip- that there's a glimmer of softness between the strong green hue. She sees why women find him attractive. Why girls in the corps fawn over him. His jawline was flawless- razor sharp. What are you thinking Giselle, she thinks to herself. All the beauty in the world can't hide his personality.

"Shall we run Act II?" Harry asks, and Giselle is shocked. She figured that she'd only be able to convince Harry to rehearse for an hour tops, and two had already passed.

"I think that would be good," she says.

Harry nods as they move to their places. Act II goes smoother than it has before. There's still hiccups. Giselle's body still feels unfamiliar in his hands and he can't anticipate her movements like he could Mia's- but Giselle's confidence has grown and he thinks there's a potential for this not to end in full on disaster.

She's quite good actually. Her technique is near flawless- no doubt due to the hours of late nights she spends in the studio. And Harry realizes that maybe he has been a bit unfair to her. She still was annoying, a perfectionist, too wrapped up in the movement instead of simply dancing- but she was a good dancer. She had potential.

"Think that's enough for tonight," Giselle pants, out of breath from their third run-through of the pas de deux. "Shall we do this again tomorrow?" After the words leave her mouth, she wonders if this is pushing it to far. Maybe she should have settled for one rehearsal with Harry. Getting him to show up for to rehearsals two nights in a row seemed highly unlikely.

"Okay," Harry responds, his answer shocking even himself. "I think we are getting somewhere. It just takes time." He makes his way over to the bar, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings.

Giselle sits on the ground, unwrapping the silk ribbon of her pointe shoes.

"You know the steps Giselle and I'll make sure you look good out there. Promise," he says, and Giselle thinks that maybe she can see even a hint of a smile.

Giselle pulls her foot out of her shoe, folding her tights back to reveal her stinging blistered feet. She glances over at Harry, his face buried against his leg at the bar- his tights showing off his perfectly toned leg. It makes her think about him- the rumors about his arrival at ABT. She knows she shouldn't ruin the moment but she can't help herself. The words slip out.

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?" Harry asks, but the smirk on his face tells Giselle that he already knows exactly what she is about to ask about.

"Sleep with the director's wife."

"What's it to you?" Harry mutters, placing his other leg on the barre and stretching against it, the muscles of his back growing taunt beneath his white T-shirt.

Giselle shrugged. She didn't know why she was asking. She didn't care. Whatever had transpired at the Royal to bring Harry Styles into her studio was said and done. It's not like she could ship him back there, much to her dismay. "Just wanted to know if there was any fact behind the rumors."

"I could have," Harry says the sharp green of his eyes temporarily dimming. "There are countless women who have thrown themselves at my feet during my career, Mrs. Abbot included."

"But if you didn't... why'd you leave the Royal?"

"Now why would I tell you that when there's such a good story brewing in the company? I hate to kill a good rumor," He chuckles, his voice deep and velvety. He picks up his bag, sliding it across his body in one fluid movement. "Goodnight Giselle. I'll see you tomorrow."

And for the first time Giselle found herself not watching Harry Styles walk away with a feeling of distaste, but a feeling of curiosity.

Taglist:

@tpwkhoney​ ,  @swtxel , @stylessugarhigh

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 1! Reader's job has no chill and Wanda means well (Tony does too), but, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Reader discovers the source of some peculiar things and can't help but be overcome with curiosity. F-bombs galore!

Fun fact: this story's main soundtrack is Claire de Lune, for some reason. Usually I can't stand classical music.

I didn't anticipate my first day at the bodega to be remarkful in any way but I was quickly proven wrong. My expectations were low: few customers, some of them flat-earthers of the garden variety, perhaps one or two of those 'witches' from social media blogging platforms and an overzealous Satanist or two, since I was pretty sure I saw an Ouija board and a silver pentagram hanging in Odette's office on the day of the interview.

Boy was I wrong.

We averaged a customer every fifteen minutes with each person requesting increasingly strange items: healing quartz and sage were on the closer end of normal; I felt like I had teleported to Hogwarts and was now attending Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class, having to race between the high shelves and memorize the exact location of each and every ingredient. In the end, I sacrificed a few dollars and bought one of the beautiful, leather-bound notebooks off Odette to write down the shelf and position number for the most commonly requested items and planned to begin memorizing them at home.

There's a little bit of Ravenclaw in all of us, I supposed. My curiosity only extended further: sometimes, a haggard looking person would come up and declare they had an appointment with Odette and was quickly whisked away by my boss to her office, coming out looking slightly less haggard in about half an hour or so.

I adapted to the routine fairly quickly, choosing to make my personal peace with the strange customers and Odette's mysterious meetings: after all, I got the job because I needed money - who was I to judge her for doing Tarot readings and spiritual séances for an extra dollar?

The bodega's atmosphere did grow on me rather quickly, as I had thought it would. It was warm and homely even on the rainiest afternoons, there was an unlimited supply of herbal tea, free of charge, and I grew to appreciate it just like I learned to find the positives in my job at the café. That remained a constant, mildly interesting affair too - my regulars, especially the superheroes, had started coming in during the morning hours and we were able to resume our chit-chats without a hitch.

Wanda still fished for my most recent, memorable reading and Dr. Banner left his incomprehensible scribbles on every napkin within an arm's reach for me to return to him on his next visit. The fully grown man with multiple PhDs didn't fail to blush like a schoolgirl every single time it happened, causing Mr. Stark to double on his own salacious jokes, should the engineer have had come with. They often came together, blabbering things I couldn't even fathom understanding even with the help of Google.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Wanda sounded surprisingly chipper for it was freaking seven in the morning.

I blanched, banging my arm against the display door painfully with a softly muttered, "Fuck!".

The witch frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hoping my face wasn't portraying the mixture of confusion and fear that I felt. "Something weird happened at my other job yesterday, I'm still processing," I replied honestly, looking to the side.

In fairness, I didn't know what to think. The situation wasn't something that should have shocked me, with aliens and magic people an abundance in NYC, but seeing it with my own two eyes had been jarring.

A limping, paranoid young man had arrived for an appointment with Odette shortly before closing time; I had escorted him to her office without as much as a blink, only noticing he was dripping oddly colored blood when the door behind him had closed. I cleaned it up, dead set on confronting Odette about the obviously injured person - the blood, it was more of an attempt to clean it, since it merely stuck to the rag, refusing to wash off it with water or any of the organic cleaning solutions kept under the sink.

I had to leave the rag in a paper bag, acutely aware of the fact it could not have belonged to a normal person. My best guess was that a man was a mutant - NYC had plenty of them living behind a blue wall. Odette's office wasn't soundproof: I heard a pained yelp and then a vocalisation of relief as whatever was causing the man to bleed had been removed. In a few minutes while I was closing the cash register, he came out looking almost brand new - and as I paid him a more careful look, he was missing his scleras, leaving his eyes to look slightly terrifying.

And then he winked at me, a surprisingly human, boyish gesture - the smile that crawled up my face was purely automatic. I was sure it looked frozen. He disappeared without a word as Odette herself emerged from the backrooms, a tired sheen to her brow.

"Did you manage to clean up?" She asked, eyebrows raised at the lack of stains on the hardwood floors.

"It stuck to the rag," I replied, eyeing her warily. "The rag is in the unmarked bag next to the sink. I didn't know what else to do with it."

"Sometimes it does that," her sigh was very telling. This was to be expected to become a regular occurrence. She motioned for the notebook I got to keep track of everything in the store, rattling off a recipe for a cleaner and solvent combo, made purely from the items she had inside the store, giving me stern instructions to add the ingredients in the exact order I was told. I sighed but added the footnote. Odette was a far cry from the greasy git from Hogwarts so she deserved the benefit of the doubt at least.

I didn't dare to ask any more questions about the strange man; not that day, not after I had suprised Wanda with a quick recap of my story. It's not like I had anything against mutants - as long as they were peaceful and didn't harm humans with their abilities, I was content to co-habit, share my space and even be friends with them. A very nice old lady who came by three times a week had gills peeking out of the top of her turtleneck and she was just the most polite, sweetest thing.

Wanda's curiosity was understandable and not suspicious in any way: I was under the impression she was a mutant, too, along with her twin brother - so the feeling of dread that blossomed within me as soon as the two suited figures entered the small store I attributed to the larger size of the man and vulture eyes of the woman. They both appeared extremely out of place with their black two-pieces and badly hidden pistol holsters, topped off with badges I couldn't take a good look at without losing my customer service facade.

I decided to play it dumb, self-conscious of the thudding of my heart in my ribcage. My body screamed 'danger' at me. "Hello, how can I help you?"

The woman cast an observant look over me, my plain clothes, lingering on my star-patterned scarf and matching hair band. "Are you the owner of this store?"

"No," I frowned, not liking where this was going. "Do you have an appointment with Odette?"

"We'd like to see her," the man pointedly moved his arm, exposing the gun and the badge.

I dropped the nice act, staring him down in earnest. I never liked self-righteous, pushy government officials; even less so, when they didn't follow protocol and started the conversation with demands instead of proper introductions. As I shot a quick text to Odette, noting that there were 'strange people in uniform' looking for her, my suspicions were only confirmed when the woman looked around the store with eyes that knew what they were looking for. Those two definitely weren't cops or even feds, they were straight up shady.

Odette all but flew to the bodega, the imposing, suffocating aura I'd seen only once on full display. It was hard to breathe standing so close to her; with muted satisfaction, I noticed both agents squirm, their fingers twitching, as they took in shuddering inhales through their, undoubtedly, lying mouths.

The whole spectacle was over quickly. I had managed to serve and quickly usher out Ike, one of the Satanists (yes, we did, in fact, have a few of those as regulars) with his paper bag full of powdered goat horn and a fresh cat skull under his armpit before the curtains parted and the two agents left without saying a word. I thought their eyes looked - wrong, like glass marbles, dull, lifeless and unseeing.

Odette dismissed my worries with a frivolously waved hand: "They won't be bothering us anytime soon," closing the door to her office - it reeked of strong incense and horseradish, for some reason. Like she'd been making some hell salad in front of the two nosy officials.

I took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. The weirdness should've bothered me more, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to decide whether I wanted to know what that interaction was actually about or live in blissful ignorance, where my boss might be some sort of a mutant or an actual witch that helps other mutants.

The longer I thought about it, the louder anti-mutant propaganda articles screamed at me: children being killed or abandoned because one day, they woke up and could fly or move things with their mind; every potential situation could end up like Carrie or Brightburn - two movies so blatantly obvious in their point to instill fear against children that could grow to work alongside Earth's Mightiest Defenders.

Needless to say, my conscious calmed down pretty quickly. I had felt the hairs on my nape stand up as soon as the agents entered the room and in my experience, a reaction like that was never good. I had been taught to trust my gut.

Odette had cancelled her visits for the day, holing up in her office as the whole store rapidly filled up with the stench of horseradish, old blood and sage. The occasional noise came from the office, interrupted by mumbling, and I was quickly told to just turn up the old, vintage radio if it bothered me.

I was too busy taking in the contents of her office - the table that previously stood in the far end of it, stood in the middle, folded out into the shape of a circle. Something was drawn on it, something the color of dried blood, and there were light candles, white and blue, littered on almost every possible surface. The air was clouded with incense smoke, so thick, it made my eyes water.

Odette's grin was sardonic as she met my eyes, wide and shocked, that had previously landed on what looked like a pot- or a cauldron, emanating the strongest bitter stench that wafted even through the lead curtain of incense. No wonder the whole store reeked.

Before she gently shut the door in my face, I caught the centerfold of the whole show - an extremely large, tattered, leatherbound tome with yellowed pages and a heavy metal padlock laying next to it. Overcome by stupor, I didn't manage to make out the intricate silver letters on its cover.

Needless to say, walking home that day was an adventure. In part, I was cautious that the agents would find me, follow me home, interrogate me - I've never been arrested even by usual cops and it was unlikely that shady government agencies were delicate in their approach. A larger part of my brain was wondering about the implications of what I had seen, I'd nearly chewed off my fingernails remembering the vacant, lost face expressions on the agents' faces.

As soon as I got home, I set to do some serious googling. And find information, I did. Plethora of minor details - candle colors, herbs used, deeply individual incantations and mythical deities that chose to work with a particular witch. It was nothing short of a whole science; I'd go as far as to say it was a complete lifestyle. The use of magick bled into every aspect of daily life, from sleep to food to communication with others.

Part of me felt incredulity at the implication of sacrificing so much to get results that might be the opposite of the ones desired. A larger, braver part of me - the very same that used to push me to explore abandoned buildings with my friends and drink booze given by a stranger - admired the work and the dedication my boss and her kind put into their work.

Having received my first paycheck and successfully having made it through rent day without having to make excuses, my conscious allowed me to treat myself to a few items - I decided to give into my curiosity and placed an order for a few books on modern witchcraft, happily waiting for the package to arrive next afternoon. I went to sleep with my head full and a new world at my feet to explore.

The books were late - or more like, never showed. The refund couldn't come soon enough. My curiosity began to reach unbearable levels the longer I worked the front desk at Odette's. These days I didn't need much assistance anymore, ready to help any new or returning customer with the help of my notebook. Time after time, I noticed a certain working order, a pattern to things if you may - and was able to recommend a few things here and there. In short, I stepped over my initial apprehension and dove into the world of natural remedies and energetic manipulation headfirst.

It made all the sense that Odette would start to take absence from the bodega as my training progressed. On the days she had fewer or no appointments, she would don her favourite scarf and trot out the front door, large purse in tow, to run errands or restock on the rare, pricy items that couldn't get delivered directly to the shop. I'd grown accustomed to locking up on my own; the spare key to the entrance door was my pride and joy, the dull silver a warm comfort hanging on a chain around my neck. Its antique design made a fairly pretty necklace.

The customer coming to pick up a special order hardly disrupted my time. I had Janis Joplin blaring from the old radio, my skirt swayed to the rhythm of the song together with me. The elevated mood while working in the shop was something I appreciated fully - with a kind smile, I departed for the backrooms to search for the package with the customer's name, not finding it anywhere near the proper place. A call later, I was opening Odette's office and extracting the paper-wrapped shoebox from the fridge, passing it into the customer's arms with utmost care: 'FRAGILE. KEEP REFRIGERATED AT ALL TIMES.' read on it in Odette's sharp cursive.

The bell above the door rang as the woman departed but I was already inching behind the curtain, overcome by sudden inquisitiveness.

The book. It stood right in the middle of Odette's desk, shut, but missing its padlock, beckoning with the thick gothic letters spelling out 'PRACTICAL ALCHEMY'. I noticed it as soon as I stepped into the office, confused and puzzled by my own unbearable desire to approach it immediately. I knew something was amiss, yet, my legs had a mind of their own and my hands firmly placed themselves upon the heavy cover of the book, seemingly without the input from my brain.

"What the hell..." I muttered to myself, finding the books contents to be - for the lack of a better word - peculiar. "Protect a babe born on all Hallows Eve..." I numbly mouthed the first words that my eyes registered. The pages made a soft noise as my shaking fingers turned them, one after the other. "Bestow healing upon a barren womb... Punish a thief..." There were - spells, and potions, and so many plants I've never even heard about before.

The pages turned and handwritings changed - at the start, words were written out precisely, the cursive neat and sharp, obviously written by an ink pen. Some things were scribbles, pencil or charcoal, so barely intelligible I had to guess about a third of the words written. Towards the end of the book pages made with a typewriter appeared - blocky letters and numbers, language modern, ash and cigarette smell coming from the paper.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The longer my hands touched the pages, the stronger the tingling sensation became - I failed to notice it at first, attributing it to the exhilaration of finding something so strange yet so precious, but as I was finishing a page that contained a fairly short spell for protection of a witches' home, the discomfort of my palms rose into a mild stinging pain.

"Fuck," I yelped, casting a look at my fingers. They were hot, angry, as if I had briefly touched boiling oil - and the skin on my fingertips began to blister, little white pustules forming where I had gingerly held the pages of the book in place. "What the fuck?" Was my reasonable question to nobody in particular.

The books contents were, no doubt, interesting but I was more concerned with the state of my hands - had I ignored the pain for five more minutes, I might have had to go to the hospital to treat what was beginning to look like a second-degree burn. I slammed it shut none-too-gently, placing it exactly as I found it and winced when barely a second of touching it brought on more excruciating pain.

The healing peppermint oil salve I knew people bought for mild burns only soothed the initial sting, so I had to suffer until I clocked out, stopping by a drugstore on my way home to purchase some much-needed burn cream. And while it didn't make it worse, I knew that my next day at work was going to be Hell.

Most thankful, however, I was to my voice-to-text option on my cell. Not only it allowed me to communicate with my friends without hurting my abused skin even more, but it also dutifully saved the short, simple spell that was supposed to protect my house. There was no harm in trying it, I supposed, after seeing what I didn't doubt was the book's own protection wreak havoc on my snoopy little hands.

The tag list is open until the story is finished.

@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[ineloqueent]

an ode to impossibility

Brian May x Fem!Reader | 1979

click here for a fic playlist (yes, i made a playlist and an aesthetic too...)

synopsis: in which Freddie decides that Queen should spend an actual night at the opera, and Brian decides he’s fallen for Odette.

warnings: swearing, drinking, complete angst fest from dusk til dawn and dusk again, implied smut

word count: 8.1k

a/n: for jess (@brianmays-hair​)— happy birthday!! i hope you have a wonderful day. you’re so so lovely, your writing is just rivetingly gorgeous, and you are nothing short of absolutely inspiring. anyway, i believe you once mentioned something about brian and a ballerina… 

⭒

Barcelona, 19th of February, 1979

Though it was Monday night, it would seem that the entirety of Barcelona, dressed to the nines, had been packed into the Gran Teatre de Liceu.

“Freddie,” Roger said as he sat down beside John, “I could’ve sworn you said we were going to the opera, not the ballet.”

“This is the opera, darling,” Freddie told Roger’s skeptical expression. “The opera house. We are seeing a ballet. Know the difference.”

Roger looked vaguely disappointed. “So no screaming vikings, then?”

Freddie rolled his eyes.

“So long as it perks up misery guts over there,” John jerked a thumb in Brian’s direction, “I’m okay with anything.”

Brian stammered in protest, but he was ignored as Freddie sighed, “Thank you, Deacy.”

“Even if it is a little disappointing about the lack of vikings.”

“Alright,” said Freddie, “both of you can shut up. I’ll be solely talking to Brian for the remainder of the night, thank you.”

Deacy snorted, and Roger muttered, “Good luck.”

Freddie turned to Brian, “What is it that’s got you in such a sulk, anyway?”

“I’m not in a sulk,” said Brian, folding his arms over his chest.

“You’re looking quite the grumpy sod, though, aren’t you?”

Brian shifted his legs in discomfort, only to knock his knee on the seat in front of him, hard. He winced, rubbing his injury. “I’m not, it’s just, they’ve not really made these chairs accommodating for tall people.”

“Poor you,” said Roger tonelessly. Brian fought the urge to snap at him.

“Maybe if you were taller, you wouldn’t be mistaken for a girl all the time,” he mumbled.

“Brian,” chided Freddie. “That’s low, even for you.”

Roger squinted at Brian from the other end of the row. “But then I wouldn’t be comfortable in these chairs.”

“Shush, all of you,” Deacy waved his hand. “Show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the house lights were being dimmed, and a hum of sound led by violins rose from the orchestra pit.

Brian sighed heavily, and Freddie patted his arm. “You’ll be alright, darling,” he said.

But Brian wasn’t so sure.

Nothing in his head had made sense lately. Or maybe what scared him was that it was only inside his head that the world made sense.

Everything around him felt like madness, felt like it was falling apart as rapidly as it’d come together. The world seemed to know who he was, but Brian was entirely in the dark.

To the world, he was the gentle-smiling, brainiac guitarist for perhaps one of the most popular bands on the music scene. But Brian often found it difficult to smile. And he hardly felt clever when he couldn’t even understand his own inner workings.

The world spun, and his head spun with it.

The dancers spun onstage.

He hadn’t even noticed the rise of the curtain. But there they were.

Brian leaned his chin into his palm, watching passively. He’d never been much for either ballet or opera, preferring plays, in which the characters made their intentions clear by speaking them and were generally easier to keep up with. Still, he could admit that the dedication and skill required of ballet dancers was immense, and impressive in its execution.

He hadn’t, however, been paying attention along the way, and thus had now absolutely no idea as to what show he was watching. It wasn’t until the second scene that it dawned on him.

And then, the music was unmistakable. Tchaikovsky.

This was Swan Lake.

Brian sat up a little; he’d always liked this particular piece of music. Mysterious, lulling, nostalgic— it was beautiful, and suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the stage.

But maybe that particular fact had something to do with the appearance of the prima ballerina.

She was gorgeous, yes, but this was not what utterly enamoured Brian upon first sight.

It was the way she moved.

It was said that the majority of human expression lay not in the wealth of words, but in the depths of body language, and as the prima ballerina moved, she wholly became Odette, and Odette became the epitome of expression. Brian found it hard to believe that he was watching a dancer, a real human being, rather than the porcelain figurine in a music box, because her grace was immaculate; not the whisper of a mistake seemed possible between her steps. Brian felt oddly moved by it all, because it was when he played music that he felt the most alive.

And now here was this dancer, bringing to life a whole other world through the way she moved to music.

He hoped she knew how beautiful her expression was. He hoped she knew that she spun across the stage as though the floor were the sky and she danced among the stars. He hoped she knew.

He resolved then, madly, to tell her, so that he could be sure.

He couldn’t bear for her not to know.

⭒

“Well,” Roger stretched his arms above his head, “that was nicer than I thought it’d be, but I think I’ll go back to the hotel now.”

“Pretty lady waiting for you?” Deacy quipped.

“No,” Roger scoffed, “I’m just tired, christ.”

Freddie patted his shoulder. “You can’t blame us though, can you, dearie?”

He turned to Brian as they all began to shuffle out of the theatre alongside the rest of the audience, afforded anonymity by being in a crowd instead of before it, and by the fact that Barcelonians did not seem to recognise English musicians. “Ready to go, Brian? You’ve had your head in the clouds all day.”

Brian frowned, preoccupied by the notion that nagged at his mind. “Actually,” he said, “do you mind if we take the back way out?”

Freddie glanced around. “I didn’t think anyone had recognised us,” he muttered, lowering his voice and his head.

“No, no,” Brian waved a hand. “There was just somebody I needed to talk to.���

“Well, I for one don’t speak any Spanish,” said Roger. “You’re on your own.”

Brian shrugged. His own haphazard Spanish would have to do.

Freddie’s brow furrowed. “Alright then, darling. Lead the way.”

Brian nodded and began weaving through the abundance of people steadily swarming in the opposite direction. It was rather like swimming upstream.

At the door to the backstage area, Brian hesitated.

There was no one to stop him from going in, and the door itself was wide open. Everyone in the theatre was so intent on leaving that no one had bothered to block this entrance.

“Brian?” John prodded. “You wanted to talk to somebody?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

He walked through the doorway, and though the space was mostly quiet, laughter floated from a corner, where a small gathering of people stood talking. Some seemed to be from the ballet company, while others bore the demeanour of critics come backstage to discuss the show.

And there she was.

Odette, as Brian had subconsciously nicknamed her in his head. But he’d seen her name in the program. He only hoped he could remember it between crossing the room and finding the courage to speak.

He turned to the others, but found that they had been distracted, drawn to a table full of drinks that proclaimed ¡gratis! by way of a little card set amongst the glasses.

Now Brian really was on his own. Odette drifted apart from her flock of admirers, a crown of feathers still on her head. Though she now wore a tracksuit instead of a tutu, she was no less elegant than she had been onstage. Even the way she held herself spoke an otherworldly grace.

Brian swallowed. Then he approached her.

“Disculpe, ¿Señora Y/N?”

She turned at his polite intrusion, lips parted in a question, and she looked almost surprised.

Brian blushed, abruptly terrified that he should make a grammatical mistake in the face of this Elysian being. “Tu eres… eras magnífico.”

Her lovely face was grim, her hands clasped tightly around her water bottle, and Brian feared he’d somehow insulted her. Somehow.

“Perdón,” she mumbled, “but I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re saying.”

Brian could have laughed in relief. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I know what I’m saying either.”

She smiled radiantly, and Brian felt instantly more at ease.

“Well,” he said, “seeing as neither of us speak Spanish very well, I’ll stick to what I know and try English.”

She laughed lightly, folding her arms over her structured frame, one which had undoubtedly been built up with years of hard work, endurance, dedication.

Brian’s eyes caught on hers, only to have him flush again under the sway of her gaze. “Although at the moment, it seems I don’t speak any language at all.”

She laughed again, shaking her head slightly. “You’ve managed more words that I have,” she said kindly.

Brian laughed with her, to try to ease the tension knotting in his chest, but the air he breathed only grew thicker.

“I just wanted to say that you were phenomenal,” he began, and her eyes softened. His courage steeled upon seeing that she didn’t look as though she wanted him to leave. “I mean, really, truly, absolutely phenomenal. “The control over your movement, your poise, your expression,” he continued. “Just— everything. It’s indescribable. All I can say is that you’re a wonderful dancer. Though I’ve sure you’ve heard that a thousand times before, so much that it must sound like white noise at this point.”

He was rambling, and he knew it, but she didn’t appear to mind.

“Actually, no,” she responded to his unasked query. “I haven’t heard that a thousand times before.”

Brian blinked, perplexed, but she said, “People tend to take one look at the prima ballerina and tell her she’s beautiful, not that she’s talented. And,” she went on, “that’s the first time I’ve gotten phenomenal. From Brian May, no less!”

Brian was baffled. “You— you know who I am?”

“Do I know who you are?” she repeated, with satire. “Of course I know who you are! And I know who those three milling about the drinks table are as well. You’re Queen. You’re quite phenomenal yourself.”

Brian felt another blush colour his cheeks. “Maybe not quite phenomenal. We’re doing alright for ourselves, though.”

She smirked, and she was royalty herself, appalled at the ineducation of a commoner. “You’re on a world tour. I’d say that’s pretty damn phenomenal.”

“Well,” Brian balked, “thank you.”

She then fixed him with a curious stare, her eyes flitting over his face in a delicate manner. “How long are you here for?”

“Three days,” he responded slowly. “Two after today.”

“Any chance you’ll come see me again?”

Brian asked carefully, “You’d like me to?”

She smiled. “You wouldn’t?”

“Yes,” said Brian. “I mean, no, I—”

“I know what you mean.”

Brian nodded. The conversation was finished.

But there was a glint in her stare where she stood, transferring her weight from the balls of her feet to her toes, then back to her heels, as though she couldn’t stand still, as though she longed to dance, even after having finished a performance. Brian felt the same when he finished concerts. So he asked what he’d been meaning to all along.

“Would you go out for a drink with me?”

She looped an arm through his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⭒

You usually spent your nights alone, because after the shows, you were tired, and so was everybody else.

But tonight, you were wide awake. And it had everything to do with the curly-haired guitarist sitting directly across from you.

You leaned your elbows on the table as he talked, observing more than listening. You’d asked Brian to tell you about himself, but you knew very well that everything he told you would be disproportionate to the truth; he was too humble to offer you insight on his own achievements.

So you watched instead. Watched how delicately he held his glass of beer, how his eyelashes fluttered when he talked about something that brought forth in him great passion, how his teeth caught on his lip when he paused in deep thought.

You loved to watch him think. You could almost see the rampage of ideas and impressions as they danced forth behind his honey-coloured eyes.

“Brian,”  you raised your voice over the noise of the crowded bar, and he leaned forward. “You’re not telling me about yourself.”

He angled his ear toward you. “Say that again, love.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you said instead.

He turned toward you. “And where to?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

A smile curved over his lips. “My favourite place.”

Out of the bar and into the night you went, Brian’s arm hovering at the small of your back as he guided you past the beginnings of a brawl by the pub entrance.  

Barcelona was a lively place, the hum of people and their festivities not slowing, even outside the tourism season, even on a weeknight.

Neither of you knew the city well, so it was fitting that you should explore it together. Between the cobblestone alleyways ensconced by potted plants, flickering lamp posts, and the sparkling sea, it was all very picturesque. Like a fairytale— como un cuento de hadas, in Brian’s words.

“So you do speak Spanish.”

He was good at it, too. His accent was nearly flawless. Had you closed your eyes, you might have mistaken the soft rumble of his words for that of a native speaker.

But then again, had you closed your eyes, your thoughts might have wandered to another place entirely, one where you imagined what it would be like to have him whisper his lovely words across your skin. You drifted closer to him with each swaying step down yet another Barcelonian street.

“Do I?” He smiled endearingly, and your stomach flipped. “I hadn’t noticed.”

You liked this side of him, the one which seemed to surface when he relaxed. Slightly cheeky, a little less enigmatic and a little more bold. Definitely attractive.

“Liar,” you said. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

And please, for the love of god, keep doing what you are doing.

He laughed in response. “I’m glad I have you fooled,” he said.

Amongst the alleys you weaved aimlessly, admiring in silence the way that no two street corners you turned looked the same, how the entire ambience of a road was changed as the light bent differently around little details or imperfections in the brickwork.

The buildings were high and though they sat close together, their roofs were flat and did not obstruct the sky; the darkness above you could still be seen.

The sky reminded you of the stage, how it was difficult to see anything— anyone— beyond the darkness, and how when the quiet settled in, it was almost as if you were dancing alone, without an audience, with only the music and yourself.

Brian wondered aloud about life on tour with the American Ballet Theatre, and in describing it to him, you quickly realised that your worlds were very similar. You knew the early mornings and he knew the late nights, and he understood the lonely melancholy of flying from city to city without ever looking back.

The loneliness. It was something you shared.

The stars were not visible, but Brian lectured you on them anyway, and for the first time that evening, you had the impression that he was talking without holding anything back, limitless in his awe of the night sky.

You asked an abundance of questions, not out of politeness, but of genuine interest. The manner in which he spoke of the stars was invigorating, enthralling, and you wanted to feel this sense of wonder forever fill your heart, as beautifully as it filled his.

“That’s beautiful, Brian,” you’d said. His lips had closed over the remnants of a sentence only partly-formed, ended almost before it had begun because he’d trailed off in thought.

“You think so?” he asked, turning toward you with a wilderness in his eyes. He’d stopped walking. “I bore everyone half to death with all this.”

You shook your head, “How could anyone be bored?”

He had a gravity about him, and an air of pensiveness that brought you pause, because you’d never before wanted to listen to someone forever, until now. Until Brian.

You suddenly craved the familiar weight of your pointe shoes, because you longed to dance. It was all you could do when your inspiration bubbled over, and right now, beneath Brian’s soft gaze, even if you’d tried, you wouldn’t have been able to remember what it was like to feel lost.

Thoughts cascaded in a waterfall through your mind, begging to be spoken, to be heard. You wanted to tell him about his gravity, his pensiveness, how he made you want to dance.

Instead, you told him to wait for you in the wings after tomorrow night’s performance, because the implications of doing so said far more than you ever could.

“Hasta mañana,” he bid you as you parted company after he’d walked you back to the theatre.

Until tomorrow, spoken so simply, as though you’d always have tomorrow.  

It had not escaped you that he would depart in less than three days.

⭒

Barcelona, 20th of February, 1979

He’d come running from the stage, had handed off his guitar and swapped his jacket, and was out of the arena before most of the audience had even begun to move.

If he was quick, he could just catch the end of her show.

He took the first taxi he found, armed with flowers and a vague recollection of the instructions he’d been given yesterday by his favourite ballerina.

At the stage door, Brian addressed the security guard in what he hoped was adequate Spanish. It seemed to be, because after showing the man a pass, Brian was through.

He followed signs, through corridors patterned by the autographs of performers past, until he reached a staircase, and at the top of that, the final door between him and the wings.

There, he stopped, hesitating on the doorstep to decision.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

The old adage of ‘don’t get attached’ wasn’t one Brian was fond of, because he did get attached. Far too easily, and far too much, and if he was already so enamoured after having spent mere hours in her company, then there would be no chance of him forgetting.

After even a singular conversation with her, he’d realised that she was the romantic sort, the kind to inspire a renaissance with a single phrase, a glance, a touch, a breath. She spoke in poetry as fluidly as any other person would have breathed, and yet, it seemed that it had never occurred to anyone to tell her so. She lived in ignorance of her own etherealness, subsided in the shadows of solitude where such sentiments of narcissism would never have arisen.

But ethereal as she was, she felt far away— untouchable, almost— to those who perceived her, for who could fathom the existence of such a muse without themselves feeling displaced? She was a planet out of orbit from the sun that all others were drawn to; she was radiant enough that she could survive without its light, because she had light of her own.

A dreamer she was, and all longed to be a part of her dreams, for her presence was dappled sunlight on an otherwise rainy day, pinpricks of light flooding through the darkness like stars.

There would be no chance of forgetting her.

He would be forced to leave Barcelona with a breaking heart, and face the consequences of breaking hers.

If, of course, he had any hold on her heart.

Part of him hoped that he did, and part of him hoped that she did not care for him at all, if only to make his imminent departure easier.

He could walk away, right now, and never see her again. It would have been simpler, certainly, to avoid entangling his emotions any further, to live and let die this connection that probably should never have happened at all.

But hell, when had Brian ever done anything because it was simple?

He pushed open the swinging door and then he was in the wings, catching sight of her as she arched across the stage with infallible grace, unfathomable beauty.

She made everything around her beautiful, for she moved like light.

Starlight.

Yes, that was her. No one would have thought to describe her as any less.

And just like everybody else, Brian had fallen utterly head over heels for her.

⭒

You ran off of stage as applause resounded from the audience, your heart still thudding with adrenaline as the curtain sank to the floor behind you, as you sank from your toes to your heels, easing the weight from your ankles. It wasn’t a job in which one could relax, but never in a million years would you have given this life up. Nothing would ever come close to the rush of euphoria that was a pirouette, executed perfectly at centrestage, beneath the glow of a spotlight as radiant as the moon.

Except perhaps the look on Brian’s face as his eyes met yours.

Outside of youth, you’d never seen anyone smile so brightly. Only naïvete allowed such brilliance, when one still believed that nobody had ulterior motives, and that it only rained when it was meant to.

“You came!” you exclaimed, breathlessly flinging your arms around him.

He laughed, wrapping one arm around you and holding the other at a safe distance. “Careful, amor,” he said. “The roses have thorns, you know.”

“Oh, you brought me flowers!”

You let go of him because he’d almost lost his balance to your embrace, and he presented you with the bouquet.

“I know that everyone brings flowers, and red roses at that, but it felt wrong to arrive without any.”

But these roses were different. They were from him.

You pressed your nose into the petals, their velvety quality reminiscent of the satin of your ballet shoes, the aroma reminding you of the flower box outside of your bedroom window back home.

“They’re lovely, Brian. Thank you.”

He inclined his head, and you flushed beneath the weight of his eyes; you felt like royalty.

Still winded, though you should have caught your breath by now, you gestured toward the backstage area. “Wait by the sofas. I’ve got to change, but then I want to show you something.”

The smile already on his face broadened. “Okay.”

You brushed past him, but his fingertips brushed the underside of your wrist.

You spun, instinctively taking hold of his hand.

“Y/N, you were wonderful.”

Abruptly shy, you looked down. When you raised your head, his hazel irises twinkled.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and so you smiled instead. A small smile, a secret, one which would forever belong to the two of you, and to the darkness of the empty stage.

⭒

When you returned from the dressing room, Brian was reclining on one of the couches. His outrageously long legs extended before him, he twirled a silver coin in his hand, staring at the token absently.

“What’s that all about?” you asked, and he snapped his fingers closed around the coin, sitting upright in an instant.

“Christ, you scared me,” he said, pupils dilated. He lowered the hand he’d pressed against his chest, and unfurled his long fingers to reveal the coin.

“It’s my guitar pick,” he told you as you sank to the cushions beside him.

“You use a coin?”

“A sixpence,” Brian nodded, holding out the coin and dropping it into your palm when you offered your hand. Pointing to the edge of the metal disc, he leaned close enough to you that his shoulder rested against yours. “Look,” he said, his voice by your ear, “it’s the serrations on the side that give the sound character. Sort of scratchy, unclean.”

“Rock ‘n’ roll,” you responded, returning him the coin. He smiled as he tucked it away in his pocket.

You were suddenly aware of how close he sat to you. His chin could have rested on your shoulder if he had only lowered his head, his breath could have stopped your heart if only it had been upon your mouth.

You were stilled in the moment, and he stared back at you in your stillness, powerful in the silence suspended between you which bound your will to his.

“What was it you wanted to show me?” he asked, quietly.

Slowly, you stood, giving him a hand up. “Come on.”

⭒

It was a bit of a walk to the Arc de Triomf, but it did not much matter to you, because every alley and alcove was an adventure in itself, made for straying souls who wandered through the Barcelona night, not because they were lost, but because they were seeking that which would inspire them. You were amongst those restless adventurers, and from what you could tell of Brian, inadvertently, so was he.

Seemingly endless with life, each corner of the city was crowded, friends and newfound acquaintances sharing stories and drinks beneath the shelter of trees, breathing the ocean air as it washed in over the land. Laughter and music drifted from cafes and bars, and the Barcelonians appeared to have a fondness for warm light, decorating fences and walls with hundreds of strung up lights, candles, lanterns, so that the whole city glittered as brilliantly as its people. The night was not warm, but it still felt that way, with the previously sun-soaked boulevards radiating their daytime heat and Brian hovering close beside you.

The dark was beginning to fully set in for the night, and you smiled at Brian. He mirrored the expression, albeit with a furrow of his brow, because he did not yet know where it was you were taking him.

Still, he didn’t ask where it was you were going, because he knew you would not tell him anyway.

You led him along the scenic route of the city, partially to distract him, partially because it was his last night in Barcelona and if he was anything like you— and he was— then he would want to see as much of the city as was humanly possible. He would want to cradle in his mind the memory of the night, crispness of the night air, the energy of the people, and perhaps the thought of you at his side.

Years and years later, these moments would still glitter in your own memory, like mirages frozen in time and stained glass, like the windows in the churches in this city where you’d dared to live so boldly. But you did not know that now. It all passed you by, as things do, before one can remember to notice them and tuck them away for later, for when happiness feels far away. But then again, there would be no beauty in knowing which memories would resurface at odd moments in one’s life, to inspire, to build a dream upon, to draw an unexpected smile. Chaos— now that held beauty.

The beach came into view, the cool breeze blowing in from the water. Barcelona’s lights twinkled about the edges of the crashing waves, the hills of sand.

A lone busker, aged in face but bright in soul, armed with only a battered acoustic guitar and his lilting voice occupied a place on the path by the beach, and Brian touched your elbow as you went by. Though you did not understand the words, the tune he sang was mournful. It made you think of flowers floating abandoned through water in remembrance of the lost.

“I know this song,” Brian said, and then said nothing more. Instead, he took your hand and spun you once around, as though the two of you were dancing. Then he continued walking, as though nothing had happened.

There was a sadness in his face, equal in sorrow to the song of the busker, and he did not look at you.

You studied his face silently, wondering what he was thinking. But it was nigh impossible to discern anything at all; he had suddenly become completely closed off, utterly unreadable. You yearned to take his hand again, if only it would make him smile.

At one point, you passed a fountain and could not resist stopping by the trickling water, gazing at the mounds of coins sacrificed in the hopes of fulfilling some hopeless wish.

He halted with you. “What is it?”

You leaned against the fountain, skimming your fingers across the surface of the water and staring as gold, silver, and copper glitters in the depths. Some of the coins looked older, roughened by age and the exchange of hands, oxidised in greens and blues, while others appeared almost newly minted. Shiny and unworn, those new coins would never see anything but the fountain, and perhaps their opulence would thus be forever preserved. Maybe some people preferred their treasures preserved, but you loved the little nicks, the little imperfections, that came with time. Character, as Brian had said. Those new coins had no character.

“Who do you think they were, all those people?”

Brian leaned against the fountain as well, then perched on the rim when his height proved to be too much to avoid falling in. “Who?”

“The wishers.”

“Well, there must have been many,” he said, sweeping a hand over the water.

A strange melancholy had taken you over, and when you looked at him, his eyes were soft and wide; he was not simply humouring you. This ancient place— with its gothic architecture and hidden streets and squares— it stirred something within him too.

“Do you think they stopped,” you went on, “like us, because they came across the fountain, or do you think they came to this place on purpose?”

His expression was pensive, peacefulness tempered by sparks that lit up his eyes in wondrous thought. Oh, how you loved that look about him. It made you feel alive.

“Both,” he said. “Some made their way here, and others found their way here, perhaps walking a path they did not intend to follow but did so without knowing.”

You sat down beside him. “Do you believe in fate?”

“No,” he murmured. Then, “I don’t know.”

“What about wishing with coins in a fountain?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “No harm could come of it. Unless of course you’re throwing away your last coin.”

“But you wouldn’t be throwing it away,” you said. “You’d be spending it, on a wish.”

“Best hope your wish is worth it then,” he responded, not unkindly, but with a playful undertone.

You blinked at him in confusion, but he dropped his hand to his pocket and pulled out the sixpence. He held it up and it sparkled in the light of the flickering street lamps.

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is your wish worth my sixpence?” he asked, turning the coin between his fingers.

Not just any sixpence. His guitar pick.

“How long have you had that sixpence for, Brian?” you said softly.

His smile faltered, in a strangely open show of sentimentality. “Since the beginning,” he said.

“Meaning…”

“Meaning nine years.” His eyes left the coin and found your eyes instead. “So. Is it worth it?”

You shook your head slowly. “Nine years, Brian.”

He leaned toward you, holding the coin between you. His eyes were warmer than the light which bathed the street. He whispered, “What are you wishing for, my love?”

You shook your head again. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“But it’s worth it, then?”

You nodded.

“For you, amor.”

He kissed the sixpence and tossed it into the fountain, and you wished that one day you might see him again.

⭒

Time, it seemed, was of no consequence in Barcelona, and washed away as easily as rain. The walk disappeared between the folds of time, and when you next rounded the corner of a road, the Arc came into view.

Brian laughed, “Ah, so we’re going sight-seeing?”

“No,” you shook your head, “not quite.”

He frowned.

You smiled. “Come on, starchaser.”

You slipped your hand into his, and slowly but with decision, he folded his fingers through yours. You felt the flutter of his pulse against your wrist.

The Arc came into better view, but squinting up at the sky, you could see that you still were not quite close enough.

A few more steps, and then you were there.

You pulled Brian’s hand so that he came to stand right before the Arc.

“Look up,” you told him, and he raised his eyes to the sky.

Beneath the Arc, the moon rose in glistening whites and yellows, illuminating the sky in a halo of light and giving the archway the impression of housing a crystal ball.

“I saw it last night, when I was on my way back to my hotel,” you said. “I know you still can’t see the stars, but—”

“I love it.”

You turned your gaze on Brian’s face and found that he was staring at the moon, his expression caught between wonder and wistfulness.

Then he looked at you.

The wonder and wistfulness remained.

“I love that you thought of me when you saw it,” he said softly.

For a moment, you thought that he might kiss you, staring at you so unabashedly, his eyes flickering between yours, as though he intended to draw you to him and finally replace your intake of breath with his lips. But he didn’t. He took your hand again.

“I’m not usually this forward,” he murmured, running his thumb over the back of your hand, and your heartbeat quickened.

“You call this forward?” you laughed, but the sound caught in your throat as you stared at his fingers curled around your own.

“I’ve only known you a day,” he replied.

It was true, you realised. You’d only just met him, really. But with his soft-spoken manner and intelligent conversation, a day had multiplied for an age, and you’d spent a hundred years waiting for him to wrap his arms around you.  

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I know,” you said.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

He shook his head slowly, clasping both of your hands. “Why is it that it’s so easy for me to say all this to you now?”

His skin was warm, his fingers calloused, and his touch was so gentle that it weakened you where you stood.

“Sometimes,” you said, “we’re more honest with strangers than with those closest to us.”

“Why?”

You frowned. “I don’t know— anonymity? A lack of feeling responsible for whatever impact our words may have upon the listener?” He turned your hand over absently as you spoke, tracing circles over your skin. “Or simplicity?” you continued, fighting the urge to shudder. “For the simple fact that they do not know us and will not judge us on the basis of how they believe we should act, in accordance with how they know us? It’s difficult to understand, and nonetheless, it seems to happen.”

His eyes flickered. “I care.”

“What?”

“I care how my words will impact you,” he reiterated. “Would you not, in my place?”

“I would,” you responded quietly. He’d somehow moved closer without you noticing, and when his hip brushed against yours, a tingle rushed down your sides.

“So that cannot be it.”

“Simplicity, then.”

“Yes,” he hummed, “I think that makes more sense.”

“Only, the longer you speak with somebody, the less simple it becomes.” You were referring to the two of you, and he knew it. “And the less of strangers you become.”

“Maybe,” he went on in a low voice, “that is how all relationships should be built.”

“How?” you dared to ask.

“Without judgement, from the beginning.” Here he paused, and where before you’d been occupied with the caress of his fingers across your skin, you met his eyes. “So when I tell you now that you are beautiful, I mean not only that you are beautiful, but that you are an artist, talented and soulful too, and it shows, in all that you are.”

After everything, he still cared enough to make you understand that he wasn’t trying to belittle you by noticing your beauty, but rather that he earnestly thought you beautiful as well as everything he’d said yesterday, and couldn’t bear for you not to know.

It made your heart ache.

“Brian—”

He tilted his head ever so slowly, and when his hand came to rest on your cheek, he kissed your lips. Delicately, tentatively, until you pressed up against him and pulled him closer, kissed him harder, like a storm drawing him into the abyss, and from the storm you became the abyss as you drowned in his touch.

When your hands drifted to his hair and your fingers wound in his curls, he drew back from you.

“You mustn’t do that,” he whispered, and a shiver skittered down your spine behind his trailing fingers.

“Why not?” you hummed, and he brushed his lips over the corner of your mouth.

“Because you’ll drive me absolutely mad.”

You smiled languidly. “All the more reason to do it, then.”

His kiss was less hesitant this time.

⭒

By the end of the night, you thought he must have kissed you in every place in the city— beneath stone arches and under overhanging flowerpots, by fountains and along the waterline of the beach, by monuments and to the audience of marble-eyed statues, never once shy in his affections, as he had previously been.

With each breath he lingered longer, and you became more desperate to keep his mouth on yours, to have his hands roam your skin, to run your fingers through his hair and to hear him hum with pleasure at your touch.

And then the rain started.

Out of nowhere, it came rushing down from the sky in a heavy torrent, like sand spilling through an hourglass on borrowed time, and Brian pulled you under the awning of a closed shop.

You laughed as he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips now speckled with rainwater that tasted like the open sky and the flower fields one might have found beneath.

He brushed his nose against yours, stroked a gentle finger down your face.

“It’s late,” he whispered, and his breathlessness made your heart stutter.

He was so beautiful. And here he was kissing you.

“Then take me home,” you said.

He opened his eyes, drawing back slightly. “Are you sure, my love?”

“Yes,” you breathed, because you couldn’t remember when you’d last wanted something as much as you wanted this. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” you added, should he have thought less of you.

But he smiled. “Nor do I.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said. “But it is still today.”

You ran with Brian through the rain, huddled under his jacket with clasped hands.

At the door to his hotel room, he fiddled with the rain-coated key until it finally latched in the lock and you stumbled inside, already pushing the jacket from his shoulders as he closed the door.

He kissed you hungrily now, to quell the thought of how little time there was left in which to do such things, to satisfy the burn of desperation that surely scalded him as much as you.

It made you reckless, the thought of him leaving, but you were determined that your recklessness should not be synonymous with regret, and so you slowed your movements to appreciate the softness of his mouth, the elegance of his being. Brian fell into step with you, and when he eased the blouse from your shoulders, his fingertips trailed lightly across your skin.

The cotton finally fell from your frame and he gazed at you with parted lips, a look of utter adoration in his eyes. His hands came to rest on either side of your face, and he leaned into you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You were on your toes to kiss him and he was bending down to meet you, but then he caught your lower lip between his teeth and you whimpered. “Bri—”

He breathed your name, easing you back a couple of steps until your legs touched the bedsheet, where he gathered you into his arms and laid you gently atop the covers.

You pulled him down to you, relishing the little groan that escaped him when you parted your lips and pushed your fingers into his hair. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, his lips grazing beneath your ear, leaving tender kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, until his breath whispered against your legs and his lips the inside of your thighs.

The world fell away from around you, because there was nothing more to it when Brian was yours in the moments that followed, pretty and gentle, achingly slow in his movements.

⭒

In the afterglow, the city lights danced across the walls of the unlit room as Brian’s long fingers skimmed up and down your arm.

You were nestled close to him, your nose buried in the crook of his neck as you breathed in his lovely smell of soap and sea air and flowers, and he pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, as though to remind you that he was still there and had not changed his mind in how he thought of you.

Somewhere, a clock struck an early hour, and you flinched.

He was leaving today.

You wondered faintly if you would ever see him again, ever kiss those fluttering lashes and gesturing hands, with which he belonged more in Italy than in England. Or better yet, in Barcelona, with you.

So you kissed him everywhere now, and he kissed you back, and you hoped that the memory of your lips would serve you better than that of your mind, because you forget things all too easily these days; they slipped away from you in black and white fragments like piano keys, all feeling fading away into nonsensical noise and hazy pictures. It terrified you.

Brian hummed quietly when you shivered, wrapping his arms around you in wordless solidarity.

“It was always going to be short-lived,” you murmured, as though it would make it any simpler for you to let him go if you spoke aloud the logic which eluded your melancholy heart.

Brian said nothing, and you sighed.

“An English musician and ballerina signed with the American Ballet Theatre. You have your city, and I have mine.”

He ran a strand of your hair through his fingers, tucking it behind your ear. You watched him move, marvelling at his prettiness for the thousandth time, and at the thought of him choosing to lie here with you— you, of all people— adoration rushed through you. You longed to kiss him again.

But his hazel eyes found yours, and he kissed you first— softly, fleetingly, his touch dying away all too soon.

“Let us have Barcelona, then,” he said. “Our city.”

His words warmed you where fear had turned you cold.

Beneath the guise of sleep, an overwhelming sadness washed over you and pulled you under.

You pressed closer to Brian, and his hold on you tightened.

⭒

Barcelona, 21st of February, 1979

He held her hand as tightly as he dared all the way to the theatre.

The theatre was where he would leave her.

It wasn’t meant to go this way. These things weren’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to find happiness and then be forced to let go of it. You were supposed to find happiness and then by god, you were supposed to hold so tightly to it that even light could not have escaped your grasp, to be a black hole for the desire to be loved.

Brian knew that it was unrealistic, and given the way life had treated him, he should not have believed in this, this naïve idea that things would right themselves when he needed it the most.

But he was a dreamer. He couldn’t help it.

The light was slipping through his fingers.

And she moved like light.

With every step, the theatre and the dismal fate that awaited beyond it loomed closer.

Brian’s chest clenched painfully.

He began to walk more slowly, and he felt her lessen her pace beside him, felt her eyes fall upon his face as he swallowed.

They came to a stop by the doors, and he turned to her. He did not let go of her hand.

She stared up at him with doe-eyes, tears beginning to rise in their depths.

Wordlessly, he put his arms around her, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, but he preferred to gaze at her for just a moment longer.

“Write to me,” she murmured. “But don’t call me when you land.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to get used to the thought of living without you, and I can’t do that if I still remember the sound of your voice.”

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, and she turned her face to press a kiss to his fingers. “Prefiero un minuto contigo a una eternidad sin ti,” he whispered.

“Brian,” she laughed softly, sadly. “I still don’t speak Spanish.”

He didn’t laugh, because he was trembling as it was and did not need anything more to wrack his frame with shudders. It was cruel, how little time they’d had.

Exhaling slowly, he repeated,

“I would rather spend a minute with you than spend an eternity without you.”

She choked on a sob, and her arms wrapped around his middle as she laid her head against his chest.

“I’ll wait for you,” she whispered.

He took her face in his hands and pressed a final, bittersweet caress to her mouth.

Then he coaxed her gently from his arms, to find that saltwater streaks had stained her face.

“Oh, love,” he murmured. He touched his lips briefly to her tears, wishing for all the world that he would not have given her reason to cry in the first place. But as much as it hurt to leave her now, he would not have wished her memory away.

His hands slipped from her face to her shoulders until they found her hands again.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

But she shook her head. “Hasta mañana.”

She had remembered. Dimly, he was aware of the tears that pooled in his own eyes.

He had only just found her, but after today, he would never see her again. Until tomorrow, she had said. And yet, they did not have tomorrow. But he could pretend. Perhaps if he left, imagining in his head that he would see her again tomorrow, then perhaps he could keep it all from tearing him apart. At least, that was what he told himself. But he was a fool, as those in love can be.

“Until tomorrow, my love.”

He couldn’t look at her as he let her fingers fall abandoned to her sides, as he took the first of many steps in the direction away from her, the way he did not want to go.

The ephemerality of existence had briefly been eclipsed by the lightness she had brought him. But he was not a black hole, and nor was she. The gold would not stay.

She had told him that she would wait for him, but who was to say when they would meet again? It might be months, it might be years. It might be a decade. It might be more.

He couldn’t ask her to wait.

He caught a glimpse of her as he rounded the corner, watched her wrap her arms around her shoulders and duck her head as she went inside. A wave of déjà vu washed over him and steeped his heart in sour melancholy. He was right back where he had started. Far away.

The world would spin as the years passed, and as it turned they would be thrown farther apart, disillusioned by the terrible realisation that what they had always believed to be naïve was exactly so. Nothing would come as a surprise, because nothing changed and nothing was new, no matter how much they might have wished for it to be.

She would forever dance in his memories, but she would not wait.

And he would lay no blame.

Who waits forever anyway?

⭒

a/n: my sincere apologies to everyone who speaks/understands spanish. i’ve been learning spanish for four years now, so i hope that experience was enough to make my grammar acceptable, haha

[robotslenderman]

Eternal Hearts Liveblog: Part 4: Chapter 7-8

An actual thing I told a friend when I started this draft: “These chapters have been a real let down in comparison [to the face-sitting/dick-key-ring guy chapter]. Altho I’m on the necrophilia chapter now so things are looking up!”

And we start off with a body in the trunk.

RIP Charley.

Don’t worry, he’s not the body involved with the necrophilia, because it wouldn’t be problematic enough otherwise.

WARNING: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! This a liveblog of Eternal Hearts, which is a book that got de-canoned about a week after publication for good fucking reason!

Today’s warnings are: Necrophilia, necrophiliac rape (”but Dusty, isn’t necrophilia by definition rape?” buddy I didn’t say the corpse was the one not consenting. This is, like, rape squared), fridged WLWs (I wish that was the worst thing that happened to this particular WLW), me pretending Sascha Vykos has a period kink until Lucy refuses to let me lie to myself any longer (it makes sense in context. Unfortunately), corrective rape mention, and the current chew toy of the universe getting kidnapped after we know somebody’s been hinting about wanting to rape her (not Becca).

Yeah it’s rape all the way down.

This chapter is worse than usual. At least dick keyring guy was funny, this chapter’s just...

dear fucking god shoot me now. “The necrophilia chapter” does not prepare you for what is coming (it’s not me. I’m not coming. I’m as dry as the Sahara)

Godspeed, you poor bastard. May god welcome you through the Pearly Gates, although I’m not sure Heaven exists in this shitty shitty universe.

Oh yeah and he wants to murder Becca, clearly.

Trust me, Lucy. WE KNOW. Dude’s gotten laid twice and all he can think about is his sister and it’s the only way he can get off, ewwwww.

Like -- full disclosure? Brother/sister incest, when consensual, has never really fazed me at all. There’s way sicker shit out there (see: this entire fucking novel) than two adults consensually fucking and I really don’t care. “Ooooh, they’re ~*~SIBLINGS~*~, aren’t I an edgelord?” no man I honestly don’t give a shit.

But there’s that, and then there’s... this.

Touching David’s dick or being forced to touch his dick is gross no matter how distant you both are in the gene pool.

Poor Becca. Poor, poor Becca.

Jesus fucking Christ. Do I really need to comment on this one?

David reminisces on his first rapes of Becca. He uses the word “nymphet” which, if you’re well read enough, you’ll recognise as the same word Humbert Humbert uses to describe Dolores in Lolita, specifically a word that he used to describe sexually attractive (to him, mind) ~13YOs.

So he raped her that night and ofc he thought she liked it (which is why he’s calling it “rape”, obviously). Loud sigh. And we get descriptions of the rapes -- Becca takes escalating precautions to protect herself up until she threatens him with a knife, at which point the rapes stop. Because nothing says “I wanna have sex with you” like locking your door and threatening your bro with a knife.

So he’s raped her three times.

Now he wants revenge for her telling Emmet to check him into rehab. Specifically, revenge with his dick.

So David goes to Becca’s house, presumably to rape her, because that’s all he can fucking think about. He is hyperfocused on this bullshit.

Luckily for both Becca, there’s nobody there. Except the girlfriend, who’s dead, because the poor fuck got stuck in a room with Sascha fucking Vykos. And a creepy AF vampire.

(David briefly fantasises about Emmet and Becca banging each other bc... Reasons I guess???)

Anyway, David breaks in and meets a creepy vampire.

Look, let me tell you upfront here, spoilers galore: the Eternal Hearts wiki page lied. This isn’t actually Isabel, it’s Sascha, even though “Isabel” hears a sound and calls out to “Sascha”, thinking it’s Sascha, because of... idk, Reasons???

Look, consistency isn’t this book’s strong point, okay?

Anyway they’re Sascha Vykos, not Isabel, but we don’t actually find that out ‘til chapter nine. So Sascha’s hanging out there, pretending to be Isabel, and is like “ohh hey, I heard a noise, is it... ME???”

Oh yeah, and “Isabel” has beheaded Becca’s girlfriend and is drinking the blood out of the severed head like an edgelord.

I’m choosing to believe that Sascha Vykos brought a blood bag over to indulge a period kink and that the blood between their thighs has nothing to do with the severed head they were just sucking on.

(Blame the author, not me, I’m just the fucking messenger.)

Saschabel starts masturbating. With their fingers. I think it’s really important to stress that they’re using their fingers, given what’s coming up later.

They know David is watching, they’re taunting him. They also think the poor corpse is Becca and are like “hey why don’t you eat me out and taste your sister’s blood?” because Saschabel just HAPPENED TO HAVE A BLOOD BAG IN IT WITH BECCA’S BLOOD LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU

Even David is like “yeah, no.” And also has a surprising amount of sense:

And then:

BLOOD BAGS ARE GREAT FOR PERIOD KINKS AM I RIGHT

Aaaaand then Saschabel grabs the severed head and then starts --

oh

oh

AAAUGH

OH GOD

WHY

WHY

WHYYYYYYYY

There goes the blood bag/period kink idea. God fucking DAMN IT. You couldn’t let me just HAVE THIS for ONCE, could you, Eternal Hearts?!?!

David realises that the corpse isn’t Becca because its (her? fuck) tits aren’t big enough. Also he has a huge boner. Saschabel has noted this fact.

Saschabel also somehow knows that David wants to bone his sister, because...??? idk. Auspex or something.

and uh

then David starts making out with them.

?????????????????????????????????????????

because what Saschabel was just doing was... really hot? yeah nothing turns David on like corpsefucking I guess. And also lapping up the blood on Sascha’s stomach. dear god dude you’re not even a vampire what the fuck you’ve got NO EXCUSE.

David is about to screw Saschabel senseless but Saschabel is like “lol, no, you’re gonna do the corpse first.”

David is like WHAT.

Saschabel is like “(:” and also makes a pun about heads.

Honestly that terrible pun is the most tasteful part of this whole chapter.

(Actually no, scratch that, Saschabel compares David’s expression to an “untipped waiter” and that is genuinely funny. Dude’s about to be raped by proxy with a corpse and his reaction is compared to an untipped waiter.)

(Yeah that isn’t funny at all but look, if I don’t laugh I’ll cry so I’m choosing to laugh.)

David finally gives in to Saschabel’s threats and goes to town and we get to hear about it in sordid detail, which I will spare you. And thankfully, after an explicit couple of paragraphs, we cut to chapter fucking eight!

Thank. Fucking. CHRIST.

This chapter introduces us to Tony, who is a vampire hunter because he’s an adrenaline junky.

Tony daydreams about his guns, then gets horny:

Dude don’t fuck your prey, that’s just --

I changed my mind, fuck your prey as much as you like, it’s gonna be less rapey than this insinuation because at least if you rape a vampire they’ll rape you right back so we won’t feel as gross.

We cut to Odette, the woman Tony is thinking rapey thoughts about, who’s tailing Lucita and thinking about how she could run like hell right now if she wanted.

(PLEASE, RUN. RUNNN. RUN FAR AWAAAAAY)

And then she gets a flashback about being raped by a camp counselor, because... idk why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is actually really sad, because Odette is absolutely torn about running away from Victoria -- wanting to be free, but also too scared to leave, and too devoted to Victoria to leave. And also Victoria’s clearly been using Auspex on her, and Odette is scared of her mind reading powers.

Lucita seems to spot Odette, and turns around and heads towards her. But before she can reach Odette:

I presume this is Tony, the guy who wants to rape her.

Poor fucking goddamn Odette.

End chapter eight!

[fantroll-purgatory]

@cheyj05

I’m redoing my old Homestuck oc’s, sorry if he’s bad.

Hey now, I notice that this comment is the beginning of a fair amount of putting your own profile down! We trust that you like Theato because you made him and liked him enough to ask us to help you improve him rather than throw him out altogether, so I’m gonna remove a few of the comments where you’re beating yourself up and proceed as usual, okay?

World: Alternia

Name: Theato Ertaro (I don’t remember how I got this name)

It sounds a little like the word “theater” stretched out to 12 letters, which would make sense given his theming around ballet. Let’s see if we can make him more specific. I like Theato since we can link it back etymologically to all sorts of word roots to mean both spectators and spectacle, which I think works great for someone who idealizes forbidden love.

For the last name, perhaps Elsler, for Fanny Elssler, the ballerina who declined to participate in the famous Grand Pas de Quatre, which featured 4 of the other premiere ballerinas of the era performing on a stage together. I feel that this works on many levels to enhance Theato’s theme: Theato is very much capital-r Romantic himself, the quadrant system makes a pas de quatre more appropriate than a pas de deux to represent romantic woes, Elssler voluntarily bowed out so her exclusion was very much self-inflicted, and the most famous pas de quatre is the pas de cygnets involving the four swans in Swan Lake! Age: 6.92 sweeps (15 years old)

Theme/Story: He’s someone who idealizes “ forbidden love”. He falls in “love” constantly w/ people he knows he can’t have specifically b/e he can’t have them(usually lowbloods and people already in a matespritship and he doesn’t consciously choose people he can’t have). He is in a perpetual state of pining. He’s somewhat based on Swan Lake since that’s, like, the de facto tragic love story. As a result he has somewhat of ballet theme. His hive is next to a lake. His ancestor was probably Troll! Odette or Troll! Romeo or something.

Review Goals: General Overview. His classpect is set in stone though.

Noted! I’ll see what I can retrofit to it then.

Strife Specibus: No clue

Huh. We know that Joey from Hiveswap can use balletkind to kick and dance around her enemies, but I worry about pushing Theato too far into that niche. What about trumpetkind, as a reference to The Trumpet of the Swan? He can whack people with it or even blast ‘em with notes to deafen them! Not to mention it gives a really nice opening for a beatdown song titled “Swan Song.”

Fetch Modus: Also no clue

What about a modus that only accepts items in a “quadrant” with one another? For example, peanut butter (<3 jelly <3< mustard <> sea salt). You cannot captchalogue items by themselves, nor can you remove them without extricating the others in their quadrant.

Blood Color: Cerulean

Lunar Sway: Prospit

Title: Page of Heart

Symbol and Meaning: Scorlo, sign of the devious

Handle: passionateReservoir (also don’t remember where I got this from, it sounds like some innuendo I don’t get)

It doesn’t sound like an innuendo necessarily, but it *does* sound like a nonspecific “I’m a passionate person” handle. What about etoileCroise, both ballet terms but literally translating to “star crossed,” which is how he sees himself?

Quirk: no clue.

Special Abilities: Other than blueblood toughness and super not-getting-mindcontrolled powers, nothing much. He can stand en pointe for longer than 5 seconds which is tough.

Lusus/Guardian: A swan who taught him ballet by aggressively yet gracefully squawking at him and taught him to swim by pushing him in the lake. She’s in the aforementioned lake most of the time and if you try to take her inside she’ll try to peck your eyes out.

Dope. Love her. Huge fan.

Interests: He likes to dance ballet and probably knows how to swim

That tracks! How is he when it comes to media consumption? Since he idealizes forbidden love so much, what novels does he read? What television shows does he watch? Does he have a troll Ao3 account? 

Appearance: His hair is in a wavy short bob most of the time, he only ties it back when he’s practicing. He’s pretty tall and his horns are tilted to the front. He wears a white shirt w/ his symbol on it and a black leotard w/ matching black ballet slippers.

Nice! I’m always here for troll boys with longer hair.

Personality: He’s very overdramatic and chews on the scenery in every word. He’s constantly talking about his latest crush to anyone who’ll listen (and even those who don’t want to). You don’t remember bringing it up yet he’s still talking about them. He’s actually really innocent and nice which makes people less likely to be mad at him b/c they know he’s not trying to railroad the conversation but he still ends up doing it. Basically nice but really self-centered and idealized unhealthy ideas of romance.

So you mentioned that his classpect is set in stone, and I want to expand on what that would mean for his character. We’ve seen that Heart relates both to the self and to romantic woes, and that Pages tend to start their journey by not having a lot of their aspect, while having the potential to grow into someone who can wield it to devastating effect. (Potential being the key word here, since some Pages will never reach this stage.)

So this means that Theato most likely doesn’t have a very stable sense of self when this story begins! He doesn’t have a clear idea of who he is, and pining for others to come sweep him away from his life is likely a manifestation of a desire to have someone else tell him who to be. How do you see that developing over the course of his arc?

Land: Land of Lakes and Emotion

I think it tracks that his land would have lakes, but Emotion is a difficult word to convert to a quest, so how about Land o’ Lakes (haha butter) and Silver, covering the land in places he truly needs to “reflect” on himself to advance?

Anyway that’s about it! Thanks for bringing Theato to us, and I hope my suggestions helped!

-TR

[locktobre]

2, 4, 8, and 16!

2.  Favorite heroine/main character?

Oh man this is hard, this is really, really hard... But I think I have to say Princess Alexa from Secret Door. Particularly bc of the scene where she is literally back at the tunnel, just a few feet away from freedom... and she turns around and goes back to help, anyway. She didn’t HAVE to stay. This is just some weird magic place filled with problems that are not really HER problem, she could easily just go back to her own normal life and act like nothing had ever happened (and tbh, be very justified in doing so)... but she wanted to help them. She didn’t need to, she wanted to, and that is SUCH a hero move.

And then there’s her absolute joy singing “I’ve Got Magic” and discovering all she can do... And the way she says “You want it all? Take it!” to Malucia, which is SO badass... Plus, when Malucia is like “What ARE you?!” and she says “I’m a princess!”... that line gave me chills when I first heard it. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever felt like there was any real power in being a princess, despite what D*sney/E*H/etc try to push. She’s SO good! So underappreciated, even by me!

(Of course, my answer at any given moment is subject to change. Even as I finished writing this, I was thinking “Wait, maybe it’s Kara... no, Elina... no, Merliah...” I could wax poetic about every protagonist, I love them ALL so much.)

4.  Favorite Barbie film dance scene?

This one’s easy! The black swan pas de deux in Swan Lake, by a mile. The artistry... The way it shifts between Odile/Odette as she dances behind Daniel and when the camera angles change... It is a PERFECT scene and I think of it always. Ironically, my second choice is the other black swan pas de deux, in Pink Shoes, which is also very artistically done with BOTH Odile and “Odette” dancing with Siegfried in a very unique way. But the original Swan Lake one is hands-down my favorite, always.

8.  Favorite Barbie female secondary/side character?

I already said Sal-Lee, so for another favorite... I think Kylie Morgan. I LOVE her banter with Merliah. I love the way she hands the necklace back after Merliah saves her from the whirlpool, entirely forgetting that she’s at the bottom of the ocean for a second. I love that she decides to stick with Merliah bc she loves the ocean, too, even tho she has NO idea what the hell is going on. I love that she throws the necklace to Merliah during the ceremony, especially bc for all she knew, Merliah wouldn’t get it back to her in time and she was going to drown right then, but it would be worth it to save the ocean... Ride or die from day one... She is really in it to win it, in whatever situation, and I adore that.

16.  Most romantic Barbie film scene?

Okay, so I don’t know if this counts, technically... but the scene in Island Princess when Antonio gives up his crown. He was willing to give up his WHOLE life for Ro! Everything he knew, his title, his status, he was just going to walk away... and yeah, he was kind of a free-spirit before that but still. The drama... the romance of it all... If Tika hadn’t hidden the fucking note they would have run away together... but I guess since Ro staying meant she met her mother, it all turned out okay.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A Place To Call Home: Vacation

Summary: The Ackles and Padaleckis are heading to the beach for a two week long family vacation. The reader invites TJ along and is surprised to learn someone else may have beat her to the punch…

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x foster daughter!reader (with TJ)

Word Count: 10,300ish (whoops)

Warnings: language, little implied smut

A/N: Takes place approximately 2 years after the end of A Place To Call Home and after the reader has finished college...

“Hey guys,” asked your dad quietly, skirting back from first class squatting down in the aisle, looking at both you and TJ. “How’s it going back here?”

“Arrow stole my window seat and Zeppelin insisted TJ watch Transformers with him so...lovely,” you said, shaking your head at TJ who was sandwiched between Zepp and Shep across the aisle.

“Mom and I and the other guys really appreciate you two watching the little guys on the flights for us,” said Jensen, giving you a smile. “So much so we figure before you two go insane back here, we’d let you know that the villa we’re staying in has a separate cottage. We thought maybe you and TJ would want to maybe take that for-”

“Yup,” you said nodding your head. “This is the best flight ever. We’ll even watch ‘em on the way home, won’t we TJ?”

“Yes. A million times yes,” he said with a fast nod, your dad chuckling.

“Didn’t think you two would mind a little privacy,” he said, giving you a smile and raising an eyebrow at TJ. “Appropriate privacy.”

“Of course,” he said. You shook your head, scratching the back of it when your dad looked back to you. He rolled his eyes and smiled as he stood up.

“Alright, we’ll see you guys in a few hours,” he said. “Have fun sibling sitting.”

“Do we have all of ‘em?” asked Jared, yawning as your parents grabbed the rental cars at the airport. “How many kids are there? I forget.”

“Six small, two large,” said Gen. “So, eight total.”

“We’re graduated from college and we still fall in the kids category?” you asked, waving you to you and TJ.

“I think one of the large children is acting up again,” teased Jared.

“I put Jared and Jensen in the large children category, hun,” said Gen, giving Jared a smirk. “Still debating on TJ at the moment although he’s more mature than those two put together.”

“Come to the dark side, TJ. It’s fun here,” said Jared with a nod, watching you scowl at him.

“Yeah but Jensen…you know...” said TJ.

“Fair point,” said Jared, corralling Odette when she started to wander off. “Everyone under 6’ 5” must stay in a ten foot vicinity at all times at the airport, Ms. Odette.”

“Dad, it’s pretty outside,” she grumbled, waving her arms around. “I wanna play. Please?”

“As soon as Uncle Jensen and Aunt De get the cars, we are going to the resort and we can play,” he said. “Promise.”

“So, right now,” said your dad, handing a set of keys to Jared and one to TJ. “Small kids with your parents, luggage goes with the big kids.”

You saw Tom and JJ look at one another, Jensen rolling his eyes.

“Over twenty is a big kid today, kiddos,” he said.

“But I’m ten and Tom’s eleven,” said JJ. “Double digits.”

“It’s cool if they ride with us,” said TJ. “Really.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s just get there so we can relax for minute,” he said.

“Awesome,” you said, TJ smirking the whole time as you put your luggage into the back of the open top jeep, JJ and Tom practically bouncing out of their seats.

“Alright, buckle up and we will be there in about half an hour,” said TJ.

“You two good back there?” you asked. You got hums and a pair of thumbs up, TJ laughing as he pulled your sunglasses down over your face. “Well let’s get going. I am so driving this next time we go out by the way.”

“Might have to fight me for it,” teased TJ. It didn’t take long to get away from the airport and start to smell the ocean in the air and feel the sun on your skin. It hadn’t been hard for your dad to convince you to take this year’s big vacation to the caribbean after last year’s fiasco. It had been his choice to try camping and after one night of roughing it with three bouts of stomach bugs later, you packed up and checked into a hotel not too far down the road and spent the rest of the two weeks relaxing with a nice room to come back to at the end of the day.

Unfortunately TJ hadn’t been able to get the time off with his internship to come with you but now he was working at the firm under the guy that had ironically designed your parents house, and they were very flexible with time off.

“I’m so glad my parents said yes that you could come this year,” you said, glancing over at him as he drove, his left arm hanging on the edge of doorsill, a warm breeze in the air carrying a pretty scent through it.

“I’m glad they invited me,” he said with a smile.

“They invited you?” you asked. “I invited you.”

“Oh. I remember your dad asking me if I wanted to come like a week before you did. I was away for spring break at my parents and he called me up,” he said. “I figured you were excited and wanted to talk about it in person was all.”

“I talked to them about it after...they invited you...now I’m suspicious,” you said, peering over your shoulder at the SUV behind you your dad was driving.

“I’m sure they just wanted to know for planning rooms and stuff,” he said.

“Or he could like...be planning to murder you in foreign country,” you said.

“Seriously?” said TJ. “Your little sister and like cousin are in the car.”

“We watch lifetime movies when Y/N babysits,” said Tom.

“She’s got a point, TJ. The perfect crime,” said JJ.

“These children are going to be vandals when they grow up thanks to you,” said TJ, shaking his head with a smile. “What else does Y/N have you guys watch?”

“I let ‘em watch Supernatural sometimes,” you said, TJ’s jaw dropping. “So what if the rule was like thirteen? They can watch some stuff. Like bloody mary. Ain’t that right JJ? You loved that one.”

You spun around with a smirk, JJ shaking her head, Tom rolling his eyes.

“Or like hookman,” you said, his head dropping back. You laughed and TJ started to giggle.

“Vandals and traumatizing them. Best big sister ever there,” he teased.

“Dude, that stuff’s in the handbook,” you said, reaching back and ruffling both their heads. “They know I love ‘em. It’s our little secret.”

“What about like...the stuff that’s a little more...grown up?” asked TJ.

“No. No. That’s why you watch the show ahead of me now. I can not have another Jared and Gen season 4 couch incident,” you said, shaking yourself out. “Seeing dad was bad enough but that was full on…”

“What?” asked Tom.

“It’s an episode you’ll never see and for good reason,” you said. “You’ll thank me someday.”

“Hey, you know what? You guys are pretty lucky to have Y/N. I’m an only kid. I would have loved having a big brother or sister around. It can get pretty lonely,” said TJ.

“But now you got us!” said JJ. TJ laughed and agreed with her but you only bit your bottom lip. You didn’t realize you were still smiling when you got to the resort, your dad grinning at you when he saw your face.

“Somebody looks like they’re in love,” he said, Arrow taking off with your mom ahead of him.

“Yeah,” you said, grabbing you bag from the back, helping JJ with hers before you gave her a hug. “Pretty awesome little sis right here.”

He was quick to take a picture of you two, nudging you to hold back once everyone started heading inside.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. We were just talking in the car and TJ was talking about siblings and how the kids are lucky to have them and she made a comment like TJ’s part of our family so he’s got ‘em too. I don’t know. I’m…” you said. “Why’d you invite him on vacation?”

“It was a family vacation,” he said. “He’s part of the family.”

“Really?” you asked, your dad nodding with a smile.

“You’ve been best friends with the guy for four years, you’ve been dating for two and he comes over for dinner like six days a week. I think it’s okay if we call him part of the family at this point,” he said. You smiled, getting one in return. “I assumed you wanted him to come.”

“Oh, I did,” you said. “S’nice that you invited him is all.”

“I know. I’m also not going to murder him because yes, I watched that lifetime movie too,” he said.

“Well good cause then it’d be a whole thing to deal with..” you said, getting a chuckle from him.

“It’s why we act and make beer in this family. Whole lot easier,” he teased, tilting his head at you. “Speaking of making beer, mom says she’s creating a new position at the brewery. Full time, Monday to Friday. Someone to help with the business and design side of things, run social media. It comes with benefits, pretty kick ass salary, very flexible time off…”

“I told mom I’m taking it,” you said. “A big part of my duties will also be designing the farmhouse for the new restaurant and getting that up to code. I get to use that degree for something after all looks like.”

“You’re going to be a boss, not just a beer server anymore. You want that?” he asked. “You’ll be making decisions with all the owners.”

“It’s sort of called The Family Business so it makes sense that family runs it,” you said. “I want this.”

“Oh my...it only took you like five years to get that the plan was for the kids to run it someday,” he said with a laugh. “Whew. We were getting nervous for a minute there.”

“You guys were waiting for me to ask about a job?” you said. He shrugged, giving you a smirk.

“There’s always been a job there for you. Duh. Of course we were waiting for you to ask,” he said.

“You two are partially evil you know,” you said.

“But we’re nice evil, kiddo,” he said, giving you a hug, getting a strange look from a guy walking by. “Come on, let’s go be weird inside.”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to not be weird that long. You might actually combust from restraining yourself,” you said, smiling at him.

“I learned it from watching you, tall munchkin,” he said. You rolled your eyes and headed inside, handing over your bags to someone before everyone was being led off to your own private corner of the resort.

You parents and the Padaleckis thanked the people that brought your bags, you and TJ watching the kids take off to explore the villa.

“Guys, guys,” said your mom, Gen whistling before they got too far. “You three boys are sharing a room on the right. You three girls are right next door to them. Tom, JJ, us adults will be upstairs, Pads on the left, Ackles on the right. Any problems, come get any one of us, okay?”

“Where are TJ and Y/N going to sleep?” asked Arrow.

“Backyard,” said your dad. The kids scrunched up their faces, Jared nodding. “I know, sucks for them. But they’ll just be sleeping out there so during the day, those guys are still in charge too. Okay now take off you scoundrels. And no going near the pool or the beach without an adult out there.”

All six pairs of heads nodded before they were gone to their rooms and you were tugging TJ outside. You hummed as you both spotted the short path to the cottage off to the side.

“It looks beautiful,” you said, both of you wide eyed as you entered. There was a small kitchen and sitting room in the front of the house, and a huge bathroom and  bedroom with a perfect oceanfront view in the back, your bags already inside. “Wow.”

You stepped outside onto the small deck out there, looking around and seeing nothing but beach.

“This is so private. Isn’t it gorgeous?” you asked, looking back over your shoulder.

“It is,” he said, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“Are you blushing TJ?” you teased.

“You should see how beautiful you are,” he said, smirking as he stepped out beside you. “That’s a very pretty sundress for a girl that doesn’t like dresses.”

“It’s the caribbean,” you shrugged, TJ humming as he wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder as you both stared out. “Want to go swimming?”

“Mmm, for sure,” he said, kissing your cheek before he pulled back. You went inside, digging through your bags for your swim gear, TJ with swim trunks in hand when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” said your dad, raising an eyebrow when he walked inside to the bedroom. “Wow, this place is nice. Just wanted to let you guys know we were thinking be ready to go for dinner at six? Little formal, not too formal. You probably need a dress shirt or polo TJ, a dress or nice shirt for you, honey.”

“Sounds good. We were going to go for a quick swim,” you said.

“Alright. Be safe. I think that’s the plan for us too. Oh and try not to spend all your time tucked away in here,” he teased, glancing at you and then your open suitcase. You kicked it shut, turning and looking at a picture on the wall when you saw him realize what he’d seen.

“Isn’t that a great picture?” you said. “That’s a great-”

“It’s a box of condoms. Guess what? You’re not the only one to pack some,” he said. You closed your eyes and shook your head, a loud laughing echoing from him. “Well I know where to come if I run out.”

“Sorry, I think...nope I definitely hear mom calling me right now,” you said, grabbing your phone. “I should totally take this and get away from here asap.”

“Oh so you don’t want to hear that you guys can order whatever you want for room service from here? Like we're paying for everything?” he teased.

“...Continue,” you said.

“Don’t blow our retirement fund but you guys want some wine, late night dinner, go for it. You’re both responsible,” he said. “Okay? Have fun on your swim guys.”

“Alright,” you said, your dad pausing on his way out, turning to TJ before he shook his head, biting back his comment.

“I need a beer,” he sighed. “Six sharp for dinner you two.”

“Gotcha,” you said, groaning when he left. “Oh my god. Never answer the door again.”

“I’m okay with that,” he said, peeling off of his short sleeve henley and shorts, shimmying out of his boxer briefs as he started to pull on his swim trunks.

“Remember the first time we were naked in front of each other?” you asked, leaning against the wall as he pulled up the shorts.

“Yes. I remember a whole lot of avoided eye contact and awkwardness and then I actually looked at you and thought, fuck she is smokin’ hot and beautiful? How’d I land this girl?” he said, walking over, peeling the straps off your dress until it slid off your body.

“You were always hot...then you got all muscly,” you said, patting his arm with a smirk as you grabbed your bikini and started to change.

“Well you do have a thing for big arms apparently,” he teased.

“True. I got a thing for sweet boys too,” you said, spinning around and showing your back to him. “Tie me up?”

“Y/N, you scoundrel,” he fake scoffed as you smacked his chest. He tied the strings together across your back and behind your neck, brushing your hair behind your ear when you spun around. “I love you, dork.”

“I love you, dork,” you said, giving him a peck on the nose.

“No nightmares last night?” he asked. You shook your head, TJ smiling wide. “S’been awhile since you had one. Must be a new record.”

“It is,” you said, resting your head on his chest. “Been feeling pretty good since that meltdown at finals week. I feel...safe.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you,” he said. You giggled and looked up at him. “S’why I got big and strong you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, TJ shrugging.

“Seriously? I thought you were trying to impress my dad or something which you totally don’t have to. He loves you,” you said.

“I like knowing I make you feel safe,” he said. “I like knowing I can keep you safe if I have to and are you blushing Y/N Ackles?”

“Shut up,” you laughed, grabbing his hand. “Come on, let’s go check out that pool.”

“Honey?” asked your mom from her chair by the pool, TJ showing Zepp how to flip into the water along with your dad at the other end. “Did TJ start working out more recently?”

“Your boyfriend’s like hot, Y/N,” said Gen, your mom whacking her arm. “What? He is! I remember him being smaller.”

“He joined crossfit about six months ago,” you said. “I tease him about being a jock now.”

“I guess we’ll have to see if JJ follows in tradition of choosing a man that goes smaller to strong,” joked Gen. “Always sweet though.”

“She probably will,” said your mom. “I think we got a few more years before boys come into the picture. Let ‘em enjoy being kids.”

Gen hummed and stood up with a stretch.

“True. So glad I got a while before Odette’s dealing with that. It’s getting late. We better get ready,” she said.

“Why don’t you wear that white dress with the little bowtie front?” asked your mom as she stood up. “That’s plenty pretty for the restaurant. I think TJ will like it.”

“He likes everything I wear,” you said. “Like everything.”

“They normally do,” she said. “We’ll meet you out front, okay?”

“Okay. We’ll be there.”

You gave TJ a smile at the table, looking him up and down in his white dress shirt and khaki shorts. You were vaguely listening to the conversation your parents were having, the kids seemingly passed out for the most part after the day of travel.

“I don’t think they’re listening to us,” you heard, your head whipping around, TJ’s doing the same. You saw four pairs of smiles as they were standing up. “We’re going to head back to the house guys.”

“Alright,” you said, some of the kids getting treated to rides back on the walk, Arrow walking over to TJ with a smile.

“You want a ride, pipsqueak?” he asked, bending down and scooping her up. “Did you like dinner?”

“Yeah,” she yawned. “You smell good.”

“It’s cologne,” he said.

“Daddy wears that sometimes,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder as you took his other hand and started the walk back. “TJ?”

“Mhm?”

“Can we build a sandcastle tomorrow?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. She nodded and started to snore after a minute, TJ chuckling quietly.

“It seems you have a way with the Ackles women,” you said.

“Oh yes. You all fall asleep on me,” he said. “It was a long day for a seven year old.”

“Thanks for carrying her,” you said.

“S’no problem.”

“Thanks guys,” said your dad after you dropped off Arrow in her room. “We were going to have a drink by the pool if you want to join us.”

“Sure,” you said when TJ nodded. “I want to put on something warmer first.”

“No rush,” he said.

The second you sat down on the bed to take off your sandals though, you groaned, TJ doing the same.

“Sleep?” you asked.

“Sleep,” he said.

You grabbed your phone and texted your dad, tucking yourself into TJ’s side before he could even respond.

“Morning,” hummed TJ when you stirred awake. You stretched out, sighing into the sheets. “This bed is amazing.”

“I know,” you said, rolling over to catch the clock. “It’s already ten. We should probably get up.”

“Tomorrow we should get breakfast in bed,” he said.

“I like that plan,” you said. “Let’s go grab something from the resort and then we can head down to the beach.”

“Alright, alright,” said your dad, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. “Dad needs a break.”

“What are you, old, Ackles?” teased Jared, kicking around the soccer ball more with you and JJ.

“Yes and I’m not twisting my ankle two days into this thing,” he said with a huff. “Beer break.”

“I’ll take one of those,” you said.

“Beer, beer, lemonade,” said Jared, pointing at JJ, getting a nod. “Hey, Gen, De! What do you guys want for drinks?”

“We’re a delivery service now?” said your dad.

“Can I get a mojito?” asked your mom.

“I’ll have one too!” said Gen, Odette asking for grape juice.

“Let’s go find a waiter,” asked your dad. You headed more towards the resort area and eventually found one, getting everyone’s orders in as they said they’d send them over for you. You and your dad took a break at the resort bar in the air conditioning, glad to be out of the sun for a minute.

“JJ’s getting good at her dribbling, better than me now,” you said.

“I know. I could handle when you were better but the ten year old kicking my ass makes me question the old man comments,” he said.

“You’re barely 46, dad,” you said.

“Hot 46,” said a pair of women that walked past, giving him a wave.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little,” you said.

“Hey, I’m hot 46,” he said with a smirk, puffing his chest out.

“You’re something alright,” you said, laughing when the fruitiest and brightest pink drink you’d ever seen was sat down in front of your dad.

“Courtesy Mr. Hanover,” said a waiter appearing from nowhere, a double of whiskey set down in front of you. The waiter questioned himself but you took the whiskey, smiling at your dad as the waiter left.

“Careful. I think TJ might like you,” you teased.

“Hey, mine came with a little umbrella,” he said, plucking it out and sticking it in your hair. “You guys crashed before us last night.”

“We were tired. Mom mentioned bonfire tonight?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he hummed, sucking on the straw until you saw half of it gone in ten seconds. You grabbed it away and asked for some water for him. “Hey, I’m thirsty.”

“What are you? Freshman on her first spring break? That thing has so much alcohol in it,” you said.

“Tastes like kool aid to me,” he said, taking a sip of the water, reaching for his drink again when you pulled it away.

“Do I have to have the talk with you?” you asked. “Pace yourself?”

“To use your words from that conversation, I won’t let the boys take advantage of me,” he deadpanned, cocking his head as wiped the sweat off your face. “So how’s Mr. TJ enjoying himself?”

“He’s good. I think he’s a little awestruck. He forgets we…” you shrugged.

“Have money? Well that’s because we don’t give you guys everything you want,” he said. “And you hate shopping thank god.”

“You gave me what I wanted,” you said, taking a sip of the pink drink, catching the soft smile on his face.

“We could live in a cardboard box and you’d be happy kiddo. You got different wants than most well off twenty somethings,” he said.

“I know,” you said, swinging your feet off the end of the bar stool, one of your flip flops falling off.

“Proud of you,” he said with a smile.

“What’d I do?”

“Just proud of you is all,” he said with a shrug. “You’re getting all grown up.”

“Yeah. Still feel like JJ’s older than me sometimes,” you said, his head cocking. “She doesn’t hesitate. She goes for stuff and I still overthink things so much.”

“Well...first off she’s ten so her problems consist of who sat next to who at lunch and the fact she can’t braid her hair,” he said. “You had slightly different priorities at ten. You missed that phase.”

“I can’t even braid my own hair good,” you mumbled.

“Y/N,” he grumbled.

“I know,” you said.

“Honey. Why do you think we go on big family vacations? We want you to get to have those chances to be a kid. We’re all just big kids. Case and point, you know what we get up to when the little kids aren’t around and someday they’ll get in on the secret too,” he said.

“Just feels funny sometimes,” you said. “I feel like a fake grown up, you know?”

“Yup. One hundred percent yup,” he said, taking his pink drink back. “Fake it til you make it.”

“Okay, I think we get you back to the beach before I have to divulge this new beverage of choice information to Uncle Jared,” you said.

“I will disown you,” he said

“No you won’t,” you said with a smirk, grabbing the drink and chugging the rest of it down.

“Got me there,” he said. “This time, you’re on my team.”

“Hey, Y/N?” asked JJ while you walked up to the house from the fire you were having on the beach that night.

“Mhm,” you hummed, holding open the door for her before she took off to the bathroom. You headed to the kitchen and started to grab some snacks and drinks to bring back down. You were nearly packed up when she came back.

“Can I ask a question about being brave?” she asked. You spun around, giving her a smile.

“Being brave? Isn’t that more dad’s department?” you teased. “Yeah, shoot. Everything okay?”

“Um...well...I didn’t want to come up to the house by myself,” she said. You tilted your head as you headed out the backdoor, JJ a little close as you walked across the deck area. “I don’t like the dark.”

“I don’t like the dark either,” you said. “But I do like nighttime.”

“Isn’t that kind of funny?” she asked.

“A little,” you said, slowing your walk back, stopping when you were halfway between the house and the beach, taking a seat on the step. She sat next to you, lifting her head up when you looked up. “S’quiet at night. Peaceful.”

“Stars are pretty,” she said.

“Yeah, they are,” you said, buming her shoulder. “You know, it’s okay to be scared of the dark, especially places you don’t know. This place is safe though. You don’t have to be scared here.”

“I know. I keep waiting to get older so I’m not scared of stuff, like how mom and dad let you do stuff by yourself and you don’t have to ask permission to sleepover TJ’s,” she said.

“I’m a lot older, JJ,” you said. “It’s part of growing up...and part of that is learning you don’t ever stop being completely scared of stuff. You learn more though so it doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Yeah but how are you brave?” she asked.

“Only time you can be brave is when you’re afraid,” you said. “It’s like how dad used to be afraid of public speaking.”

“No he didn’t,” she scoffed.

“Yeah, he did. But he did it, even though he was scared, and now he has so much fun at conventions. Sometimes it’s just something that takes time, like not being afraid of the dark,” you said, looking around. “Like how it’s pretty dark right now but you don’t seem scared.”

“I guess...I’m not,” she said, looking around, giving you a smile when she turned back.

“See? Nighttime ain’t so bad,” you said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty,” she said with a nod, staring at you, that same look she’d been giving you more and more lately.

“JJ, if you want to ask a question, go ahead,” you said softly.

“If something ever happened to mom and dad...would me and Ro and Zepp go to a foster home like you did?” she asked. You smiled and shook your head, glancing down at the beach.

“No. No. Mom and dad...they have it all squared away so grandma and grandpa would take care of you guys and I would be a guardian along with them,” you said.

“A guardian?” she asked.

“Yeah. It means I’m an adult, not your parent, but I’ll take care of you like a parent would. Before I was adopted, mom and dad were like guardians for me,” you said. “You’d stay at home, same school, all that.”

“You’d take care of us?” she asked.

“I’m your big sister. I’d do anything for you guys,” you said, giving her a hug.

“Why’d your mom and dad not do that for you so you didn’t have to go to foster care?” she asked.

“I didn’t have much for blood relatives. My parents were only kids and my other grandparents were all gone before I was born. But they had a plan, some of their friends said sure if something ever happened to them they would take care of me,” you said.

“They lied?”

“No, I don’t think they lied,” you said, leaning back against the step behind you, propping your elbows up. “They just...weren’t prepared to take care of a kid.”

“So you went to a foster home?” she asked.

“After I got out of the hospital, yeah,” you said with a nod.

“Was it scary?” she asked quietly. “The car crash?”

“I don’t really remember a lot from that night. I hit my head in the accident so stuff is fuzzy. But I remember glimpses from inside the car and yeah, it was scary. It was really scary,” you said.

“Who took care of you?” she asked.

“There was this police officer. Dougie. He was probably Uncle Jared’s age. Big strong guy but super friendly. I crawled out of the car around the time he got there. It was pitch black and raining and I was crying and everything hurt...and he just picked me up, sat me down in the backseat of his car with him and he was just quiet. He put a blanket around me and sat there and held my hand and he never left my side until we got to the hospital and the doctor’s had to look at me. He even came to visit me the next day,” you said. “Other people were there and stitched me up but Dougie took care of me that night. I can remember Dougie.”

“What happened when you got better?” she asked.

“Well I met with some people when I was in the hospital, including Cole,” you said. “They went over some stuff with me. Cole went out of his way to help with all my parents stuff and arrangements and all that. A week after the accident, he took me to my first foster home. There were about eight other kids there,” you said. “I had to share a room with three other girls. All I wanted to do was cry so that’s what I did.”

“But then you got happier?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I didn’t get happier until I came to our house. I didn’t want to admit it but that first day, I knew mom and dad were different and they were good, all you guys were.”

“I remember when I got in trouble that time, when I told you to go away around Christmas?” she said. “Dad said you had mean mom and dads before.”

“You know he wasn’t talking about no hugs and kisses, now, huh,” you said. She nodded, looking over at you. “Someday I’ll tell you more but you’re too young right now for that.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Promise.”

“No, kiddo. I get that. I want you to-”

“Mom and dad are good so I’m not afraid,” she said, blinking at you a few times. “Just a little. Please?”

“...I used to be very afraid of touch, from guys, like dad. My first birthday party, when I’d been here a week, he held my hand to try and walk with me to the kitchen and I ripped right out of it because I was afraid...because that’s what I learned in foster care. Not all of them were like that and I do not want you to have the wrong impression. It helps a lot of kids. It helped me with finding mom and dad. But some places are bad and someday you can learn why I ended up in those ones but-”

“If you were in bad ones, why’d you come to us?” she asked.

“Because Cole helped me and when they tried to make me leave, stuff happened and I got to stay home,” you said.

“You were afraid of dad?”

“That was a long, long time ago,” you said, smiling as you heard a whistle from the beach. “But he was slow and gentle when I’d forgotten that’s how you’re supposed to be treated. We have really amazing parents, JJ. Even you helped me way back then.”

“Me? What’d I do?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. Just know I love you, squirt,” you said, giving the top of her head a kiss. “You want a piggyback ride?”

She hopped on your back and you nearly stumbled forward, picking up the basket and carrying it down to the beach with a grunt.

“I forgot how heavy she is now,” you breathed out when she climbed off and took a seat. You handed out the drinks, your mom grabbing you when you walked past.

“Everything okay?” she whispered.

“Mhm. Just a little bonding time,” you said. “We’re all good.”

“Never have I ever?” asked Jared, your mom shaking her head. “Oh, they know you guys get up to stuff. We all heard about the couch make out session. Oh, I got it...first time you snuck out and got caught.”

You’d heard both your parents stories before as they told them, Gen patting herself on the shoulder for technically only getting caught by the family dog.

“What about the youngin’s? TJ?” asked Jared.

“Oh come on. It’s TJ. He probably never even snuck out,” said your dad.

“Junior year of high school. Went to the end of year party. Asked out Hallie Knicks. I got completely rejected but I did manage to get drunk and walk home straight through the front door. My parents thought I was playing a prank on ‘em,” said TJ.

“Wait you snuck out, came home drunk, admitted it yourself and got off scot free?” asked Jared.

“Yup,” said TJ.

“Shit. I want your parents,” said Jared. TJ chuckled, everyone turning to you, your parents wearing big smirks. “Out with it, kiddo. When’d you ditch these dorks?”

“No, the game is first time you snuck out and got caught,” said your dad, raising an eyebrow. “Which we never did…”

“I never snuck out at their house,” you said with a shrug. “First time I was ten.”

“Ten? Whoa, don’t be telling JJ that,” said your dad.

“What’d you do? Go to a friends house?” asked Jared.

“Tried to runaway. Didn’t get far. Cop brought me back twenty minutes later,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, letting it fall through your toes. “Not a good night.”

You glanced up, the conversation dying out, your dad squeezing his beer bottle as he narrowed his eyes at the fire.

“Hey mom? How’d you fall in love with dad?” you asked.

“Jensen stole her from the mental ward,” teased Jared.

“At least mine’s not a demon,” he said.

“Demons have more fun,” said Gen.

“Yeah, yeah,” said your dad, your mom rolling he eyes with a smile. “So dad and I got a job on the same movie…”

“Wha?” you mumbled, lifting your head off TJ’s shoulder.

“Come here,” he said quietly, lifting you out of the beach chair, your arms going around the back of his neck. The fire was still going, your dad and Jared sitting there, laughing about something. “Let’s put you to bed.”

“Night, Jared,” you mumbled.

“Night, Y/N.”

“Night, dad,” you breathed into TJ’s neck, half asleep already. “Breakfast.”

“I remember. Breakfast in bed tomorrow,” said TJ. “Let’s get you put away, sweetie.”

He carried you all the way back to the cottage, helping you wash off the sand from your feet before he plucked off your clothes, threw one of his tees on you and threw the covers over you.

“You’re not coming to bed?” you said when he headed back for the door.

“In a little while. I was going to stay up a little more if that’s okay,” he said.

“Mhm. Love you.”

“Love you too, Y/N.”

The next two weeks flew by and you were seriously considering begging that you come back the next year.

“Sucks that we have to fly home tomorrow,” you said, moving slowly to some sweet music after dinner, TJ a far better dancer than he gave himself credit for.

“Yeah,” he said. “This has been nice. More than nice.”

“Want to cross something off the bucket list tonight?” you asked.

“Last time you said that, I was swimming in the ocean butt naked in the middle of the night when a piece of seaweed about gave me a heart attack,” he teased.

“Ah but we have the memory of you squealing like a little girl forever now,” you said, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile.

“What do you got in mind troublemaker?”

“Firewalking? Are you insane?” asked TJ.

“You’ve met my family so it’s quite possible,” you said, pulling him over with you. “It’ll be fun.”

“You are insane, woman,” he said, waving you to go first. You stepped up and put down your foot, feeling the heat but you walked across normally and hopped off into the sand, TJ blinking slowly at you.

“Your turn babe,” you said with a wink.

“Okay, okay, okay,” said TJ, walking a little faster, a bit more of a wince on his face but he made it through, a big huff of air escaping him. “The things you do for love.”

“Loser.”

“Loser,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “I had a dance to finish with you if I recall correctly.”

“Mind if I cut in?” you heard from behind you an hour later, TJ smiling as he stepped away and headed for your mom across the way. “Having fun tonight?”

“Yes, dad,” you said, moving a bit slower with him. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I haven’t had a nightmare in over two months,” you said, a big smile on his face. “Well...one of those ones. I keep having this weird cat one though...”

“We’ll take it,” he said, spinning you around. “I’m glad to hear it. You seem happy lately.”

“After that epic meltdown I had finals week a few months ago, I tried to think about what you said and...I’m happy. Maybe not everyday and I know I’m just in this nice sweet spot right now but I’m not so scared of the rest of my life I guess. I got a pretty good one, you know?” you said.

“Yeah. Nice to hear you say it though,” he said as he moved around. “Mom’s already making plans to come back.”

“Oh we are so coming back,” you said.

“Figured you wouldn’t have a problem with that,” he said, looking across the way. “Think TJ will want to come with?”

“Yeah,” you said. “He seems less nervous around you. You guys talk or something?”

“Just guy stuff,” he said. He looked up at the dark sky above you, humming to himself. “I told mom I’m taking the rest of the year off.”

“Really? You’ve been busy since the show ended,” you said.

“I did 15 seasons of the show and then been busy with movies...I think I deserve a little time off,” he said with a smile. “Maybe mom and I’ll take a little time just for us if you wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a little while?”

“Never,” you said.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, kissing the top of your head before he broke off. “Go dance with your boyfriend. This is one of those moments you remember when you’re my age.”

“You’re not old dad,” you said.

“Yes! She finally said it!” he said with a fist pump.

“TJ? There’s a senile old man over here I need to get away from,” you said.

“I’ll take him,” said your mom, skirting over to your dad.

“Of course you will,” you said, grabbing TJ’s hand. “Want to head back to the cottage?’

“Yes please.”

“Alright,” said your dad, plopping down on the couch back in Austin the next night. “Kids are finally down.”

“TJ, where’s your sweatshirt?” you asked, rubbing your arms in the ice cold house. “Someone left the AC on.”

“I left it on the couch,” he said, munching on some pizza from the kitchen. The flight home had been long and it was late, everyone in bed and you were secretly just waiting for TJ to get his butt in bed so you could go to sleep too.

You grabbed the sweatshirt and tossed it on, shoving your hands in the pockets to get warm. You felt something odd though and pulled it out, holding up the square object for a few seconds before it clicked what it was.

You spun wide eyed towards the kitchen but TJ was already in front of you, snatching it out of your hands.

“Is that…” you said, swallowing as you looked up at him. He smiled and nodded, starting to bend down when you jumped up and threw your arms around him.

“Not even gonna let me ask, huh?” he teased.

“Sorry,” you said, peeling away for a moment as he got down.

“So...I was totally going to do this down there…” he said, glancing at your sweatshirt. “But I forgot my sweatshirt here.”

“You dork,” you said, smiling hard.

“Your dork for as long as you’ll have me. Would you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, TJ standing up and opening the box, slipping on the ring. “Did that really just happen?”

“I think so,” he said. You gave him a big kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks before you were laughing too hard and had to pull back. “Hey now, no take backs.”

“No. Never,” you said, grabbing his hands. “Never.”

“Good,” he said, kissing you again. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you said, biting your bottom lip, getting another hug before you realized your dad was poking his head around the stairs to the TV room, whipping it back around when he saw you. “You can stop hiding dad.”

“Just giving you two your moment,” he said, giving you a smile when he came back in. He smiled and nodded at you both, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll uh...well I’ll see you two in the morning, hm?”

He hummed as he walked past, his smile turning to a smirk as he glanced around the corner back at you.

“He knew, didn’t he,” you said, looking to TJ.

“I asked,” said TJ. “He’s known about two weeks.”

“I’m going to guess it was a yes?” you asked.

“Well-” started TJ, your dad shaking his head. “Just guy stuff really.”

“Yup. Night, kids. We’ll go out to breakfast or something,” said your dad, looking you up and down and then at TJ. “I think you’re in good hands now.”

“Yeah. I am,” you said, grinning back at TJ. “Night dad.”

“Night kiddo.”

Jensen’s POV

“The kids finally going to bed?” asked De when I walked in our room. I hummed and sat on the edge of the mattress, crawling under the covers and hitting off the light. She rolled over and pulled my arm around her shoulders, nuzzling into my right side. She was warm and soft and there was still that little flutter there. “Jensen?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s heading to bed,” I said, giving her a light squeeze. “I love you.”

“I love you, hun,” she said, nestling her head on the pillow, taking a few deep breaths. “He finally did it, didn’t he. You got that look.”

“Yup. We got a son-in-law on the way,” I said, smiling at her.

“What was her reaction? You see it?” she asked.

“I think some of that weight she carries just went away for good. Not all of it but...she was happy. She’s happy,” I said, closing my eyes. “She’s happy.”

“You can cry, Jens,” she said gently.

“I’m happy too,” I said.

“Not every day your oldest girl gets engaged,” she said. “To one of the arguably sweetest men on Earth.”

“He’ll take care of her,” I said. “He already takes care of her.”

“We did good. You did good,” she said. “Set an example of what she deserves.”

“I guess we did, huh? Not too bad for two people who had no idea what they were doing,” I said.

“Eh, we figured it out eventually,” she said. “Let’s sleep. I have to wake up early and make some celebration cupcakes or something now before breakfast burritos.”

“You excited? You got a wedding to plan,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just wish we got her sooner.”

“You always say that,” I said.

“Still true,” she yawned. “Night. Wake me up if any other life changing developments happen.”

“Eh...maybe,” I teased, earning a playful whack on the chest. “You know I do that on purpose right?”

“Tease me? No. I haven’t figure it out yet,” she deadpanned, leaning up for a moment.

“Night, De,” I said, pecking her lips. She smiled and slid back into bed. Her breath evened out quickly and I started to drift, running over the conversation that’d been playing over and over for weeks now.

“Hey,” I said when TJ came back down to the beach after carrying Y/N to the cottage. “Someone forget a phone?”

“No, wanted to stay and hang out a while longer if that’s cool,” he said. I hummed, Jared looking back and forth between us.

“I’ll uh, give you guys some privacy,” said Jared, patting my shoulder. I almost stopped him but he smirked. “I got some of my own fun to be had.”

“Don’t whine too much for Gen,” I shot back, Jared giving a light punch to my arm as he stood up. TJ stood up and took a seat closer, grabbing another beer and cracking it open, drinking down about half of it before he peeled his eyes away from the fire. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I’ve been having this conversation in my head for...a year and I still don’t know how to start.”

Oh.

Oh.

He…

“You want to marry her, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding and giving me a smile. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking do.”

“Well...get to the asking permission part. Worst that could happen is I say no,” I said. He looked like he forgot how to blink.

“If you say no?” he asked.

“Why don’t you ask and find out?” I said. I knew I sounded like an ass but this was important. I knew he didn’t want to screw it up but-

“I’m not asking permission to marry, Y/N, Jensen,” he said. I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in my seat.

“Well what are you asking?” I said, tilting my head at him.

“Am I good enough for her?” he asked. I scrunched up my face, closing my eyes before I held up a hand. “Am I? I know she can do better but do you think I’m good enough? She would say yes to me?”

“TJ,” I said, sitting back in my seat, running my hand over my mouth. “You know her. I mean really know her. You have her trust and unconditional love. She doesn’t give those out to just anybody. She doesn’t tell just anyone about everything she’s been through. You’re in a very elite club.”

“I don’t...I am asking you, her dad, on this but am I a good enough man for her?” he asked. “Please. Yes or no. That’s all I want.”

“I don’t think you’re good enough,” I said, his gaze dropping to the sand. “I think you’re better. You’re pretty close to perfect for her, probably the most perfect for her if it exists.”

He lifted his eyes up, a little wide, a little hesitant but he quickly gave a short nod.

“TJ...I know I mess with you sometimes. It’s one of the joys of being a father to girls. But...if you wanted to marry Y/N, I’d be pretty happy with that,” I said.

“Okay,” he said quietly, leaning back in his chair. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a sip of my beer. “I guess that just happened.”

He let out a quiet laugh, glancing over almost shy like now.

“What?” I asked.

“You know you set a pretty high standard,” he said. “When it comes to Y/N.”

“Ready to keep it up the rest of her life?” I asked.

“If she let’s me,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

“You’re gonna get the hang of this real easy,” I said with a chuckle.

“Jensen,” he said.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Is it normal to fall in love fast?” he asked.

“How fast?”

“Second week of freshman year,” he said. “She wore this yellow tank top and faded shorts and her hair was in this pretty side braid and she was going on about making a study group for Biology and I just thought, fuck me. I love this girl. What the hell are you doing, TJ?”

“Still feel that way?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said.

“It don’t go away either,” I said. He smiled and nodded, looking up at the stars for a few minutes. “Ask all your burning questions. Secrets safe with me.”

“Why’d you adopt her?” he asked.

“Cause we loved her,” I said.

“Yeah but...I don’t know,” he said.

“A piece of paper doesn’t make someone family,” I said. “I think you know that.”

“Then why?” he asked.

“A couple reasons. It makes things easier legal wise. It helps for medical reasons, if De and I were ever in an accident, if Y/N was, stuff like that. But we knew what it meant to her and to us,” I said.

“What’s it mean to you? I know her side,” he said.

“She told me for her it meant she couldn’t be thrown away. For me, it meant she couldn’t be taken away,” I said.

“I don’t follow,” said TJ.

“Say you had a kid, a daughter. Best day ever, right? She comes home and you spend the next seven months or so watching her grow, loving her, being a dad to her. That’s your baby girl. You’d do anything for her. I know you know what I mean because of Y/N but kids...kids are even more special. So you got this girl you’d give the world for and she loves you even if she can’t quite say it yet. But she does and you know she does. How do you think you would you feel if someone came to your front door and said they were taking away your baby girl and there was nothing you could do to stop it?”

“I’d say that’s my kid and I’m calling the cops,” he said.

“What if a cop was one of the people there to take her?” I said.

“But it’s my kid and I didn’t do anything wrong. Isn’t that kidnapping?” he asked.

“Felt like it. I never felt more helpless in my life than the day we almost lost her. I was pissed. More than pissed. But technically, they could take her and I had no right to make her stay,” I said.

“That was the stuff with the chick at the office,” he said.

“I hope you never have to know what that feels like, TJ. For a split second, it was even worse because for one little second-“

“She thought you asked them to take her back. I know. She feels guilty about thinking that sometimes,” he said. I gave him a long look, shaking my head when he shrugged. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“So you adopted her so no one could take her away again?” he asked.

“It shouldn’t have been on her to be the smart one and figure out what had been going on. I got lucky she’s smart and the fact she was ready to get some closure on the accident. If she hadn’t saved her own ass, we wouldn’t be talking right now,” I said.

“Maybe it wasn’t. But she’s not a damsel in distress either,” said TJ.

“No. She’s certainly not one of those,” I said with a smirk. “Still though. I’m her dad. It doesn’t matter how old you get. Your parents still want to protect you.”

“I get that. I get the whole adopting so she’s yours thing too. But I just feel like, say Y/N didn’t know that stuff and she did get taken away...I have a feeling you still would have wound up as her dad,” he said.

“I guess I’m not following now,” I said.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“Alright. Say your kid gets taken away and you can’t do anything about it. Say you wait until that kid turns eighteen and becomes an adult, you know, has more rights about who they want to speak to and hang out with. You’re telling me that you, super dad over here, wouldn’t try to get in touch with her again?”

“I think I would have fought for her to stay. But even if I lost, doesn’t mean I’m not her dad,” I said. “All that matters is what she thinks and she wanted me so she’s got me. Again, I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that. All it did was make things a little easier for me. For her, it eased some worries so she can have it.”

“I know there’s this big packet in her closet in this duffel bag she keeps in there. Only thing in it. You gave that to her on her adoption day. Adopting her means more to you than you’re saying,” he said.

“TJ. I love her to death. She’s my daughter and you’re gonna be my son in law so I know you love her to death too. What are you trying to get at?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Just...I guess I wanted to hear that you adopted her not just for her but for you too,” he said.

“Why is that important to you?” I asked.

“Isn’t the point of having kids because you want them? Isn’t that like the selfish part of it?”

“TJ. If we had wanted another kid, there was a far easier and cheaper way to go about it. Being a foster parent and adopting her? Yeah, that’s one of the most selfish things I’ve ever done. I did it for her but I did it for me and our family too,” I said.

“Good,” he said, taking a drink.

“Oh, well glad I got your permission on it,” I laughed. “I got a question for you, Mr. TJ. You gonna take a year to ask her?”

“Shut up,” he said, biting down a smile. “No. I wanted to ask her while we were here. Packed the ring up in my sweatshirt and had it all ready to go cause I was going to put that in my carry on, not risk losing that. Guess who remembered he left his sweatshirt on the back of the couch at your place when we were on the runway?” he said.

“Wow. I bet you had it all planned out, super romantic down here,” I said.

“Yup,” he said, shaking his head. “So there goes that plan.”

“Word of advice. If she loves you, I mean really loves you, it doesn’t really matter how you do it. Try to put in a little effort you know but this is Y/N we’re talking about,” I said.

“I want it to be special. She deserves that,” he said.

“It will be, no matter how it happens. TJ. Since we’re having a moment and all that, can I ask why you went after a girl like Y/N?” I asked.

“She’s my best friend,” he said.

“I mean once you knew about stuff, why didn’t you ever treat her differently?” I asked.

“Because it didn’t matter, it doesn’t,” he said.

“You’re gonna do just fine,” I said, giving him a smile.

“Fine?”

“She asks stuff like that sometimes. Normally at three in the morning but just to be aware,” I said.

“I know. When she stays over-“

“Don’t need to know,” I said.

“Sometimes we talk or just sit in bed and don’t say anything,” he said.

“Good. PG rated cuddling is awesome,” I said with a nod. “Anything else?”

“No. Just can’t wait to ask her,” said TJ. “You tip her off though and you’re dead to me.”

“Hurt her and they’ll never find your body,” I said with a smile.

“That goes for you too,” you said.

“I can agree to that,” I said as I stood up, giving him a smile. “Grab that cooler for me when you head up.”

“I ought to head to bed actually. I got a date in the morning,” he said.

“Well enjoy it,” I said, patting him on the back when he got up. “Night, kiddo.”

“Jensen?” he asked. I hummed, TJ looking down for a moment. “Thanks. For you know...I’ll be good to her, if she lets me.”

“You already are,” I said, giving you a smile. “Goodnight, TJ.”

“We did good,” I said, closing my eyes, rolling over to face Danneel. “We did real good.”

A/N: Check out The Video & The House timestamp here!

[pocketsizedsam-blog1]

The Unexpected Perks of Being a Nanny~ Chapter Thirty-One

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pregnancy, Swearing.

Beta: @mack-winchester @invisibledevour

Within the next few weeks, you and Jared started to do more things as a family. Jared was on hiatus, which gave you two the time to really act like a couple and do couple-y things, along with giving you two the time to actually be close with each individual kid. Tom, Shep and Odette really liked having their daddy home all the time. Even though you wanted to devote most of your time to the kids, you needed a break. Jared suggested you two watch a movie. Jensen and Danneel were still in Vancouver. They headed to Austin after your baby shower, but came back two weeks later. The kids also went to Austin with Gen for the week, which have you and Jared a break.

“Infinity War just came out. Why don’t we go see that?” Jared suggested.

“Yeah! I really want to see that movie!” You grinned.

You were now thirty-three weeks pregnant, which excited you because you would get to meet your new baby in about seven weeks, but it also scared you for the same reason. Jensen and Dee offered to take the kids to the park for a bit so you and Jared could catch the movie. You tried to convince the two to come watch the movie, insisting the next door neighbour would be more than happy to watch all the kids.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. We want to watch over them. It’ll be nice to spend some time with them!” Danneel exclaimed.

After the movie was over, you and Jared returned home. You still couldn’t get over what happened!

“You should’ve seen it! Y/N break down in tears when Peter di-” Jared started.

“-Whoa! Whoa. Hey.”  Jensen intervened. “Dude. No spoilers.”

“Oh, sorry.” Jared chuckled.

“I was heartbroken! I cried a lot, Okay? It’s like totally different than you expect it to be. I would definitely recommend you guys go see it.” You smiled, rubbing your belly.

“We’re planning on it.” Danneel smiled. “It’ll be our next date night.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Danneel  and Jensen while the kids played in the backyard. Tom was almost finish Kindergarten for the year, which was super exciting!

“So… How’s the Preeclampsia going?” Danneel asked, trying to start up conversation.

“It’s going… okay. I’m not as sick as I used to be.” You smiled.

“How are you with the whole Myles thing?”

“I’m doing good. I’m coping with it, Jared too. We’re learning how to feel more like a couple again and not an adult comforting a teenager or young adult.” You nodded.

“Well, I’m happy for you two.” Danneel smiled. “I haven’t been up to the nursery yet since you guys finished it. Take me up there?”

“Yeah, yeah! Of course.”

You waddled up to the nursery with Danneel on your heels.

“And this is the nursery!” You showed her the cute room, with a brand new crib, changing table, dresser, rocking chair and shelving.

“Wow! This is beautiful, Y/N!” Danneel gasped.

You grinned, “watch this.”

You took a seat in the rocking chair and started to push yourself back and forth.

“It works a lot better when Jared’s here, but just give it a moment.” You rubbed your belly. “Bonjour mon petit bébé. C’est maman!”

Danneel sat down in front of you, watching your bump intently.

“Je suis avec ta tante, elle s'appelle Danneel. Est-ce que tu peux bouger pour tante Dee?”

“Hi baby Padalecki! It’s auntie Dee!” Danneel cooed, rubbing your bump. “I know some french, but what did you just say?”

“I said that I’m with your aunt and her name is Danneel. I also said can you move for Aunt Dee? Tu aimes le français et tu aimes bouger pour ton papa.” You exclaimed.

“He or she loves french and he or she loves to move for it’s dad!” Danneel grinned.

“You’re a fast learner.” You giggled.

Danneel gasped, “Look, Y/N! It’s a foot!”

You looked down to see a foot sticking out of your right side.

You gasped as well, “I’ve never really seen that before.”

“You haven’t seen the baby’s foot stick out like that? It was really weird with the twins because one of their feet would be sticking out on the right side and the other’s foot would be sticking out on the opposite side.” Danneel chuckled.

You touched the baby’s foot and grinned as it retracted into your belly.

“Let’s head back downstairs, Frenchie.” Danneel smiled, pulling you up out of the rocking chair.

You waddled back down the stairs and headed into the backyard. It was now mid June- and it was very hot in Vancouver. The boys were sitting on the deck watching the three older kids playing on the playset, which included swings, a slide and a swinging bench, and they watched the three younger kids play in the sandbox. You took a seat on the edge of Jared’s lap, but he proceeded to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer.

“Did you like he nursery, Dee?” Jared smiled.

“Yeah! It was very nice! Y/N and I seen the baby’s foot stick out!” Danneel exclaimed.

You, Jared and The Ackles talked on the deck for hours before Jensen and Danneel left. That night, it was just you, Jared and the kids. You loved that you were able to get some quality time in with Jared. Between him always working and you chasing three energy filled kids around all day, you two had no time for your relationship. The next few weeks were liberating! Other than conventions, you and Jared spent a lot of time together! Your due date, which is in August, was rapidly approaching. Which also meant that Jared’s birthday was next week and you still had no idea what to get him. You would be thirty-seven weeks pregnant, which was nerve wracking for you because you wouldn’t be able to do much with regards to throwing parties. Jared was down in the States for a convention and you planned on FaceTiming with him so that the fans could ask you some questions. You got comfy on the couch, meaning you grabbed your pillows and lied down, Arlo curled up around your baby bump. As a Golden Retriever, Arlo wasn’t small by any means! However, his size didn’t seem to bother him.

“He must think he’s a Shitzu.” You murmured aloud.

You propped your phone up against your baby bump and scratched Arlo’s head as you waited for the FaceTime call to connect.

“Hey Y/N!” Jared cheered.

“Hey dada.” You giggled.

It was a habit that you just couldn’t break! Between constantly calling Jared ‘dad’ for the sake of the kids and for the baby, it’s become a little joke between you two.

“How’s the convention going?” You asked curiously.

“It’s going really good! I’m going to turn you around so you can see all the fans.”

Jared turned his phone towards the crowd so you could see all the fans. They all cheered when you started to wave.

Once they settled down, you said, “hey guys, how are you?”

The crowd cheered again. You were really nervous about this. Just as nervous as you were at your first convention. But you remembered how you eased into it and how you felt comfortable with the crowd after a while. You knew you would do the same today. Your preeclampsia subsided for the day, but your Braxton Hicks contractions didn’t.

“I think we’ll take some questions now, right Y/N?” Jared’s voice sounded through your phone speakers.

“Right.” You agreed.

Jared picked a fan, who promptly asked you a question through a microphone.

“Do you know if you’re having a girl or a boy?”

“No, we decided to keep it a secret.” You smiled. “Only a month more and we’ll know!”

Jared picked another fan.

“Doesn’t preeclampsia most commonly happen in pregnancies with multiples? Are you having twins?”

“No, I’m not having twins. It does happen in pregnancies with multiples but it can also happen in first time mothers.” You explained.

Come to think of it, you weren’t really a first time mother. The fans didn’t need to know that you lost a baby when you were eighteen. You answered a few more questions before ending the call.

“C’mon, sook.” You scratched behind Arlo’s ears as you sat up. “Y/N’s gotta go to the grocery store.”

You hooked Arlo onto his leash out in the backyard. You put a bowl of cold water out in a shaded area for him.

“I’ll be back soon, then we can go on a walk.” You cooed to the dog, then pressed a kiss on his head.

Immediately, you grabbed the car keys and hopped up in the truck. You drove all the way to the grocery store without a hitch. After grabbing a cart, you headed into the store.

“Maman doit acheter des légumes pour le souper.” You spoke to your baby bump.

You received a kick from the baby and let a smile creep across your face. After picking up various vegetables for dinner, you headed into the snack aisle.

“Tu ne peux pas dire à ton père que j’ai acheté des biscuits.” You giggled. “Il va tuer moi.”

Jared wanted you to be as healthy as you could during your pregnancy, which meant you couldn’t buy cookies. But what Jared doesn’t know, isn’t going to hurt him and it most certainly won’t hurt you. While deciding on which pack of cookies to pick, a young woman approached you. She had shoulder length, straight, dark brown hair. She was about your height, maybe an inch or two shorter. She was wearing a bright red lipstick and sporting an amazing Smokey-eye look. The woman was wearing a pair of short, Jean shorts and a baggy tank which read ‘Metallica’ across her chest.

“I couldn’t help but come over here and see your bump! Do you mind if I feel?” The woman exclaimed, tucking a piece of her hair back behind her ear.

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled, turning away from the cart so the woman could place her hand on your belly.

One thing you will not miss about being pregnant is random people coming up to you and asking to feel your bump. All you wanted to do was get some groceries! You weren’t trying to put yourself on display.

“The baby really likes the french language.” You remarked. “I’m trying to teach my boyfriend’s kids how to speak it, but they aren’t as interested.”

“Oh that’s pretty cool!” The woman smiled up at you. “My momma can speak french, but I never bothered.”

“It’s pretty handy. Est-ce que tu peux bouger pour la fille?”

“I felt it.” She smiled. “Hi in there baby!”

You decided on plain Mr. Christie’s chocolate chip while the woman was feeling the baby move and tossed them down in the cart.

“You must be due any day now.” You concluded.

“Four weeks from today, actually!” You grinned.

“Wow! Congratulations.” The lady grinned. “I’ll let you get back at your grocery shopping. Thanks for letting me feel!”

Once the woman in the band tee left, you picked up a couple of extra things, paid for them, then left. A cashier insisted that he get someone to help you load your groceries into you vehicle, but you said you would be fine. You were pregnant… not dying, right? You got yourself here and you would manage to get yourself home. You pushed the cart of groceries out to Jared’s F-250 and loaded them up in the back seat. After returning the cart to a cart corral, you began the drive back home. You were still on the main road when you found that the truck became harder to steer.

“What the fuck.” You hissed, as the steering wheel started vibrating. “Great. Just great.”

You pulled over on the side of the two-laned highway and waited until you got a break in traffic so you could open your door. When you hopped out, the back tire on the driver’s side was flat. You were as big as a whale, having Braxton Hicks contractions and suffering from Preeclampsia- there was no way you were lying down on the ground to drop the spare tire from under the truck, then try and change it all by yourself. You leaned up against the side of the tan colored Ford F-250 and combed through Yellow Pages, looking for a nearby garage number. You clicked the call button on the number and tapped your foot while you waited for someone to pick up.

“Hello, Bartlett’s Garage, I’m Linda how may I help you?” Linda’s soft and friendly voice came through the phone.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m on the side of the main drag with a flat tire.” You side, rubbing your forehead.

“Oh, you can’t get the tire off, can you?”

You just loved when people assumed that because you’re a woman, you couldn’t get a flat tire off your truck- Not!

“No.” You stated calmly. “I am thirty-six weeks pregnant, my boyfriend and our friends are out of town. I haven’t attempted to get the tire off.”

“Okay, Where exactly are you? I’ll send someone right away to come out and help you.” Linda exclaimed.

You gave the receptionist your exact location then got back into the truck, waiting for someone to show up. After ten minutes, a truck with a company logo pulled up behind you. Several drivers pulled over and offered you help, but you insisted that someone was on the way to help you. You messaged Jared, but to no surprise, you didn’t get a response. Jared was always busy when It came to conventions.

You posted a photo for Jared’s fans to see captioning it with “Being 36 weeks pregnant and stranded on the side of the highway isn’t ideal… #ineedtopee.”

“Hi there.” You smiled, hopping down out of the truck.

“Hi, Linda told me you needed some assistance ASAP?” The tall, older man, wearing the name tag ‘John’, approached you.

“Yeah, yeah. I would’ve tried it myself only I’ve been having Braxton Hicks all day and I was diagnosed with Preeclampsia when I was twenty-five weeks pregnant.” You sighed.

“Well It was much better to call someone, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or the baby over a tire.” John shot you a smile.

You watched as the mechanic loosened up the bolts on the tire and took it off. Then he placed the spare tire on the truck. It took about twenty minutes.

“Do you mind following me down to the garage? There’s a fee to pay for these kinds of things.”

“I don’t mind. Just let me run home first. I left my dog, Arlo, outside and I promised him that I wouldn’t be long. I don’t want him to run out of water or shade, or anything.” You explained.

You ran back to the house, rushing to put the groceries away then headed into the backyard where Arlo was sprawled out in the shade. You jingled his leash. He shot up immediately, his head cocked over to you.

“Let’s go for a drive, huh? Then Y/N will give you some fresh, clean, cold water and a walk.” You grinned, clipping Arlo ono his leash.

Arlo let out a content bark and walked to the truck by your side. You opened the door and he jumped up.

“Atta boy.” You grinned.

Tags: @nanie5 @invisiblethink1 @reachforthestarsgirl @beckawinchester @steverogerswhore @invisibledevour @internationalmusicteacher @xthelittlethings @casiskween

[rcleplayer]

so i figured it was about time i updated the list of fc’s and plot’s etc i wanna play and do. i need to kick my own ass and get onto 1x1′s cause i feel like lately that’s all i’ve got time for. not to mention i just love to use different fc’s. SO, ON THAT NOTE, please hmu or like this or whatever if you’re interested in plotting.

WANTED FACE’S AND PLOTS BELOW.

wanted male face’s:

luke mitchell

luke pasqualino

miguel gomez

casey deidrick

ben barnes

hunter parrish

dacre montgomery

chris wood

bill skarsgard

charlie hunnam

dj cotrona

bob morley

josh bowman

milo ventimiglia

charlie weber

wanted female face’s:

courtney eaton

ana de armas

odette annable

shantel vansanten

nathalie kelley

camila queiroz

nina dobrev

camila mendes

sophia bush

gal gadot

amber heard

marie avgeropoulos

stella maeve

meghan markle

katie stevens

wanted plots:

give me a hate ship where they cannot fucking stand each other and they’re just nasty to each other 70% of the time and the other 30% of the time they’re having sex in the bathroom. 

 *screams* i want a plot where a guy goes on a roadtrip just wandering around the state trying to find meaning of life with his big ass doggo and one day he comes to diner where this shy young woman works and like her boss is always yelling at her and she has abusive boyfriend and her father used to be abusive as well and this guy he is the first man who ever treated her nicely and he just asks her completely out of the blue if she doesn’t want to leave with him and she’s like “why not?” so she takes all of her things and leaves with him. pleaseee! 

   but, can someone please give me a southpaw themed plot? muse a & muse b were both raised in a group home – they were taken from their original families at a young age, more than likely due to abuse &/or neglect. they became incredibly close while in the group home with muse a always looking out for and over muse b. when they turned eighteen, they managed to get a shoddy apartment together and work odds and ends jobs to make ends meet. muse a, having fought his entire life, aspires to be a boxer and muse b actively supports him, doing whatever she can to help him achieve his dream. he ends up making it B I G and the celebrity life takes him for a whirlwind. the plot would follow the difficulties in their relationship – the newfound money he acquires, the fame, the attention. it’s challenging formuse a because he loves this new lifestyle and at times finds it difficult to say no, which often times affects muse b. they fight, but passionately, because they love each other so much, but it’s hard. i can see other women getting in the way, parties, alcohol &/or drugs, and issues with other boxers. give it to me. thanks.

muse A is highly successful in their career, but is threatened to be fired due to an expired work visa because they are from a different country. Muse B has been the assistant to muse A for years. Muse B puts up with shit that the boss puts them through, because they are paying for the medical bills of their younger sibling who has cancer. In an attempt to stay in the country, muse A convinces muse B to marry them and they would help pay for a portion of those medical bills.

okay but someone do a plot with me where i play the “underground” fighter who’s always getting roughed up and almost constantly has a black eye or a broken nose and that’s the way he earns money and he keeps coming into the ER and there’s always a nurse there patching him up and they’re the sweetest person ever and he just 😍😍😍 after them

where one person is actually famous and sets up a dating account with their real picture and the other sees it and is like, oh dude you are not fooling anyone with that picture (because srsly trying to catfish someone with a really famous person is hilarious and cute because the profile also had some really dorky info about liking model trains and farmers’ markets) cue an online romance and when they actually meet the other is pissed because DUDE YOU’RE THAT FAMOUS PERSON and the other is like, yeah, i mean, i thought you knew…

Okay but I want a plot of two rival companies where the CEOs use their children as a way to gain information on each other. The daughter of one CEO goes out to seduce and win the trust of the son of the rival company. Little does she know that he’s on his own mission to charm his way into her heart. Both of them think they are winning when in reality they’re playing into each other’s traps. Imagine all the lowkey flirting and sweet words. Pretending to be all about each other. All while trying to ask the right questions so they can get all the dirty little secrets to bring down the others company. This could turn angsty if one ends up developing real feelings for the other and starts questioning whether what they’re doing is right. Bonus points if one of the companies is close to going bankrupt so they’re trying everything to stay in business.

  I was dating you parent (sugar daddy/mama) when I finally met you. We turned out to be the same age and WOW you’re really cute and exactly like your parent. Even though, you’re exactly like your parent you’re more age appropriate for me. Now, every time we are alone we’re flirting and making comments to each other. I REALLY need to make a choice between you and your parent now.  While you both buy for my affection and attention I’m having a hard time picking.Bonus: Your parent finds out we’ve been flirting and now has made it a goal to win. Now your’e more determined then ever to win me over.

ALL I WANT IS A WEDDING PLANNER PLOT WHERE MUSE A IS THE WEDDING PLANNER FOR MUSE B WHO ISN’T REALLY IN LOVE WITH HIS SOON TO BE WIFE AND HE SLOWLY FALLS IN LOVE FOR MUSE A AND MUSE A WON’T GIVE IT A SHOT BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T WANNA RUIN A HAPPY HOME. BUT LITTLE DOES SHE KNOW THAT THE TWO GETTING MARRIED AREN’T EVEN IN LOVE. BYE AND PLEASE.

[myselfinserts]

“Thank god you’re not a surgeon.”

You would think that after years of coming back and forth to visit the school, Ceri would have memorized every pathway back to the stadium and could traverse them blindfolded. Sadly, festivals always seemed to turn places into more of a maze than was is normal. As a result, when he and the rest of the family arrived at U.A. and had gotten immediately lost and separated. 

Not that he was worried. Sorley probably found his sister by now, and Étienne wouldn’t be too far from either Lady L or Renegade before the obstacle course. By the time he found his seat, they’d probably all be together for the most part. When it came to gatherings like this, Sorley tended to stick with the other kids. 

As Ceri made his way back towards the stadium, he noticed a few people staring at him. He wasn’t surprised. It was one of the few days he’d decided to wear a lavender short sleeved button up in public (because like hell he was wearing long sleeves on such a hot day), and with that, came exposure of his scars. He could feel unsuspecting eyes burning into him, staring in shock at the remnants of the flames he’d endured. It didn’t carry nearly the same sting as that fire.

“I better try and find Étienne,” he muttered. “He’s probably worried sick. And trying to convince himself and others that he isn’t.”

God I love that man.

As Ceri made his way through the crowds, a slow feeling of unease started to worm its way into his mind. As though he was being watched by someone sinister. He couldn’t be though, surely. They had guards at every other corner. Heroes were everywhere. No reason to be scared. 

And yet, there was. 

When Ceri had turned the corner toward the food vendors, he froze. The world seemed to fade away. The sunlight vanished, replaced with damp and dark. Standing not too far away was a man he knew all too well. A man who resembled a mighty  dragon on the left side of his body. His dragon eye was foggy and glazed over, a result of the scars on his face. 

And all of Ceri’s scars started to burn. 

“There you are dad. Got lost again? The opening ceremony is about to start.”

Ceri’s eye went wide in fear as he winced. The dragon man was slowly approaching, and the world was slowly beginning to return. Ceri glanced over his shoulder, his blood running cold as he saw Odette standing there in her school tracksuit. She always seemed to appear whenever he got lost these days. 

“Odette,” he stammered nervously. “H-how are you?”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, taking note of his expression. “Are you feeling okay? I came looking for you because papa said you got separated.”

“I-”

“Long time no see, Aylward.”

No. Oh god no.

Odette looked past him, eyeing the man who addressed her father. “And you are?”

The dragon like man smirked. “I’m Willis Drake. Your father and I were...associates back in the day. I was one of his doctors.”

“Funny. He never mentioned you.”

“Really?” Willis smirked, his sharp teeth yellowed and stained with what Ceri hoped was wine. “I’d have thought he’d mentioned me, given his current appearance.”

“What are you talking about-?”

“See, I knew your dad since he was ‘bout your age. He gave me this right shiner here.” Willis pointed to his eye, a sadistic heat slowly radiating off of him. “I can tell you, he got a lot more back in exchange. Thank god you’re not a surgeon, eh Aylward? Imagine what kind of damage I’d have if you were.”

Ceri wasn’t about to listen to this any longer. He stepped back slightly, holding his arms out protectively and keeping his daughter behind him. His arms were shaking, and his knees felt week, but he didn’t care. 

“This is a safe place,” he croaked. “You’re not welcome here. Leave before I call for security.”

Willis’s smirk melted to a sneer. “You really don’t wanna tempt me, Aylward. I’m here on business. You ain’t got the balls to get me thrown out.”

“Try me.”

A long silence was held between them before Wills shrugged, letting out a snicker. “That’s fine then. I’ll be off.” He leaned forward, trailing a long claw just behind Ceri’s ear. “Take care of that pretty little thing. She wouldn’t look near as nice with one o’ these.” 

Before he could respond, Ceri felt a slight heat, and the eyepatch fell from his head, distracting him long enough for a hand to grab his right forearm and leave a nasty burn. 

“DAD!” Odette stepped forward, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Let him go you-!”

“Don’t Odette!” Ceri groaned. 

“But-”

“Don’t.”

Willis licked his lips, letting go with a laugh as he turned away and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two alone. Ceri’s hand flew to his eye, covering the scar as best he could. Odette reached down and picked up the patch, a gasp escaping her lips at the marks. 

“Putain de merde,” she said. “Papa made with the heat proof fabrics. The good shit. This shouldn’t be possible, how could-”

“Some things aren’t impossible for a dragon.” He looked at her, smiling as brightly as he could manage. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?! Dad, that man burned you! He’s-”

“A ghost of the past. And I won’t let him lay a finger on you.” He gave her a pat on the head. “Now let’s go find your Aunts. I have a feeling they’ll want to hear about this, and they’ll kill me if I hide it.”

Odette shook her head, taking hold of his uninjured arm. “I’m taking you to the medical tent first.”

“Odette-”

“Is everything alright here?”

“What happened?”

“We heard someone yell- Oh my god!”

In no time, Ceri was surrounded by a few of the on duty guards. Creati, Ingenium, and Chargebolt had been clear on the other side of the vendor’s when they heard Odette scream, so the didn’t manage to run into Willis. All the better, he thought. Ceri wouldn’t forgive himself if any of those kids got hurt because of him. The heroes took their statements, with Odette being very insistent that they find and arrest the miscreant immediately. (though she used far harsher words to describe him). After that, Ingenium escorted them to the medical tent personally, while Creati went off to find Étienne and Chargebolt alerted the rest of security.

Odette sat beside Ceri as Mither set to work healing the new burn, holding his hand and resting her head on his shoulder. “Dad...who was that man exactly?”

Ceri let out a sigh, cursing himself for not explaining properly before. “Remember when papa and I used to tell you stories about how I fought a dragon when I was really young? Those exaggerated ones to explain why I look the way I do?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, that was the dragon. All the burns you ever saw me with were his doing.”

“...Why was he here? Did you use your quirk on him?”

He smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead and wrapping his good arm around her. “No, I didn’t. I should have but...I was too focused on something far more important than my quirk.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you.” He nuzzled her slightly. “I love you, my little Odie.”

“I love you too, dad.”

Étienne and Sorley arrived not long after Mither had finished with her healing, and the four of them were taken to their seats. Étienne had offered one of the spare patches he kept on hand and Mither had offered bandages, but Ceri refused either. 

“I think I want myself out in full force today. I’m lucky to be alive, and I’m going to enjoy it with no covers.”

[pocketsizedsam-blog1]

The Unexpected Perks of Being a Nanny~ Chapter Twenty-Five

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy, mentions of depression

Beta: @mackwinchester1967 @invisibledevour @xthelittlethings

You and Jared worked hard on the nursery. Your ankle felt 95% better and well, Jared’s shoulder was still killing him. But through the pain, the two of you managed to create a beautiful room for your baby. It was nearly the weekend and both you and Jared agreed on throwing a joint birthday party at your house for Odette, Danneel and Thomas- considering their birthdays were literally one after the other. It was coming close on the weekend and Gen’s flight would soon be landing. After Thomas’s birthday on Monday, Gen was taking the kids down to Idaho to visit with their grandparents. You worried that your baby would feel lonely and left out when Tom, Shep and Odette went down to the states and he or she would be left behind. Jared tried to convince you that it was going to be alright, but you didn’t want your precious little child feeling like an outcast. But, you didn’t necessarily want your biological kid going to the states with Gen, either. Needless to say, you were at a crossroads.

“We’ll work something out.” Jared promised, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

You knew that legally, Jared and his kids were supposed to go to the states every few weeks, but you also knew that if you and Jared got married, he wouldn’t have to do that because you were born and bred a true canadian. You sat in the rocking chair of the nursery while Jared left to pick up Genevieve at the airport. You smiled and rubbed your eighteen week baby bump.

“Moi, Je suis ta maman.” You smiled, murmuring to your bump in french. “Moi et ton papa avons fait beaucoup de travail dûr pour ta nurserie.”

You went to speak again when Shep popped his head in through the doorway.

“What you sayin’, Y/N?” He asked curiously.

“Oh,” You giggled. “I told the baby that I’m his or her mom and I also told the baby that Y/N and daddy did a lot of hard work for the nursery.”

“Really pretty.” Shep looked around and crawled up into your lap.

You wrapped your arms around him and rocked back and forth, “yeah, it is huh?”

“Wha-what did you say again, Y/N?” Shep cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“I told the baby that I’m its mommy and that me and daddy done a lot of hard work with the nursery.” You laughed, kissing Shep’s cheek.

“But-but Y/N! Dat not engish.”

“No, no. It’s not English. It’s French.”

“Speak more french?” He cuddled into you.

“Je t’aime beaucoup, Shepherd, avec tout mon cœur.” You cooed.

“What dat mean?”

“I love you a lot, Shepherd, with all my heat.” You smiled.

“Oh, wuv Y/N too!”

You and Shep cuddled in the chair until you heard the front door downstairs open. You set Shep down and went to get Odette. She was standing up in her crib waiting for you to pick her up.

“Did you have a good nap?” You cooed, kissing her forehead.

“Ma ma!” She grinned.

“I love that you’re in such a good mood, ‘Dette!”

Shep was waiting for you at the top of the steps.

“Hold hand.” He smiled, holding out his hand for you to take it.

You smiled down at him and switched Odette to your left hip so that your right hand was free. You grabbed Shep’s hand and helped him down the stairs.

“Momma!” Shep squealed, running to Gen.

Gen dropped her bags and bent down as Shep ran into her arms. She picked him up and held him close as she spun him around and kissed his cheek.

“Oh mommy missed you so much!” She exclaimed.

“Missed mommy too!” Shep grinned.

Odette was basically jumping out of your arms to try and get to Gen. You chuckled and brought her over to her mom.

“Tell ma ma that you’re really excited to see her.” You giggled.

Genevieve set Shep down and took Odette into her arms.

“Ma ma is excited to see you too.” Gen presses a kiss against Odette’s cheek too.

You smiled up at Jared as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. You rested your head against his chest as Gen began to speak.

“And look at you!” She gasped. “Wow, you’re really starting to show.”

“Yeah, I’m eighteen weeks, it’s about time I started to show.” You giggled.

“Almost halfway there.” Gen gave you a quick little smile.

“Yeah.” You glanced up at Jared.

He pressed a kiss against your forehead. You helped Gen get settled in and before you knew it, it was time to pick Tom up from kindergarten.

“I’ll do it! I haven’t been out all day.” You offered.

You grabbed the keys to Jared’s truck and slipped on your boots. The cold Vancouver weather called for a heavy winter jacket. You drove to Tom’s school and parked the truck. You waited for a few minutes for classes to finish up. Once you were sure that you were disturbing any classes, you made your way into the school and waited in the main lobby. You waited for five minutes. No Thomas. You waited for ten minutes. Still no Thomas.

“Hump.” You huffed and made your way into the office. “Um, excuse me?”

“Yes ma’am?” A young, curly, redhead, looked up from her desk.

“Hi, I’m looking for Thomas Padalecki.” You tapped your fingers against the half wall which you were leaned up against.

“Oh… he’s um-in there.” The secretary pointed to the principal’s office.

Thomas? In the principal’s office? Not possible! There was no way.

“Why?” You exclaimed, your throat drying up from anxiety.

Your heart raced, thinking of the worse and the baby started kicking again. What a great time for you to start feeling nauseous!

“He had a meltdown after lunch. He didn’t really say anything to his teacher.”

The secretary let you into the office where Tom was sitting with the principal.

“Thomas, buddy? It’s Y/N.” You said softly.

“Y/N!” Tom sniffed, his little voice raspy.

You rushed over and pulled him into your arms.

“You can tell Y/N what’s going on, Okay? I heard you got upset.” You pressed a kiss against his forehead.

He nodded yes.

“Don’t like that mommy is so far away all the time.” He mumbled, looking up at you with big eyes. “Daddy always workin’ too.”

“I know, sweetheart.” You whispered. “I know.”

“I just wanna be wit-with mommy for a lil-little bit. And daddy. N’ Y/N. Altogether.” He pleaded.

Tom sobbed and buried his face in your chest.

“I was gonna wait to tell you, but… mommy’s home, Tom! She’s at the house with Sheppy, Odette and daddy right now.”

“Mommy’s home now!” Thomas exclaimed, wiping his tears and his nose into his shirt.

“Yeah, she came home for yours and sissy’s birthdays. I wanna tell you something, dude.” You confessed. “I know that mommy is your mommy. And that daddy is your daddy. I know that I’m only Y/N to you, but I will always be there for you. No matter what happens, no matter how old we get, you can always count on me Okay? You call and I’ll come. No questions asked. You’re only little, but I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

“I know. You’s not just Y/N to me, Y/N. I love you.” Tom grinned, looking up at you.

He wrapped his arms around your neck and gave you a tight squeeze.

“Before we go home, I want you to feel something.” You smiled once Tom let go.

You pressed his hand against your stomach where you felt little funny feelings.

“What’s that?” He wiped his runny nose again.

“That’s the baby.” You grinned. “Daddy’s gonna be jealous, but your the first one to feel the baby moving and kicking me.”

“I super special?”

“Really super special.” You confirmed.

You took Tom home and he immediately went straight for Gen.

“Mommy!” He cried out.

Genevieve dropped to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

“Mommy missed you.” She whispered in his ear.

“I missed mommy too. You were gone for very lon-long time!”

“I know, but you’ll get some time to spend with mommy and grandpa and grandma Batt after your birthday!”

“Yay! Go see grandma and grandpa.” He exclaimed. “Can’t wait mommy.”

Thomas went off to eat the snack that Gen laid out for the kids in the family room.

“Jare?” You called, looking for him.

You found him upstairs in your bedroom, wrapping presents.

“Oh, hey, babe. Just finishing up these…” He murmured, concentrating on successfully wrapping the gifts.

“I want you to feel something.” You smiled, taking a seat next to Jared on the floor.

You took his hand away from the parcel and placed it on your growing baby bump.

“Oh my god.” Jared smiled, dropping whatever it was he had in his other hand and placed it too on your belly. “The baby!”

“Our baby’s kicking.” You confirmed.

Now it was Odette’s birthday! Gen went out to get the cake and the final touches for the birthday party while you got in the bathtub. You really weren’t feeling well. Gen said that baths used to help her so she suggested you try one. You were so relaxed that you hadn’t even heard the door being pushed open! In toddled Odette, only in her diaper. Curiously, she pulled open the curtain and attempted to swing one leg up and over the side of the bathtub. Considering her father was six foot four, Odette was long and lanky like her dad, which allowed her to climb up over the high bathtub wall. You didn’t even notice that she was in the bathtub until she plopped down on your chest, then rolled into the water.

“Holy shit!” You cried out.

You shot up from where you were lying down. Odette gave you a cheeky grin and started splashing in the water. You immediately pulled off the wet, soggy diaper and threw it outside the curtain.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Jared rushed into the washroom.

“Odette just climbed into the bathtub with me.” You shrugged.

Jared pulled the curtain open to find Odette, butt naked, sitting in your lap, beating her hands down on the water.

“Da da.” She grinned.

You went a little red in the face.

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe.” Jared chuckled, kissing your forehead. “I’ll grab you Odette’s soap from her washroom. I was just about to give her a bath anyways.”

“How’d she even get in here?” You called after Jared.

“I dunno.” He called back. “Girl knows her way around!”

You played with Odette’s hair, getting it wet while waiting for Jared to get back. You washed Odette over, feeling embarrassed, considering you were still naked in front of your boyfriend and his one year old daughter. By the time Genevieve got home running errands, you and Odette were out of the bathtub, dressed in your Sunday’s best.

“There’s my baby girl!” She cooed, giving Odette a kiss. “You smell all nice and fresh. Daddy gave you a bath, I see!”

“Well, actually, Y/N gave her a bath.” You murmured awkwardly. “She climbed in with me.”

“Oh really? You’re a little rascal, huh, Odette? Disturbing Momma Y/N’s bath?”

You helped Jared and Gen decorate the house and then the three of you waited for Tom and Odette’s friends to show up. You had a great turn out! Almost everybody invited showed up. You mostly hung out with Danneel, who was hiding away.

“Nah, I don’t like having a big crowd on my birthday.” She chuckled.

“A big celebrity like you and you can’t handle a big crowd? That’s a little hard to believe.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But my birthday is a day just for me. Not the entire world. I guess that’s how I feel about it. I just like to be alone.” Danneel responded.

“Well I guess that’s understandable. I needed to get away from the crowd. Everything’s more overwhelming now. Ever since I got pregnant,  it’s hard to even have the kids so close to me, I feel so swamped.”

“Yeah, almost everything is harder when your pregnant.” Danneel agreed.

Gen stuck her head in where you and Danneel were hiding out.

“I know you guys needed some alone time, but it’s time for cake and presents.” She smiled.

You smiled and nodded, “we’re coming.”

You and Danneel made your way downstairs. There were three separate piles of presents, Danneel’s being slightly smaller considering she mostly got cards and the party was for the kids. You let Jared take care of the gifts for the kids whereas you bought and signed the cards.

“Tom, this one is from Daddy and Y/N.” Gen smiled, handing him the gift.

Jared grinned as his son opened the gift, but Tom, however, was not as impressed.

“Daddy? I already have ‘dis one.” He frowned as he seen the Leonardo Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. “I needed Michelangelo!”

“Oh.” Jared frowned too. “Dad’s sorry, dude. I guess we’ll have to take you to the store and exchange it tomorrow.”

You sighed and scratched your forehead as Jared shied away.

“You had one job, Jare.” You whispered.

“I know.” He grumbled. “I can’t even pick up the right toy for my son on his birthday.”

“Jare, I was kidding, I’m not mad at you and neither is Tom. He’ll forget about that now in five minutes.”

“That’s not the- that’s not the damn point.”

“Jared this is not the time, nor the place. All we’ve been doing is fighting and you’re really starting to scare me… We were in a better place but now you’re all… mad!” You whisper yelled. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you later.” He murmured, watching his son and daughter open their presents.

You were really starting to worry about Jared. Later had come and Jared still never told you. You were putting Tom to bed when Gen came into check on him too.

“Did you have a great day, dude?” Gen asked sitting at the end of his bed while you were sitting at the head of the bed next to Tom.

“Yeah. Tanks for all the presents.” He smiled at Gen, then at you.

“Well, you’re very welcome dude.” You smiled, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“I love you, Y/N.” He grinned. “Love you too, mommy. Where daddy?”

“Daddy is… out getting some air.” You sighed. “Speaking of daddy… Gen, can I talk to you in a minute or two?”

Once you tucked Tom in and Gen said goodnight to him personally, you two met up outside the door.

“What’s up?”

“Well, I’m worried about Jared. He’s just different from when we first met.”

“Oh… He hasn’t told you?” Gen sighed, scratching her forehead.

You nodded no and then Gen continued.

“When Jared was 25, he was diagnosed with clinical depression. It kinda plagues him every now and then… Look, don’t tell Jared I told you. He might get offended if he finds out that you found out from me. Just let him tell you on his own.”

You would’ve never thought that Jared had depression- and why wouldn’t he tell you? He must’ve thought that you wouldn’t be supportive! All you wanted was one good day. Just one great day! But no, that wasn’t possible. It was just your luck that you tried to throw the best birthday party for the best two kids in the whole entire world, and it all come down in shambles afterwards.

“I-I gotta go talk to Jared.” You murmured, your throat drying up.

You felt like you were going to burst into tears at any given moment. You knew it was only the hormones, but it was still a lot to take in. You felt guilty for all the times you fought with him. You felt that you made him feel ten times every time you fought and you also wondered if that’s why he was always picking fights with you. You needed to talk to Jared and you needed to talk to him now, before your head explodes from all the questions in there.

Tag List: @invisibledevour @invisiblethink1 @beckawinchester @nanie5 @reachforthestarsgirl @internationalmusicteacher @xthelittlethings @steverogerswhore

[myselfinserts]

“I’m not clinging to the past. I’m cherishing the memories!”

"Come on…Come on…DAMMIT!"

Atsuko rolled her eyes,watching as her brother tried desperately to put his hat on. It didn't work. Itjust wasn't big enough. And no amount of hair pins were going to keep that oldred cap on.  

"Just give it up,Clem," she sighed. "Just go out there with the new look okay?"

Reluctantly, Clement removedhis hat, revealing the giant gold, silver, and bronze 'U.A.' placards stickingout from his hair in an embarrassing attempt at a crown. "Every damn year…Dopeople really treat this as a holiday?"

"Sadly, yes. A glorifiedOlympics style holiday for both education and entertainment."

"God this sucks!"

She reached over and gave hima pat on the shoulder. "I hear you brother, but it's just something wegotta put up with."

He shook his head, throwinghis hat onto the bed beside a large, decorative wooden box. "Everyonealways makes fun of me because of this stupid crown. 'What are you trying tobe? The Prince of U.A.?' God dammit!" He started to pace, tugging at theletters in an attempt to rip them off. "Why couldn't I have somethinguseful for a quirk?! At least dad's Yearling had uses! I'm just a fucking tablepiece! And why aren't these ever as easily removable as the otherholidays?!"

"Clem-!"

"What's going on in there?"

Both of them froze. The walls in the General Students' dormswere well insulated, but not enough to where you could just blast music on loudwithout some modification. Clearly, they got too loud.

"Hello?" Clement replied slowly.

"Are you going to let me in or are you going to keepclinging to the past and ignore those who are at least trying to keep youheading to the future,petit jongleur émotionnel de guimauve."

Clementsmiled and skipped over to the door, letting Odette in with Sorley and Les notfar behind. "I'm not clinging to the past, I'm cherishing memories!"

"Whatever,"she sighed. "We need to talk before we head out to the festival-" hereyes zeroed in on the box. "What's that?"

"Oh.My support items." He went over and lifted the lid, revealing abeautifully detailed vest that belonged to a complete hero suit, a pair of arm andbracers, and what appeared to be a giant sword with built-in speakers andhardlight lasers where the blade edges would be. "They used to be myfather's and I got permission to use them in the sports festival when it's myclass's turn."

Lestilted his head, perplexed. "But aren't the only students allowed itemsthe Hero and Support classes?"

Atsukoshook her head. "There's exceptions, such as if a person needs an item tohelp regulate their quirk. In this case though, it's a rare exception."

"Itis?" Sorley asked.

Clementnodded. "My entire graduating class is made up of people with quirks thatcould get them hero work. Some joined Gen. Studies to try and get into the Herocourse, others were Heroes in training but got bumped down. But I'm the onlyone without a power that's useful in the field." He pointed to his head."See? I'll probably get hurt otherwise. The past two years I always had tosit out because of it due to 'safety reasons' or some bologna, but I put in theapplications and insisted they play fair this year and let me compete witheveryone."

Odette'slips quivered slightly, tightening into as thin a line as possible."Essentially, this would put you, a glass kitten, on the same playingfield as titanium lions."

"Exactly-"Clement paused, holding back a laugh as he picked up the vest. "Go ahead.You can look at it if you want. It is an Allard Original after all."

Hesitantly,Odette took the vest in her hands, smiling fondly as her fingers traced overthe embroidered detailing. "It's beautiful…"

Sorleystepped closer to the box, his eyes focused on the sword. "That's not anAllard item."

"Nope.That's the 'Renegade Original: Sound Almace'. Or R.O.S.A. for short. See,what'll happen is-"

"Hello?"Atsuko groaned. "You said we needed to talk?"

"Oh!"Les gasped. "Right, sorry! Yes, right. Well-"

"Incalm person please."

"Niniand dad are pissed and it might be best if we all avoid them today." Hefocused on Atsuko and Clement. "You two specifically."

Clement'seyes went wide. "Uncle Regi andNini?"

Atsukoshook her head. "What happened?"

"Eirawent to work with Deku this morning," Sorley explained. "On specialrequest from U.A. alumni and Nezu had gotten someone to approve it withoutconsulting them first."

"ButNezu isn't Eira's trainer or anything. She's in the apprenticeship program for Elspie,right? Isn't that out of his jurisdiction?"

"No,"Les said. "Not exactly. the E.H.A. allows for relatives of the heroes intraining to sign off on it. Nezu asked Vlad if he'd sign off on it."

"Thatsounds like something dad would do," Atsuko relented. "Especiallysince Eira's almost a full Hero now. He'd probably see it as vital learningexperience. And no way mom would sign off on it."

"Whatdid mom say about it?"

"She'spissed off too," Odette said. "I've never seen her so livid. Andthat's saying something because most of the school is scared of her on a normalday. I heard about it from Maijima-sensei, and he was outside the nurse'soffice when he heard her yelling at him."

"They'vefought before," Atsuko said. "Over stuff like this. Mom has a tendencyto be overly protective and dad too lax. They kinda balance each other out inthat sense."

"Iknow." She handed Clement back the vest."I know Vlad meant well, andthat Mither will probably forgive him too. And I know Uncle and Nini wouldnever do anything to hurt you but…" She glanced away, brows pinchedslightly.

Sorleyreached out and took her hand, looking smaller than he ever had before. "Let'sjust say that there's a reason we never want to see a good man go to war."

"Harper'swith Eira now," Les added. "They're saving us seats. Inkwell got aprivate box and invited us all to sit in there while the race is going. Hefigured we'd need a place away from the arguing."

"…That'snot all, is it." Clement looked over them all, his violet eyes narrowed."What aren't you telling me?"

Everyonelooked at each other in hesitation. No one spoke. Slowly, and with greatreluctance, Sorley pulled out his phone and opened up to a video that had beenuploaded earlier that morning.

Dekuand Ground Zero were chasing a girl with dark black hair and silver eyes. Eirawas trailing right behind them. The video caught the image of the girl trippingand shouting. A bright flash of light erupted from her eyes, and when it faded,Ground Zero was passed out on the ground, along with several civilians. As thegirl got up and ran away, the camera panned to the ones on the ground, and thento the mirrors of the shop this had taken place in front of.

Inthe mirrors were the screaming faces of everyone who lay asleep.

Clementstared at it in horror, his entire body shaking in fear.

"That'sthe girl I saw," Atsuko whispered. "B-but she said her quirk couldonly remove people. That only she can see them."

"Ithink her power evolved from the fear," Odette said. "It's been knownto happen. Though Eira had a more…interesting theory."

"Beforewe get into that," Clement croaked. "Can…can I get some water?"

"I'llget it." Les hurried out of the room.

Atsukohelped Clement sit down, while Sorley and Odette took either side to hold himsteady. He was glad Inkwell had offered the private box.

Hewasn't sure he could be around his parents right now.