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moonchildstyles · 7 days ago

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the swan

the swan part one: y/n is the new prima for the season, but the real tragedy unfolded in the rumors surrounding the company's patron, harry.

wordcount: 12.4k+

—————

The sunlight streaming in behind Ms. Ariel glanced off of glossy strands of the slick chignon tied on the back of her head; natural backlight, as if she were still on stage, dancing under the spotlight. Even if directing and choreographing, spending more time reviewing than doing any dancing herself, had softened the tight lines of her muscles and relieved the callouses on her body, she still had all of the hallmarks of a dancer. Even her posture alone—straight spine, jutting chin, barred shoulders—gave away the prima position she held for years in the Turkish State Opera.

The usual serene smile she held on her face now had a giddy purse to her lips. She was holding something back, (Y/N)'s nerves stacking as she realized as much.

It wasn't in a ballerina to be restless with fidgety hands and shuffling feet, but she felt the urge rise. In her year with Ms. Ariel and the company, there was very, very few times dancers were brought into her office with a closed door.

"Thank you for staying back a little bit today," Ms. Ariel started, bringing her folded hands to rest on top of the glossy cherry desk. "I know you have some work you need to get to at home, so I'll be quick."

She paused, theatrics growing in the silence.

"You are going to be our Odette in the spring production."

(Y/N)'s breath fell short.

Not even a month ago had the spring production been announced to be Swan Lake. Auditions had been so long and tedious—especially for the leads. Truthfully, she had only thrown her name in the ring just for the opportunity to try, there was no real expectation that she was going to beat out the more established dancers she was up against.

But, here she was. Odette in the company's spring production of Swan Lake.

"I—" she breathed, shifting in her seat as if her posture was anything but perfect, "I didn't think announcements were being made until tomorrow."

Ms. Ariel shrugged. "Yes, the rest of the cast will be officially notified tomorrow along with the call sheet, but I wanted to talk with you myself beforehand."

"Wow," she murmured to herself, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ms. Ariel smiled, "I'm sure you understand the kind of work that goes into being Odette—and Odile, to that fact. It is a daunting task, but I want you to know that I have seen you working and excelling in the short time you've been with us. You've been a gift given to our company and I want to see what you can do with the role."

A warmth bloomed behind her eyes. "Thank you. I will take care of her, I promise."

"I know you will. Please, if you need guidance, don't hesitate to reach out. Everyone is a resource here."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she muttered, though it felt far from enough for the kind words shared from her mentor. "Really—this is... a dream."

Ms. Ariel nodded, her smile spreading into a true grin. She stood from behind her desk, reaching a manicured hand out. "Celebrate tonight; the hard work will begin next week."

Grateful for the amount of grace drilled into her body, (Y/N) scrambled to match the motion. She took Ms. Ariel's hand in a light shake. "Of course. Thank you."

A huff of laughter fell from Ms. Ariel. "You're welcome, (Y/N)."

Hiking her bag up her shoulder, (Y/N) make quick strides towards the door of the office. In the hallway, Siobhan was where (Y/N) had left her waiting. She pocketed her phone, perking up once (Y/N) clicked the door shut behind her.

Whatever Siobhan found on her friend's face was enough to have her jaw dropping, eyes down turning into concern. "What happened?"

Realizing the sheen coating her eyes, (Y/N) fluttered her eyes in a blink to wipe away the moisture. She kept her voice low as she said, "I got the part."

Siobhan's expression went from concerned to confused in a breath, brows furrowing as the news processed.

"Wait. For the production?"

(Y/N) nodded.

"For Odette?"

(Y/N) nodded once more.

It was with that silent response that Siobhan let out a giddy squeal. She brought her fists to her chest with her feet quietly marching against the floor, a beaming grin on her lips.

"You're joking! Are you serious right now?!"

"Shhh, be quiet," (Y/N) laughed, reaching for Siobhan's wrist to start leading her away from Ms. Ariel's door. Once she brought them far enough away from the door and the studio hosting the after school ballet lessons, (Y/N) allowed herself to let out a laugh—the sound almost delirious.

"I got the part—Odette."

She joined in on a quiet celebration with Siobhan then, right in the entryway of the studio. (Y/N) could only imagine what a sight they were, hair falling out of their buns from the previous lesson, leg warmers scrunched at their ankles, Siobhan's backpack bouncing against her back and (Y/N)'s tote bag dropped to her elbow.

"I'm so happy for you," Siobhan shared, pulling her friend into a warming hug. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," (Y/N) whispered back, hugging her back just as tight before pulling away just enough to face her. "Really—I wouldn't have even come to this city without you, so thank you."

Siobhan waved off her gratitude with a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just happy you're here, too."

"Well," (Y/N) started, leading Siobhan out into the city with their flats padding gently against the pavement, "Ms. Ariel said we should celebrate tonight while we can. Everything starts next week."

"Tonight?"

A small smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s features. "Are you busy or something?"

She knew good and well the plan for the evening was for the both of them to pick up takeaway on the way home before rotting away in bed.

"I can clear my plans," Siobhan laughed.

(Y/N) felt herself just short of skipping along the concrete. She hadn't realized just how much something like this role could mean to her.

She had been a professional ballerina for five years now, settling here only a year or so prior, though she had never been a principal before. She was content doing those side roles and learning ensemble dances, as long as she was on stage. There were so many more established and experienced dancers in the industry, but here she was. The spring's prima. Odette and Odile.

Maybe it was the fact that the sun no longer set at four in the afternoon, or the pending plans with her friend, but (Y/N) had never felt lighter.

She was a swan, now. The swan.

—————

(Y/N)'s skin felt flushed as she wiggled on her bar seat. It was hard to stay still at the moment, so different from the dancer's poise that was drilled into her. The atmosphere of the upscale, too-expensive bar was perfect—the exact kind of place she pictured herself grabbing a lavender scented drink when she first moved to the city. The girls—other dancers from the company she'd grown close enough to—had joined her and Siobhan for the night, leaving the table filled with bubbly chatter and restless feet.

"Do you know what ending Ms. Ariel wants to go with?" Sasha, one of the others, asked. The red of her second Negroni was beginning to stain the center of her lips to match the flush on her pale cheeks.

(Y/N) shrugged, the straw of her own drink tucked between her lips. "We only really talked about my part—I don't think we talked for more than, like, ten minutes. I do hope it's one of the good endings, though, like the original one or something."

"Yeah, I think I would cry if we had to watch you die or something," Siobhan said, an exaggerated frown on her lips as (Y/N) laughed.

"I don't know if I could make that jump off the cliff, anyway."

"I'm sure we'll find out soon with everything starting next week," Lydia, the fourth of their little girls' night group, suggested. She paused to take a long drink of her margarita before training her gaze to flick between Siobhan and Sasha. "Do you think Harry’s going to be a part of the production?"

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brow. That name brought up a twinge of familiarity, though the context eluded her.

Siobhan's eyes widened, spitting her straw out from between her lips. "Oh my god, probably! It's the spring show that he's always all over, right?"

Sasha and Lydia both nodded conspiratorially while (Y/N) looked on bemused.

Siobhan turned her attention to (Y/N). "Did she say anything about him during your meeting?"

(Y/N) shook her head. "We didn't talk about anyone, though."

Sasha made a face, looking to both Lydia and Siobhan with raised brows. "Do you think he finally let it go?"

"Maybe," Lydia shrugged, pursing her lips around her small straw. "Doubt it, though."

Leaning over the table, (Y/N) flicked her confused gaze across each of the ballerinas at the table. "What are you guys talking about?"

Siobhan looked at her with her brows knitted. "Did you never meet him?"

"I don't think so?"

"I guess you started in the middle of the spring season, so you probably never actually met him," Siobhan mused, taking one more sip of her drink until her straw bubbled against the ice on the bottom. Her skin was especially flushed, eyes a bit glassy when she turned to face (Y/N) with a story on her mind. "He's a... patron, I guess. For the company. He donates year round but is usually really hands off. Until the spring production."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded. Hearing some details, she remembered hearing chatters about a patron of the company. In those overheard conversations, there was never anything specific she could glean, only small chitters and jokes she didn't understand. "Why only the spring shows?"

There was a short silence between the three, eyes flicking to one another as if waiting to see who would be the one to share the next lines of the story. (Y/N) only waited, straw tucked between her lips though she only bit at the tube instead of taking down any more of her drink.

"Um," Lydia started, tipping her head as if rolling her next words around her brain, "I mean, no one really knows for sure, but there's... rumors. Most of the company who was around when everything was happening have left, so no one's really completely sure anymore."

"Okay," (Y/N) said, drawing out the word with furrowed brows. They were starting to scare her, honestly. "Rumors about what?"

"Okay," Siobhan piped up suddenly, taking in a deep breath, "I joined right after she left, so I never actually knew her, but people talked a lot. From what I know, he—Harry—used to be engaged to one of the dancers at the company after they met during one of the shows. Like, he was always a minor patron, but when they started dating, he was just always around and everything. But, something happened, and they broke up, like, months before they were supposed to get married. No one really knows why for sure, but I remember hearing from some of the girls back then, that it was pretty bad."

"Things got intense, apparently," Lydia interjected, eyes wide as they met (Y/N)’s, "Like, really intense."

(Y/N) blinked. "Like... Did someone get hurt?" she pressed, dancing around the implication of her question.

Siobhan shrugged, her mouth making an uncertain line. "I don't know, honestly. From what I remember hearing, she left him. Some of the girls said that he was, like, crazy or something—like, there was something really big that happened. I don't think she even dances anymore, from what I've heard. And she was really talented if you ever look her up."

"Oh, wow," (Y/N) murmured, biting at her bottom lip, "But no one knows what the big thing was that made them break up?"

"Not as far as I know," Siobhan shook her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, "I remember one of the girls just saying that she had been super erratic before they officially broke up. She did not want to be around him, like she made a scene every time he came to pick her up from rehearsal and things. Like she was worried, or scared, or something, I guess. And, then she just left. One day she told everyone they had broken up and then, like, a week after, she was gone. No one even knew where she went until almost a month later. And, I don't know if this is real or just something people started saying when everything came out with the break up, but there were people who said he was really scary during the whole thing—to be careful around him, really."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say as the story seemingly came to a close. This was far from the kind of insight she thought she would gain tonight.

"So... he only does the spring show now?"

"As far as I've been here, yeah. I think because he donates so much this time of year, he ends up being more involved."

"Um," (Y/N) started, shifting in her spot with her eyes dropping to the salted rim of her friend's glass. "Does he... Does he have a say in casting?"

"Oh no!" It was Sasha that spoke up this time, saying her first words since listening like a captivated audience to the same story. "He's not involved like that—Ms. Ariel makes all of those choices. He just gets a little more say in what show is put on, I know that for sure. Otherwise, I think he just does more with the business side of everything—it's like he's a producer almost."

"Oh, okay," (Y/N) murmured, nodding her head as she took a small sip from her drink, "Do you guys think I need to be... worried?"

Siobhan let out a loud laugh. "God, no! It's all just rumors. You probably won't even see him that much, honestly."

(Y/N) got a quiet "Oh" out before the topic was drifting away with Sasha's help, something about her girlfriend's family being brought up instead. (Y/N) listened on as closely as she could, though she was far from being involved. Much of her mind was still stuck on these so-called "rumors" about this season's producer.

While the idea that the implications of the rumors could be true was something that worried her, she had to trust that Ms. Ariel wouldn't have someone involved with the show that could be a threat to the dancers.

Even though a very skeptical part of her found it hard to believe that rumors so intense, funneled through a group as close knit as one of ballerina's, didn't hold at least a grain of truth.

—————

(Y/N) huffed as her tote slipped down her shoulder again. Even the ribbed texture of her knitted cardigan couldn't keep it from slipping down to her elbow. Hiking it up once more, she pushed the front door to the studio open, a gust of warm air blowing the early morning chill off of her form.

Her wrap skirt fluttered around her hips as she closed the door behind her, ensuring she heard the click of the door shutting before she started deeper into the studio. Production rehearsals didn't officially commence for another few days, but she wanted to stop by one more time before then to get her own time in before everything would be committed to being a swan princess. The next months of her life were going to be consumed by the same handful of dances, the same moves, the same techniques—she needed a chance to do something as herself before then, doubting any other opportunities would arise between now and the rest of the production.

Trailing down the halls, she got a peek into each of the different rooms through the large windows spanning the corridor. Some parents were waiting before the windows, watching as the children's lessons were conducted. Their own spring production—a rendition of Margot Robbie’s Barbie—was set to take the stage in less than two weeks, leaving the costume room in varying shades of pink with glitter and stars all over the place. The amount of times (Y/N) had seen these dances through the windows, heard these songs through the walls, she figured she could join the stage at any time without incident.

Meandering down to the very last open room, (Y/N) signed herself in. The room was much smaller than the others for the lessons, with only a small window available for viewing. The floor was a warm hardwood, reflected back in the mirror lining the wall opposite the door. A golden barre bisected the mirror, gleaming in the light. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet room as she crossed towards the sound system tucked in the corner.

She took her time setting up all of her things, glancing up at the mirror. The reflection used to scare her when she was a child. It used to be so nerve wracking seeing each of her movements, especially when she couldn't be sure if she was doing it right until she saw the rest of her class at that same moment. (She was a child with anxiety as she later learned in her adult life—big surprise). Though it took time, she learned to appreciate having that mirror on her when she danced.

There was something exciting about seeing the lines made by her body. The kind of lines she had only seen in films or on stages. It was those movements and shapes that had inspired her to become a ballerina instead of just dreaming of dancing. The mirror let her see herself as the ballerina in those dreams.

Just as she began shedding her cardigan and sitting down to get her pointe shoes on, she realized there was something missing. She had her phone connected to the sound system, an instrumental song queued up, and her bag with extra hair ties, a couple of snacks for later, and her water bottle—

That's what she was missing. No water bottle.

Throwing her head back with a heavy sigh, (Y/N) rolled her eyes at herself. Of course she left it in her car.

At least she hadn't been able to lace up her pointes yet. Pulling on her regular shoes, (Y/N) resigned herself to trek all the way back to her car one more time. She could take it as a warm up, maybe, instead of a time waster.

She left her cardigan on the floor as she started back through the studio. The same parents and instructors she had just passed were just where she left them, some barely even glancing up as she brushed shoulders while scooting past.

As soon as she retrieved her water bottle from the cup holder of her car, she immediately doubled back. Without her cardigan, everything was much colder outside than she remembered. At least she still had her leg warmers and skirt on.

Speeding up to a jogging pace, (Y/N) just began pulling open the door when the weight of the pull drastically changed. Someone on the other side was pushing, she gathered, just a hair too late. The strength she had put into opening the heavy door was now overpowered, throwing her off balance as she stumbled back. A gasp left her mouth as her arms fluttered out beside her, eyes flicking behind her shoulder.

In the same moment, a strong hand sharply took her arm. The grip steadied her back on her feet before her skirt and thighs could be marred by a fall on the pavement. Once flat on her feet—and feeling much less graceful than any ballerina should—(Y/N) looked up at the owner of the saving hand.

A man she didn't recognize as a fellow dancer, a parent she had passed in the hallway, or a production member for the upcoming show stood before her. A warm brown suit was tailored to his form, tie knotted tight around his neck in a matching hue. The warmth traveled up to the dappled chocolate shades on his hair, everything pushed out of his face though the curling texture could still be seen framing his temples. All of the brown framing him left the green of his eyes to pop against his creamy skin, varying shades flecking his irises. A handful of freckles were spread across the bridge of his nose, faint even under the lowering golden sun. Shadows were cast across his face, emphasizing the straight lines of his features.

Regaining her breath, she felt her skin warm as his hand slipped off from her arm. "Sorry, I didn't—I wasn't paying attention. Thanks for... stopping me."

A slight smile touched the man's raspberry lips. Faint dimples thumbed into his cheeks for a fleeting moment. (Y/N) swore, if even for a second, his eyes glazed over the planes of her face.

"No worries," he assured, voice accented and warm as he took steps to hedge around her, "Jus' be careful."

"Right," (Y/N) breathed out with a laugh.

She took lingering steps back towards the building. Only for one second did she allow herself to look over her shoulder, following his retreating form towards a sparkling car in the lot.

His shoulders...

Blinking herself back to real life, (Y/N) reminded herself there was a whole rehearsal room waiting for her.

—————

(Y/N) curled up in her seat, extensively grateful to have been able to stop home before coming to the evening's meeting. If she had been forced to sit through this in her jeans, she worried she would have lost her mind.

"I know we do these later so everyone has a chance to make it after work and all, but I really don't want to be here past nine," Siobhan muttered at her side, voice joining the quiet chitter that was filling the theater.

(Y/N) hummed in agreement. As nice as it was to see the theater again—especially now that she was able to picture herself twirling in the spotlight right in the center—she would much rather have attended through video. At least this gave her an excuse to pick up dinner on her way home instead of cooking anything.

Ms. Ariel is heard before she is seen, the click of her shoes echoing across the stage. In a line, she was followed by her assisting choreographers, the orchestra conductor, alongside the musical and production directors. She didn't hesitate as she took center stage over the directors, hands clasped at her middle with a beaming smile on her lips.

"Thank you all for coming tonight—I know it's late so we'll make this quick for everyone," Ms. Ariel started, sweeping her gaze across the rows of filled seats. "We'll all be working very closely together these next months, so I want to make sure we are all on the same page going forward."

The theater fell silent save for Ms. Ariel at center stage as she listed off her cohorts for the production, the timeline coming after. The show's opening weekend would come at the end of April, celebrating the peak of spring. Rehearsals, both individual for the principals and ensembles, would be starting on Monday; the schedule should already be in everyone's inbox.

(Y/N) listened intently, feeling the pressure of being this season's lead. She didn't want to miss a single word. This spring was going to be her moment—her chance at hopefully making a real name for herself in this city. Opportunities like this didn't come to many dancers, especially not after she moved companies mid-way through her career. If she were to be lucky enough, she wouldn't even need to hold a day job, ballerina becoming her sole title.

The anticipation built a fire in her chest, the kind that urged her to get started right now. She didn't need to sleep, she needed to get into a rehearsal space and practice her thirty-two fouettés. She wanted to try on her tutus and practice slicking her hair back. Tchaikovsky was about to be her top artist for the next few months.

"I would also like to introduce this season's patron. We don't usually do this, but our spring patron has a special role. I realize a few of you have already met him, but for everyone who has not,"—she looked to stage right just as heavy steps began to descend upon the stage—"this is Harry Styles. He will be very present through this season, and has already helped a lot, so if you have any questions, you can always ask him as well."

(Y/N) blinked as she took in the man now standing at Ms. Ariel's side. Clad in a navy blue suit, matching tie wrapped around his neck, was the man that had kept her from stumbling back onto her rear just the other day. The man with the green eyes and the warm brown hair, the one with the sprinkled freckles on his nose. His shoulders were just as broad as she remembered.

His eyes swept over the rows of dancers; (Y/N) swore he snagged on her for an extra second. A small smile touched her lips. "Hello," he quietly muttered at Ms. Ariel's side, his voice graveled from disuse.

He was quiet then as Ms. Ariel continued speaking, clarifying his role and the role of the others on stage. He had his hand clasped behind him, entirely reserved as if he didn't realize he was as tall and broad as he was.

This was not at all the kind of man she pictured when the girls had talked about Scary Harry. he was so reserved, so put together. He almost seemed shy with the way he kept twisting and untwisting his fingers at his back, the view only given when he swiveled enough for her to see his back.

She had pictured leering eyes, gnarled hands that had grabbed and pushed and reached over the heads of others. While she couldn't say that this man wasn't intimidating, it just wasn't in the way she had thought. He was almost too pretty to look at, she thought; long lashes, flushed cheeks, freckled nose. The lines of his face had softened in her memory, leaving her to be struck again by the straight set of his nose and cut of his jaw.

While looks could be deceiving, she hoped she wasn't wrong about the soft set of his eyes.

"Was there anything anyone wanted to add before we adjourned for the night?" Ms. Ariel asked, taking a step back as she looked at her colleagues. A pause of silence sounded among the stage.

"Um," Harry finally piped up, cheeks gaining a flush (Y/N) couldn't be sure was there just moments before, "I wanted to say thank you to Ms. Ariel and the rest of the directing team for allowing me to be a part of another production. I realize I haven't had a chance to meet many of you,"—he looked at the dancers now, eyes dancing to each face—"but I look forward to working with each of you. I can't wait to see how this show comes together."

He ended with a thin smile on his face, lips pressed together with a nod of his head. Ms. Ariel led the team in a round of applause before calling for the end of the meeting. As the dancers around (Y/N) stood to collect their things, she lingered for just a moment. Eyes on the stage, she saw as Harry watched the flood of dancers, almost looking just as relieved as everyone else set free from this meeting. Even from here, she could see that color that had painted his cheeks draining back to the peaches and cream of his regular complexion.

"Are you coming or did your legs fall asleep?" Siobhan asked beside her, stretching with her arms above her head.

"Oh yeah," (Y/N) sighed, falling back to herself as she took her eyes from Harry. "Sorry, I think I'm more tired than I thought."

"Same," Siobhan laughed, "I'm already exhausted from the rehearsal schedule and it hasn't even started."

"Exactly," (Y/N) agreed with a small smile, collecting her things before starting to follow the rest of the company out of the theater.

Even when she heard the low rumble of Harry's voice meld with the rest of the executive team, she made a point to keep her eyes forward. Siobhan didn't need to notice this sparking curiosity just yet.

—————

(Y/N) idly twirled as the Swan Theme played through her rehearsal space, mesh skirt flaring out around her hips. She could imagine the scene playing out like a film in her head: the first moment she is introduced as Odette, as she hides from Prince Siegfried aiming a crossbow in her direction. Though they were far out from donning costumes, she couldn't help but to imagine herself in that traditional pristine white, feathered tutu with a gleaming bodice.

Ms. Ariel entered the studio, fanning her hands out. "Sorry, sorry—Rima wanted help with the ensemble blocking. Did you see the video I left up on the iPad?"

(Y/N) smiled, "It’s alright. I did watch it, yeah. Is that the version we're going with?"

"A little," Ms. Ariel shrugged, lips pursed, "I wanted to do a prologue like that, but I wanted to see if you had any thoughts on doing the epilogue instead."

The solid toes of her pointe shoes tapped across the floor as she blocked herself out through the swelling music. "Is there a way we can do both?" (Y/N) asked, a bit sheepish at her request. More stage time meant more money, more production, more time.

Ms. Ariel paused, head tilted as she scrolled through on the tablet. "A prerecorded epilogue? We could project it into the curtain right before."

"That might be fun," (Y/N) offered, unable to help herself as she twirled along to the music. The crescendos and dips had her pirouetting and sweeping through the room. The sound of her pointe shoes tapping against the hardwood was especially satisfying alongside Tchaikovsky. "We could make the transformation to the swan look extra special if we can edit it right."

The choreographer brightened at the thought. "And for Rothbart."

(Y/N) smiled at the light in Ms. Ariel's tone. She doubted there was any more convincing needed.

The sound of Ms. Ariel's mind working practically joined the soundtrack, all of the gears and cogs spinning like a sewing machine as the production began to thread together. While (Y/N) was sure this first rehearsal between them was supposed to help her get into the character of Odette, and the counterpart of Odile, she wasn't going to interrupt Ms. Ariel after getting her say in for the progression of the story.

Instead, (Y/N) twirled and jumped, playing along with the music filtering through the space. From her periphery, she could see some of the ensemble dancers coasting past the peekaboo window into the studio. Some of the girls stopped, lingering in front of the window as they watched the impromptu moves (Y/N) performed. She smiled when she caught their gazes, offering a small wave as she twirled through the room.

"(Y/N), come look at this," Ms. Ariel called over the orchestra, gesturing her over to the sound system.

Giving one last beaming smile to her fellow dancers, (Y/N) whirled around to make her way across the room. She picked up her water bottle on the way.

With the way the media cart stood and Ms. Ariel had positioned herself, the mirror before them showed off everything at (Y/N)'s back. Including the large open window for spectators.

Though she gave her attention to the examples Ms. Ariel was going over for the prologue, deciding just how extensive they wanted to get with the prerecording, it was hard to ignore the flutter of movement showcased in the mirror. She glanced up to find some of the girls—Sasha and Lydia included—flitting past during their own break from ensemble work. A small smile touched (Y/N)'s lips as she made eye contact with the group that will be making up her wedge of swans.

That curl stilled when she spotted the quiet figure standing behind the shifting crowd, arms crossed with lips in a thin line.

Harry Styles was there. Watching her rehearse for who knows how long.

There was a definitive space between the window and where he stood against the other side of the hallway. The rest of the dancers made their way through the gap, minding his personal space specifically. (Y/N) wondered how many of them had also just heard the plethora of rumors about their spring patron.

(Y/N) met the intensity of his gaze for no longer than a split second before she flicked away, her skin growing warm. Her brain glitched, throwing the last few words from Ms. Ariel right out of her head.

She had heard him say that he was going to be more involved. Siobhan had even warned her that he typically was seen much more through the studio during the spring. And yet, (Y/N) hadn't been expecting to see him. Not on her first day as the swan.

Especially not looking at her the way he was. Furrowed brows and green gaze intense enough to make her blood simmer under her skin.

"I think we could do something with that, right?"

(Y/N) blinked. "Yeah, definitely. It looks fun."

She spared one more glance to the mirror only to find that corner no longer occupied. A familiar back was now retreating down the hall.

—————

"That was good, (Y/N). You did good. How do you feel?"

Out of breath, she nodded her head, "Good—Really good." Despite the sweat beading down the back of her neck and the sore muscles in her stomach, she held a beaming smile on her face.

This week had been all about strength training in between rehearsing the numbers, working up her core in preparation for the thirty-two fouettés for Odile. They were far from done in that department, but everyday (Y/N) grew more and more steady. After this weekend, she would begin rehearsing with Kingston as Prince Siegfried, and start working with the ensemble of swans.

Ms. Ariel matched her smile, her own skin shining with a sheen of sweat from working alongside (Y/N). "You'll sleep hard tonight, that's for sure," she laughed, settling her hands on her arms, "Rest up this weekend, but keep up with your stretching. If you need anything just text me."

"I will," (Y/N) heaved, catching her breath, "Thank you."

With a squeeze of her arms, Ms. Ariel bid her a goodnight before leaving for her office for the remainder of the evening. (Y/N) took her time collecting her things, chugging down the final dredges of her water before reaching for her phone. It didn't take long before she was scrolling through a food delivery app, eager to pick out her dinner for the night. She deserved something greasy and salty after the workout this practice was.

The spectator's window was empty tonight, the ensemble heard next door as they practiced their own numbers. (Y/N) was growing so used to the audience, that it felt weird to not have any watching eyes tracking her moves.

Though there was still a specific pair of eyes that still threw her off balance whenever she caught sight of them.

Harry hadn't bumped into her again or shared any more words past a good morning or good night depending on when they happened to pass in the hallway. Their interactions now lived mainly on opposite sides of the glass, (Y/N) dancing and breaking in her pointe shoes with Harry watching the moves like a television judge.

Though it didn't appear he even stopped by her studio this evening.

Exiting the space with her tote on her shoulder, (Y/N) double checked the pick up time for her dinner. Another twenty minutes of waiting before the three minute drive she'd make to the restaurant.

Now it was her turn to be a spectator, she thought. Taking a seat on the love seat offered before the glass, she was going to watch the swans dance.

The ensemble tonight consisted of Siobhan, Lydia, Sasha, and two other dancers. Their backs were to her as they faced the mirror. Through the pane, (Y/N) could hear the Dance of the Cygnets playing, the baseline becoming the thumps of the pointe shoes hitting the ground.

As hard as she knew she was working, she couldn't imagine being tasked with this number. The techniques were famously hard to get down. But here the girls were, more in sync than she would imagine a group of dancers who had only been practicing together for a week.

From her view, she could see the small smile on her as she watched the move.

She could also see the shadow of another person edging into the space next to her.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar broad form, clad in a traditional black suit, watching the dancers with her. (Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth.

Was she supposed to say hi? It wasn't much of a secret that Harry wasn't particularly talkative when it came to interacting with the dancers. The only person he was regularly conversing with tended to be Ms. Ariel or the rest of the department heads. For the ballerinas, he reserved subdued smiles and quiet greetings.

It felt... rude, though. To not say anything to him. They were all dancing on his dime this season, anyway.

Besides, (Y/N) had to wonder if his reserved persona came from the fact that there was a rumor mill churning out stories in his name. She doubted anyone had come to him personally with any of these stories, but it was hard to believe that in the last few years of production that he hadn't heard something.

Before she could think too hard about it, she tipped her head towards him, face angled upwards to where he was standing at the other end of the loveseat. His brows were set in that signature furrow, intense gaze just short of burning a hole through the glass.

"What do you think?" she asked quietly, just audible over the orchestral music and thumping pointe shoes.

From where she sat, she could see the way his hands, hidden under his folded arms, curled into fists, his lashes fluttering as he blinked. His throat bobbed as he turned to match her gaze, the pinch in his brows smoothing out.

"Um," he started, flitting his gaze to the window for a lingering moment, "They're really good already. Everyone's doing really well. Very talented."

A warm smile molded (Y/N)'s features. That was a high honor coming from him, someone who had to have seen countless ballets by this point in his life.

"It's crazy how they can only get better from here," (Y/N) said, an airy laugh threaded through the words.

"It is," he answered simply, a barely there twitch touching the corner of his mouth.

A silence settled between them, the music inside the studio starting up again as the ladies reblocked themselves to start the number over. Glancing at the time, (Y/N) was two minutes past when she should have left to pick up her dinner.

Standing up from where she had made her home on the loveseat, she hiked her bag up her shoulder before turning to face Harry.

"Thank you for everything you're doing for this production, by the way. I don't think I really understand what a patron is able to do, but I'm sure it's hard work," (Y/N) laughed at her attempt at a joke. Hopefully, he thought it was funny and not that she was some kind of silly ballerina with ribbons for brains.

When he finally turned to look at her, that initial twitch of his lips she'd seen before hard turned into a slight curl. A ghost of a dimple touched his cheek.

"Of course. It's worth it."

(Y/N) matched his smile with her own beaming one. "I'll see you around, Harry. Have a nice night."

The last she saw of him was the small nod he gave in her direction, with his hands hidden under his folded arms flexing into fists.

"You as well, (Y/N)."

—————

(Y/N) rolled her neck as she turned the page on the lengthy manuscript in her hands. This author definitely loved a long, descriptive, adverb heavy sentences.

As grateful as she was to be a real life ballerina—the prima for the season, even—as a little girl, (Y/N) didn't picture her life consisting of playing in tutus and pointe shoes in the evening with a day job. But, the money for her apartment has to come from somewhere until she could be a real principal dancer for more than a passing production.

All she needed to do was get through this chapter, make her suggested edits, and then she'll let herself take a break.

Harshly blinking, (Y/N) directed her attention solely on the typed pages in her hands.

His palms flexed around nothing, tattoos dancing over the golden skin, leading her eye to the hem of his sleeve. Rebekah eyed him as he hesitated, tongue thick in the back of his throat. The Adam's apple adorning the front of his throat bobbed like the apple of eden, forbidden for anything more than her eyes.

Archer was never this nervous, she realized. Never tongue tied, never hesitant. his entire life—career, bedroom persona, spot as the captain of his hatchet-throwing league—was built on him being certain of every move.

This couldn't be good, she decided. Not when he looked at her with his glittering eyes, long lashes, the corners pinching just enough to show creases that weren't typically there. He was going to tell her something she wasn't ready to hear. Something she didn't want to hear from his rosy lips.

"Bek, I... I can't keep doing this," he choked out, his voice a rumbly mix of gravel and gemstones, "We have to stop."

Rebekah blinked, tipping her head with pouty mouth agape. "What do you mean?"

Those hands flexed once more, hardening into immoveable fists.

"Because I love you," he stumbled out, "I love you, and I wasn't ever supposed to.I love you too much to keep doing this when I know you don't feel the same. Not when you—

(Y/N) blinked back to real life then, startled by the film playing out in conjunction with the written words in front of her.

This man, the character Archer, had evolved into a version of Harry. The long lashes and pinched corners turned into golden flecks dancing through green irises and a furrowed brow. That golden skin went creamy with freckles on the bridge of his nose. The tattoo on his skin was now an inked cross between his pointer and thumb. (Y/N) recalled the timber of his voice and lilt of his accent when it came to the dialogue.

That wasn't right. There was no reason to be thinking of Harry Styles—the patron of her ballet company—at the moment. Not when she was reading a manuscript about a couple engaged in a BDSM arrangement that went too far in the feelings department.

(With the main male character also being a hatchet throwing captain? That was a detail (Y/N) couldn't remember hearing, but she hoped she marked that as needing a revision).

Her break was going to have to start now, she decided. Having a two minute conversation with him almost a week ago was not supposed to linger in her mind like this.

(Y/N) folded the manuscript closed, determined to take that vision with it.

—————

"You're alright locking up?"

Ms. Ariel looked at (Y/N) with her handbag in the crook of her elbow, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Though she tried to be discreet about it, (Y/N) still caught the nervous glance she shot at the clock above the window. 8:34pm.

"Yes, I'll be fine," (Y/N) insisted. For the third time. "I'll be right behind you, anyway. Don't worry."

"Okay, okay," Ms. Ariel finally relented, shooting off a text as she edged out of the door. "If you need anything, just call and I'll turn around."

(Y/N) nodded her head, knowing that no matter what she isn't going to call Ms. Ariel for anything. Not after she had already arranged a rehearsal time to work around (Y/N)'s editing deadline.

(She had a hard time getting back into the headspace to finish that manuscript. Every time she opened it up, Harry's face somehow made its way onto the male love interest's body. Very confusing).

Just as (Y/N) began collecting her things, silence filling the darkened building, a set of pounding footsteps clicked through the space once more. She jumped at the sound, her spine stiffening to go ramrod straight with her eyes on the door.

Was there another late lesson going on? Another group rehearsing that she's missed?

Ms. Ariel popped her head in once more, phone pressed to her ear. "I gave you a key, right? Or did I give it to Harry?"

Her brow pinched to a furrow at her choreographer's question. "I have a key," she offered, hoping her unasked question received an answer anyway.

She watched as Ms. Ariel deflated in relief. "Okay, great. I'll see you Monday—Keep stretching! If you want extra time, just call me!"

This time, (Y/N) waited until she heard Ms. Ariel's footsteps retreat through the building, bookended by the resounding click of the front door closing. Then she felt clear to pack up and clean up the space. Trading out her shoes, she held onto her discarded pointes by the ribbons. The shoes dangled at her side as she cruised through the building, glancing through the window of each rehearsal space to ensure all lights were off with doors pulled shut.

Making it to the front door, she pulled out the key passed on by Ms. Ariel. According to the directions given, the door needed to be locked up before she stepped outside; when (Y/N) asked why she couldn't lock everything from the outside as normal, Ms. Ariel just gave a flapped hand and a promise of "it's a long story!".

Sticking the weathered key into the lock, she twisted her wrist only for the lock itself to halt the motion. Her brows knitted together, eyes on her hand as she attempted once more to break whatever blocked the twist.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there attempting to push through the block. She pulled out the key and reslotted it, attempted to brute force her way against the block, twisted the knob along with the key. At some point she even took a breath and checked her phone, pretending as if she didn't desperately need this key to do its job. She couldn't call Ms. Ariel, not when she was already almost late to her stepdaughter's graduation dinner.

But, she also can't just leave the studio unlocked.

Her palm grew slick with panic sweat. Okay, if she doesn't get it in the next three tries, she has no choice but to call Ms. Ariel. She will grovel and beg for forgiveness later, but the door needed to be locked now.

"Is it sticking, again?"

At the sound of another voice, (Y/N) almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, hand to her throat, she saw Harry standing just beside her. His clothing was much the same as usual, though he was missing the tie and the first buttons of his shirt were let loose. He looked to her with raised brows, apology on his lips.

"Oh my god, you scared me."

"Sorry," he breathed, a bit sheepish in the way he dropped his gaze to her hand, "I thought y'heard me. Sorry."

With her heart rate settling, (Y/N) calmed enough to give a small smile at the sound of the apologies just flooding from Harry. How those rumors could hold up against everything that she saw in front of her, she couldn't understand.

Her imagination did not compare to the real thing, that was for sure.

"It's okay," she offered, "I didn't know anyone else was here."

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. Ariel gave me some plans for set pieces to look over and approve before Monday, so 'm jus' finishing that up. I didn't know y'practiced this late?"

"Sometimes," (Y/N) chirped, "It depends on my work schedule. But I don't think I'll ever leave before Ms. Ariel ever again—especially since I apparently broke the lock."

Harry let out an airy laugh at her words. "'S tricky," he murmured, "It sticks all the time. I don't know why Ariel wants everything to be locked from the inside when it barely works."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, taking the key out of the lock with suddenly tired limbs. Now, without panic fueling her, she felt particularly fatigued. "Okay."

"Sorry I didn't catch y'earlier."

"It's okay," she shook her head, "You're still working?"

Harry nodded, matching her gaze tentatively. "I can lock up if y'want."

"That would be really nice, I think," she said on a breathy peel of laughter, "Do you need the key?"

"I've got one," he said, a slight curl to his lips. There was that ghost of a dimple denting his cheek, gone before she had a real chance to admire it.

"Cool, thank you," she responded lamely, feeling a bit silly now that she realized just how much that panic had caused her to stress sweat. She didn't particularly feel like a pretty ballerina when this heady sheen of sweat and sticky underarms. "I'll see you next week?"

"At some point, I'm sure," Harry smiled, this time showing two barely there dips in his cheeks. "Get home safe, (Y/N)."

Edging out the door, a small smile bloomed over her lips. "You too, Harry."

With that, (Y/N) was out the door before she had any more material to replace characters with in her manuscripts.

Though, as she pulled away, she couldn't help the look into the rearview mirror. Right at the glass door of the studio, where she swore she could see Harry turning back into the building.

He waited for her.

—————

(Y/N) twisted in the mirror, pristine white tutu fluffing around her hips. Feathers were carefully laid along much of the bodice and layered over the very top of the tutu. The thin straps of her top were pinned with down feathers, more being pinned across the back to give the look of feathered wings sprouting between her shoulder blades. On the top layer of the tutu the collection of feathers thinned until they were nothing but small puffs over the tulle. Throughout, there were crystals beaded on the costume, gilding the feathers and looking like dew drops as they rained down to set along the fluffy layers of her tutu. Everything was made costume to her measurements, acting like a second skin as she moved and stretched. On a hanger behind her was the black version of the same outfit, reserved for her numbers as Odile.

"(Y/N), that is so pretty!" Siobhan's excited squeal broke over the noise in the studio. She, also clad in her swan's costume, bounced up to where (Y/N) was standing on an apple box while the head of the costume department did her own analysis of the outfit. "Do you love it?"

"I do," (Y/N) smiled, shooting a look to the costumer through the mirror. "It's perfect."

Lea, the costume head, reciprocated her smile in quiet thanks, though her critical eye continued looking over the tutu. With only a month until opening weekend, any last minute changes to these outfits were going to have to happen as quickly as possible.

The other principals—Prince Siegfried and Rothbart—were being sized alongside her, though their own garments weren’t quite as elaborate as her own. Other dancers—swans—were fluttered through the space, followed by others in the costume department to mark alterations. There was a level of chaos filling the room, but there was something special seeing all of the flickering crystals. The rainbows of light danced over the walls, trails of glitter falling in the wake of the rotating swans, the specks now forever a part of the flooring.

Even without everyone cast in their makeup, their hair pasted and gelled to perfection, there was still a magic to this cast. This was the Swan Lake.

She was Odette.

"Ready to try on Odile?"

(Y/N) blinked back to her own body, meeting Lea's eyes in the mirror. "Sure, yeah!"

"I can grab it!" Siobhan bubbled, trundling away towards the rack holding the Swan Princess collection of costumes.

Beginning to untie the back of her bodice with the help of Lea, (Y/N)'s eyes followed Siobhan's journey to the rack. The black crystals caught her eye, the light glancing off of the facets like starlight. She admired the points of light dotted along the walls.

Her breath caught when she looked through the window.

Through the glass was Ms. Ariel, huddled with another. Her eyes skimmed across the whole space, while the others' were trained in one spot: right on (Y/N).

Harry gave her a lingering look. His gaze touched on the details of her costume, following the flow of the feathers and the dripping crystals. He wasn't aware he had been caught, that much was clear.

Especially when his lingering eyes finally worked their way back up to her face. Even though the glass, (Y/N) could see the flush that painted his cheeks, his eyes quickly flitting away.

A small smile curled (Y/N)'s lips, her own skin warming just as Siobhan returned with the black swan regalia.

"What?" Siobhan prodded, huddling closer to her friend in conspiracy. "Did I miss something?"

(Y/N) was quick to shake her head, "No—just watching the swans run around. I think Lea's team is going to lose their minds."

At that, Siobhan and Lea both blurt out in laughter.

Through the mirror, (Y/N) could see Ms. Ariel and Harry departing from the viewing window. Her smile fell the smallest bit.

—————

"Has anyone said where the dinner next week is booked?"

A shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine as she gulped down the shot that Kingston—her counterpart as Prince Siegfried—had already muscled through. She couldn't even process his question for another three seconds, eyes shut closed as she attempted to look tougher than she actually was when it came to shots. They were supposed to be grabbing drinks and snacks for the entire table of other dancers—post rehearsal bonding—before Kingston had egged her into taking a shot with him while they waited on the chips and guac.

"No," she finally coughed out. "I haven't heard anything. I don't think anyone's actually decided yet."

"Well, we only have, like, less than a week before opening night, and I won't go on without a family dinner the night before." Kingston looked at her with a raised brow in defiance.

"As if we'd put on the show without you," (Y/N) smiled, bumping her hip against her friend's.

"I don't know," he drawled, tipping his head in her direction. Kingston looked at her through his lashes, his dreads falling over his shoulder as he leaned in conspiratorially towards her. "I think you'd replace me if you could."

(Y/N) blanched at the accusation. That wasn't the kind of thing she thought he had in mind when he leaned into her like they were sharing an inside joke.

"Why would you say that? I would never replace you!"

Kingston let out a boisterous laugh. He threw his head back, unperturbed by (Y/N)'s blatant shock.

"You didn't think I would notice?" he pressed, huddling close to her once more. "You know I always know what's going on around the company."

When (Y/N) only looked at him with her furrowed brows, nothing leaving her lips, he let out another laugh. This one coming out airy and a bit more private.

The volume of his voice dropped to match as he inclined his head in her direction. "How's Harry?"

Her knee-jerk reaction came in the dropping of her jaw and a mumbled Um. This question shouldn't elicit any kind of reaction from her, that was something she knew. If he was asking her seriously, how Harry was, she wouldn't even have an answer. They've exchanged maybe twenty words, at most.

Yet, there was still a warmth simmering under her skin. She felt like she'd been caught.

"What do you mean?" she finally settled on. Hopefully, the least conspicuous of responses.

Kingston was not at all fooled. "You think he came to watch Kaleb be fitted into the monster costume? Especially when there was the Swan right there? The same one that always looks all giggly every time he's around?"

(Y/N) dropped her eyes to the bar top. How long could a bowl of guacamole take?

"It's okay, you know," Kingston relented, bumping (Y/N)'s hip. "I'm just playing around. He's cute—I don't blame you."

Maybe it was the shot working its magic in her system, maybe it was the fact that no one else had seemed to share this kind of fascination with him. But, (Y/N) nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth.

"Really cute."

"See, I knew it," Kingston declared, looking triumphant before casting his eyes down the bar. "You know, though, right?"

She paused. "About the... rumors, or?"

"Mhm," he hummed, "Or am I going to have to be the one to burst your bubble?"

(Y/N) felt her bubble burst anyway then. She thought Kingston was on the same page as her. He hadn't been around the company much longer than she had, neither of them being present when the whole ordeal had gone down. He was supposed to be as naively open as she was.

"No. I know."

"Good," he said, looking at her with a serious set in his gaze, "The only reason I bring it up is because I want you to be careful. I know you can take care of yourself, but if any of what people have said is true, that's a situation none of us need to get into. If it does go further than the studio, just let someone know—just in case."

"I—Wait—" (Y/N) floundered, unsure of what front to attack first. "It's—No, it's not like that. We've barely ever talked, there's nothing to go further with."

Kingston lifted his hands as if in surrender, only missing the white flag. "I had to say it, just in case."

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's not like that at all," she swallowed, "And... I don't think any of that stuff is true anyway. What people have said. Ms. Ariel wouldn't let him work with us if she thought he was... bad."

He gave her a half shrug. "You never know, babe. Just be safe and aware, that's all."

Before much more could be offered in her defense, the bartender returned with a tray of chips and guacamole, fresh from the tiny kitchen in the back.

"I'm so sorry about that wait!" she chattered, "We're training back there. Thank you for being so patient!"

Kingston offered assurances that there was nothing to be sorry for before collecting all of their drinks and snacks upon the newly gifted tray. (Y/N) kept her mouth shut, helping to carry all of the drinks and everything else they ordered.

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Kingston murmured, a kind smile on his face, "Let me know if you ever need anything, that's all I'm saying. Your secret is safe with me."

(Y/N) gave a small smile in response. She understood where Kingston was coming from; if one of her friends told her they were interested in someone who had even a whiff of a possibility of being harmful to an ex in the past, she would be staking out the house at all times. Just because she didn't believe Harry fell into that category didn’t mean no one else could worry about her.

And it wasn't like she was interested in him anyway. Not when she'd barely spoken to him.

—————

(Y/N), arms extended at her sides, thighs tight as she held her legs in straight pointed lines, soared above the stage. Kingston, dressed as Prince Siegfried, lifted her over the boards in time with the swelling music. She hoped the light caught her tears just right, letting them sparkle just like the crystals on her costume.

Odette and Siegfried were in the afterlife, free from the wrath of Rothbart and the swan curse. The goal was to be as ethereally blissful as she could achieve, overjoyed with the eternity that stretched before her with the love of her life. The one who sacrificed himself to be with her, no matter that the sacrifice was his life.

If she would be able to achieve these same tears, the same clutching fingers that clung to Kingston, the recentering of her gravity as she revolved around him—all while she performed as the prima she had been named, perfect in technique and timing—(Y/N) wasn't sure. Especially when a theater full of eyes would be trained right on her.

She supposed that was what practice was for, anyway. Now was the time to find herself in these moments, in the halves of the swan, so she wouldn't have a problem giving the performance of a lifetime when it came to opening night.

Besides, if her feet and legs hurt then as much as they did now, she doubted it would be very hard to summon tears to her eyes.

(No one had warned her the fouettes were going to make her toes go numb, especially being performed over and over again every week. Any pedicures were going to have to wait until they wrapped, it appeared).

The song came to an end, the finale upon her as Kingston lowered her to the ground, twirling her into him. Pressing his forehead to hers, they shared a moment in the dreamscape that would be projected over them during the show. Her eyes fluttered closed as they caught their breaths together, skin slick with sweat.

As soon as the music flourished to a feathery end, (Y/N) pulled him in for a real hug.

"We did it!" she bubbled, jumping up and down on the flat of her pointe shoes. Their first full run of the show was complete, costumes and all.

"I think I'm going to fall over," Kingston laughed, holding her just as hard. Though it wasn't his first time as a principal, he still glowed like never before. Perfect evidence as to why he was cast as the Prince Charming of Odette's story.

"Let's go sit before Ms. Ariel makes us go again," (Y/N) laughed, still greatly out of breath.

Though she took Kingston's hand, ready to lead him to the edge of the stage to take a breather, where he could easily access his inhaler should he not regain his breath, they both stilled, awaiting their proper dismissal. Out in the aisle of the theater, standing a few rows from the front was Ms. Ariel and the director of the production.

And Harry.

They had all watched the tail end of the run, staying silent. Looking out to the trio of faces, (Y/N) couldn't help but to snag on Harry's.

Gone was the pinched brow, the crossed arms, the intense eyes. The lines of his face were left to soften in the shadows of the theater. His eyes gleamed in the low light as he gazed up at her. If she didn't know any better, she would have liked to think of his gaze as admiring with the way he looked at her.

Like she was something to revere, complete with overheated skin, a sheen of sweat, and trembling limbs.

It was Ms. Ariel's voice that threw her back into the rest of the world.

"That was beautiful, you two. Almost perfect," she smiled, this time taking on Harry's previously critical stance with crossed arms and squinted eyes. "There's a couple of blocking changes we need to make, and I want you two to rehearse as much as you can together for the next week, even if I'm not there. But, you have it. I believe it."

That was the biggest relief (Y/N) could have been given. She could perfect her technique, she could learn the steps and refine her shapes, but if no one believed the story she was selling, it would all become a moot point.

"Thank you," she murmured, Kingston doing the same with his hand held in hers.

"Take a break, okay? I'll call you when I'm ready to block."

They didn't need to be told twice before both Kingston and (Y/N) were rushing from the stage, Kingston being dragged behind the swan.

Before exiting into the backstage and disappearing from the front of the theater, (Y/N) stole a glance in the direction she knew she shouldn't.

Nonetheless, she felt a heat bubble behind her cheeks when she met a pair of green, gleaming eyes.

Kingston had to tear her away, leading them backstage.

—————

Adjusting her leg warmers, (Y/N) curled into her theater seat, eyes fixed on the stage.

Just days from now, she was going to be up there, these seats filled to the brim with spectators. Opening night was officially sold out as of yesterday morning.

Tonight was the tech run of the show. This was (Y/N)'s first look at the set up of the show, complete with set pieces and the proper lighting. The orchestra had already had their own run earlier in the evening, though (Y/N) could still peek at the pit before the stage filled with seats and sheet music. For now, a track was faintly playing through the speakers of the theater to make up for the lack of band, letting the notes be the cue for the lighting and the different effects set forth from the tech booth.

The director, Ms. Ariel, and majority of the production team was present for the run. (Y/N) was the only person sitting in one of the plush red theater seats, having come here right after leaving the studio.

Tomorrow was the final rehearsal, set with the entire cast and ensemble , even the understudies and alternates. After that, a day of rest would be given, including a night out for a family dinner amongst the cast before they would be swinging for the fences, multiple shows every week for the next eight weeks.

Tonight was her last moment of peace here in the theater, she thought. Before she would be slotted in as Odette every night, feeling the weight of the story and the pressure of the technique until each movement came as easy as breathing.

The spotlight glided over the stage, following an invisible dancer. The production lead shouted corrections from the wings, ensuring everything would be perfectly in line with the stage directions Ms. Ariel gave at the beginning of the night.

For a moment, just seeing the spotlight, something in (Y/N) shimmered, warming her chest.

In days, it would be her shining under the light. The beads on her costume would cast rainbows over the audience. She was going to be clad in feathers, moving just like one over the stage. She would be captivating the theater as she told a story she'd held so close to her heart since she was a girl. Seeing that spotlight, she was only reminded of the gravity of what she had signed up for.

(Y/N) was a ballerina. A prima for the first time in her life. She was Odette and Odile, two of the most famous characters in ballet history.

This was her dream.

Absorbed in the phantom show going on in front of her, (Y/N) didn't notice she was no longer alone until the static prick of the air shifting her took her attention. At the end of the aisle, she saw Harry.

He stood with the grays of his suit blending into the shadows of the theater, his hands folded behind him. He looked taken aback when she spotted him, his mouth opened like a guppy, the barely there light pointing out the quiet flush on his cheeks. She couldn't help the small smile that molded her features at his expression.

"Harry?" she asked, voice just over the sound of Tchaikovsky

"I—Sorry," he said, dropping his gaze to land on one of the seats surrounding her, "Do y'mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not," she beamed, making room for him as she removed her jacket and tote bag off the seat next to her.

Harry side steps his way into the aisle, taking the plush seat at her side. He carried a warmth with him as he sunk into the spot, wafting around her. She felt his presence like a static at her side, taking up weighty space. The stagnant scent of the theater now replaced with something warm and charred, flicks of something sweet threaded through. He definitely smelled much better than she did after dating through the entire morning.

Moments passed as they both looked ahead, watching as the show came together. Projections danced around the stage, showing a wintery blue sky while snowflakes fell in puffs down to the boards. Somewhere off stage, a gentle breeze blew through to sweep the flakes askew, the effect meant to coincide with the swans that would decorate the stage in two days' time.

"It's so pretty," (Y/N) murmured, "seeing everything come together like this."

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a small smile touching Harry's lips. "'S amazing," he said, voice melodic and low like the baseline of the music.

Tipping her head, she chanced a small look in his fraction. "Does it ever get old? Seeing this all the time?"

A look passed over his features, fleeting and quick, as if he were surprised that she was acknowledging that there was ever a production before this. Like he couldn't believe she was broaching any form of the past.

She could imagine he was much more used to others tiptoeing around him. Especially when it came to this place.

Recovered, he shook his head, eyes still forward on the stage. "Never. Some shows aren't always my favorite," he smiled, "but 's never takes away from this."

"Yeah?" she perked up, forgoing her sight of the stage to give her attention to him with her chin propped up on her folded knee, "What is your favorite?"

Harry cocked his head, turning to look at her with pursed lips. "I've always liked The Rite of Spring and La Sylphide, or anything that fits the springtime." He paused, hesitating some as their eyes met. "This year's is really growing on me, though."

A bright smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s face. Though she was more than sure that it was nothing else but the light shining from the stage, the faux snowflakes reflected in his eyes, but she swore there was a twinkle in his irises. Something almost glowing as he gazed at her.

"Swan Lake is my favorite," she shared, unconsciously moving closer to him within the plush of her seat, "You've probably never seen it but there was this, like, animated kind of movie I watched when I was younger that was a version of Swan Lake and it's been my favorite ever since. It's become a lot more special to me now, though."

(Y/N) blinked, her lashes fluttering as she realized just how close she now was to Harry. Through the interaction, she had slightly shuffled until her legs were flush to the armrest, Harry's body turned straight towards her with his eyes fixed on the planes of her face.

Something pricking like static passed in the air between them.

From here, she was able to see the way his lashes tangled at the corners of his eyes. His freckles had warmed around the center of his face, the sun adding more color to the spots. The raspberry color of his lips were deepened in the shadows of the theater, berry rich.

"You're... You're an incredible dancer. I hope you know that." His voice wavered, unsure as the words slipped out.

"Thank you," she smiled, partially aware of the scene change on stage with the music lifting and the light filling through the theater. Off stage, Ms. Ariel's voice could be heard with the muffled director's. None of it was enough to steal her attention away from Harry. "I don't really understand what a patron does yet, but it seems like you do a lot for everyone—Ms. Ariel especially. Thank you for being kind and... wanting to be a part of all of this."

Harry dropped his head, breaking the intensity. "Um," he sounded, something low in the drawl of his voice, "of course. Thank you."

Mouth open, ready to ask what happened, (Y/N) was cut off by the sound of Ms. Ariel's booming voice.

"(Y/N), are you still here? Can you come up here for a second?"

That prickling static was severed at the sound of her voice. She snapped away from Harry, feeling caught red-handed. Harry watched with attentive eyes.

"Yeah, I'm here," she shouted back, giving him an apologetic smile as she rose from her spot, "Sorry. It was nice talking with you, Harry."

"'S alright. Thank you, (Y/N)."

He stayed there as she collected her things and went towards the stage. The warmth that had radiated from his presence was left behind, a flash of goosebumps erupting over her skin.

The only bit of warmth that lingered fell on her back, right where she hoped he was watching her.

—————

the swan is a central figure in the classic ballet, swan lake

ahhhhhhh thank you sm for reading! its been a long time since ive posted anything so im super excited to get something out there! so sorry for any mistakes ! I would love to hear everyone's thoughts or predictions so feel free to send them in!

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hertophattedman · 4 months ago

Text

I’m quite excited to see you on this platform as well, welcome lebada mea 💜

Welcome

Age: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Female

Favorite Animals: Ravens, Swans, My Dog Mochi

Relationships: Corbeau (my husband) Violet (The devil incarnate)

Thank you for visiting

(About the creator down here)

Hi my name is Panda (@itsme-pandaaaa)

This character is a RP account for the main character of the book I'm writing, @11kit-maim-rue11 Owns Corbeau's account, ask me questions and I will respond in character, also I refuse to do anything s3xual regarding roleplaying/writing

Tags I'll be using:

#Inquiries (for answering questions, the same as Rues)

#OdettesEclipse (in character reblogs)

#CursedAndSuffering (ranting)

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makeitworse · 10 days ago

Text

THE LOVER⠀⠀⠀ ( 𝓸ne. )

a quiet café. a distant home. and the boy who made you feel seen for the first time in a long time.

𝓬ontains: f!reader x felix. 5k wc. infidelity. arranged engagement. mutual pining. fluff. angst. light smut. 18+

𝓷otes: lady chatterley’s lover had me very inspired, let’s just say i got carried away. this AU has a life of its own and might be one of my favourite works yet. i hope you all love it enough for more ♡

SERIES ❀ CONT.

𝓣HE CAFÉ WAS FINALLY quiet enough for you to spare a thought to yourself.

after what felt like hours of clattering mugs, half-shouted orders, and the dull murmur of students too tired to make real conversation, peace was once again yours. odette’s always had a nine to eleven rush. by now, you can predict these peaks down to the minute.

you hum to yourself as you wipe down the counter, hands returning to their rhythm that no longer needed thought.

wipe. stir. pour. press. wipe again. welcome that customer. don’t forget to smile. breathe. breathe.

you had to remind yourself to breathe a lot these days.

the place was affectionately named after the lake it overlooked— a cozy corner tucked away on the edge of campus, just past the east courtyard. on your morning walks over you’ve started to take note of the flowers blooming in soft pastels for spring. new beginnings, which seems to have skipped you.

out past the window, odette’s namesake glittered in the morning light, bustling with swans drifting across the water. you smile when you recognise your little lady.

you watch for her every day, sparing moments throughout your shift to check on her— this snowy beauty gliding along the lake, untouched by the chaos of the campus around her.

potential mates came and went: puffing their chests and spreading their wings, showing off for your lady who never gave them the time of day. she was always alone.

swan mate for life, you know. and she had yet to choose anyone. that simple fact resonates with you. you could only dream of feeling her freedom, if just for a moment, as you watch her from behind the glass pane.

the machines behind the counter sigh alongside you as they let out a low, exhausted hum. your supervisor’s out on a smoke break, so you allow yourself a moment to just space out as you mindlessly wipe surfaces; catch up on all the breathing you’d forgotten to do during the morning rush.

you suppose you can’t really complain. the job’s not terrible, and it kept you moving, socialising. occupied.

your father had arranged it— a quiet favour through a colleague at the university. a polite way of ensuring his daughter wasn’t just wasting away in the house all day alone.

it’s all you felt anywhere though.

you don’t have many friends. you’re weren’t a student, not a peer to anyone passing by. anyone your age was flitting in and out of classes, tethered to friend groups and schedules you didn’t belong to. you weren’t one of them.

the smell of espresso’s warm in the air. you move mechanically, able to make coffees with your eyes closed at this point, but there’s extra care in your fingers for one particular step: pouring the milk to make little works of art in a cup.

it’s silly. most people don’t even notice. but it’s your simple pleasure throughout the workday. that and your swan outside are the only things keeping you sane.

you take pride in each cup of coffee, even if the art only lasts a second before vanishing into someone’s first sip. swirls, hearts, vines and flowers. even yesterday, you felt confident enough to pour a swan.

you’re no pro at it. some of them are more abstract art than anything, in which case you’re glad customers don’t give it a second glance. but each little painting in a cup gives you something to hold onto. any customer you serve gets that extra attention and care. and that belongs to you— whether they pay it any mind or not.

it’s enough, to feel a sense of control. to remind yourself what the liberty of choice feels like.

the door chimes, snapping you out of your self-wallowing and robotic cleaning.

you’re a little startled as you turn to face the customer, sure that everyone would be in class by now.

you clear your throat and greet him, fingers nervously playing with your ring.

“hey— gosh, i’m so behind,” he checks his phone quickly, then raises his head. “sorry, i—”

he cuts himself off with a laugh. he sounds breathless— and god was his voice deep. you can’t help yourself to giggling with him, a little flustered.

he looks like he’s just as out of it as you are. blonde hair frazzled, face flushed pink. maybe he ran here.

“it’s been a morning.” he exhales, running a hand through his hair. you nod along, relating.

“what can i do for you?” you smile.

“actually, i was here yesterday. you made me a coffee. i sat over there,” he pointed to a booth in the corner. you try to think back, disappointed in yourself for not remembering him. “i took a photo of it.”

he taps his phone a bit before turning it to show you— a picture of the swan mug. you gasp, face splitting in a smile. he chuckles at your reaction.

“i was proud of that one!” you beam. he’s just made your day.

“it was really lovely. i wanted to get another today, but i’m running late.” he sighs. you smile, his compliment fluttering in your stomach. “could i just get the exact same one but to-go?”

you nod, swallowing thickly as you type his order on the tablet. you almost feel a little weak in the knees from talking to him— he’s so good looking. even pretty. and he’s gushing over that simple coffee you made him like it saved him from dying of thirst.

you glance up at him briefly, careful not to stutter as you lock eyes. “did you want a swan again?”

“actually,” he leans in, slightly bending over the counter, just to get closer to you. your lip twitches. “could you.. surprise me?”

words beyond you, you just nod your head with the giddiest smile. this guy’s full of delightful surprises.

as you get to making his coffee, he trails your steps from behind the counter. he stands as close as he can, chatting to you while you work.

he confessed that he was acting too shy yesterday— he had his head down as you placed the mug on his table, and you realise that’s why you don’t remember his face. you share a laugh about it.

you also learn it’s his sister’s fault that he’s late for class today, and that he’s studying for a bachelor’s in music.

before he can reveal any more about himself, you’re handing him his cup of coffee, the lid seperate.

as late as he is, he takes a moment to admire your work before taking a sip— a flower surrounded by leaves. with a quick thanks, he’s drinking from his cup and darting for the door.

you giggle to yourself as you watch him run across the grass, careful to cover his coffee so it doesn’t spill.

your supervisor walks in from the backdoor, a brow arched as she looks at you.

“do you know him?” she asks. she must’ve heard all the chatter, when you’re usually curt with customers.

you shake your head— and it dawns on you that you never even got his name.

⠀

such a fleeting moment had managed to make your whole damn week. it’s the first time you’ve ever actually connected with someone at work— not just robotically served. you can only hope he’ll come back, because he’s given you a newfound pride in your little arts.

the weekend follows after the day of, which you spend your quiet saturday at home practising with your coffee machine. it was a gift, which felt like more of a mockery, really. (who wants to bother making a coffee when it’s all you do everyday?)

today though, you’re using it as a pastime.

swapping out all the caffeine, you instead make yourself numerous mugs of hot chocolate as you practise the milk pouring. you experiment with different shapes, follow along with videos. you can’t stop smiling to yourself. you just wonder how he’d react, the blonde stranger.

that train of thought halts as you hear the door unlock; followed by shuffling as it shuts, and then eventually the sound of shoes coming down the hall.

“oh, you’re finally using it.” he calls as he enters the kitchen, tone bordering on mocking. you just stay quiet. he walks up to you, inspecting your work. “what’s all this?”

“i’m practising.” you reply. he chuckles, without humour.

it’s a callback to when he first bought it for you: justifying the purchase of a ridiculously expensive coffee machine just so you could ‘practise’ for your new job. it wasn’t gifted out of thoughtfulness, rather a bitter jab at the fact you even wanted to work. he knew it’s just an excuse to get out of the house— which he took personally. as if he’s ever home to feel your absence anyway.

“since you’re here, would you make me one?” he goes to kiss your temple. you turn away, acting like it’s to get him a cup, but you both know it was really to dodge him.

he lingers, watching as you reach into the cupboard for his coffee mug. he takes a step closer. when you set it down on the counter, he’s grabbing your wrist. you cuss as he tugs your arm, holding your hand up as his eyes flick to it, gaze hard.

“where’s your ring?” he asks lowly.

you fingers twitch on his palm. “i didn’t want to get it dirty.”

he’s still for a beat, before he releases your hand with a nod, walking off to the bathroom.

whether it’s a lie or not, he doesn’t care to ask.

you don’t care to ask either, how he wants his coffee.

you pour it black, leaving it on the counter for him to grab as you walk off— wordlessly shutting yourself in your room.

⠀

monday finds you at odette’s earlier than usual.

the sky’s still tinted with dawn when you arrive, a soft copper bleeding into clouds the shade of bruises. there’s a rare calm in the air, a peace that belongs only to you, just before the rest of the world wakes.

most days, you show up to work already spent, worn thin by cold shoulders and frostbitten glares at home. but this morning, it’s too early, and the day hasn’t yet gathered the strength to be cruel.

your coworker emmie greets you, raising a brow in pleasant surprise at the sudden pep in your step. a stark contrast to the lifeless girl who’d quietly trudge in for her shifts, two seconds from crying over the next minor inconvenience.

“you finally woke up on the right side of the bed,” she teases, nudging a tray of clean mugs toward you.

you hum, biting back the smile threatening to split across your face. you’d spent most of the weekend thinking about him— the freckled stranger with a voice like a cello’s low string, long fingers wrapped around the paper cup like he was beholding something precious. you’d imagined, just once or perhaps twice, what it might feel like to be held the same way.

not by him, necessarily. just generally. you tell yourself as much anyways.

it’s twenty minutes before the doors even open when there’s a soft knock on the glass.

you jump, but you’re recollecting yourself in the same second, already moving toward the sound— already hoping. and then you see him.

the pretty blonde again.

he’s standing there like he walked straight off the cover of a magazine; hair tousled from the wind, warm smile pulling at his lips. the morning glows gently on the edges of his face, freckles prominent in the sunlight.

you’re stood there smiling at each other in silence as emmie pokes her head around the corner. you can feel the confused look she’s giving you.

“okay, there’s no way our coffee’s that good.”

“i can tell him to wait.” you offer way too quickly, already halfway to the door.

she shakes her head, waving you off. “just go say hi to your boyfriend before we open.”

you don’t bother correcting her. the word sits sweet in the air, even if it isn’t true. instead, you toss your hand-towel aside and push through the door.

outside, spring air kisses your skin. the smell of jasmine dances in the breeze, the lake glittering under the sunlight just beyond the path. your pretty stranger blends right in to the season.

“you again.” you say, trying to sound teasing, but it comes out soft. almost like relief.

he smiles, bright and lopsided. “me again.”

a beat. you realise you still don’t have a name to his face, but as your mouth opens to speak, he beats you to it:

“sorry, i realised,” he mutters, tousling his golden curls, “i never asked your name.”

when you tell him, he repeats it on his tongue like he’s tasting it. grinning like he’d been waiting to. maybe he has.

“i’m felix.” he adds.

you repeat it in your head a few times to make sure it sticks. felix. meaning lucky, happy. it suits him.

“otherwise, you could just call me your most loyal customer.”

you laugh, scoffing, “you haven’t earned that yet.”

“no?” he exclaims. “guess i’ll just have to keep coming back.”

you can’t help how you smile, tilting your head in awe. “my coworker said our coffee can’t be that good.”

“well, let her know she’s wrong.” felix leans in with his voice low, gaze heavy. it’s like his eyes are saying something his mouth didn’t.

steering from wherever this is headed, you quip; “don’t think i can’t tell you’re just trying to earn a discount.”

he bites his lip, chuckling with that husky tone that makes your chest ache. it’s too warm. too easy.

felix glances down, and you swear you feel the air change. his eyes drop from your face— and for the briefest second, you worry they flicked to your left hand, noticing the ring. you brace yourself, but he doesn’t say anything. so neither do you.

you needed that humble reminder.

you don’t flirt. you haven’t thought to in a long time. you forgot what it felt like to be noticed— wanted— without any strings or expectations. and here’s felix, looking at you like you’re the only thing worth being up this early for. you really should pull away. cut this off. remember whose name you carry around on your finger.

but instead, you say, “well if you’re trying to earn the title, we open in fifteen.”

he flashes a boyish smile, sincere. “guess i’m taking a walk. let you miss me a little,”

you roll your eyes in mock annoyance— where you should’ve disagreed. but you’re sick of doing anything but what you want to.

felix can be your freedom. a choice that belongs to you, only you, and no one can control that or take it away.

“also, about what your coworker said—” felix pipes, walking backwards on the pavement. “it’s not just the coffee.”

for a beat, he holds your gaze, face full with an unmistakably flirty smile as he watches you realise what he meant.

but when your eyes widen in shock, mouth opening to react— he’s facing away, already too far down the path to hear.

you’re not sure what it is exactly that glows in your chest at his words, but it sits there long after you walk back in, emmie glancing at you strangely each time she catches you smiling for no reason.

maybe it’s just the relief of finally having found good company. you’ve wished upon a star for somebody, anybody, to call a friend. somebody who can remind you that you’re not completely isolated from the rest of the world. a person who makes the hours feel like yours again.

felix might just be your way out— even if it’s only for a few minutes each morning, a temporary distraction before you face your reality once you clock out of work. but it can be enough.

when the doors finally open, he returns like he never left. emmie gives you a nod as she disappears around the corner, as if to say he’s all yours.

felix doesn’t even have to tell you what he wants— you know his coffee order better than he does now.

he perches on a stool by the counter, munching on a toasted croissant as you make his coffee. he’s close enough to steal glances and trade smiles with you, but not get you in trouble for slacking.

with practised hands, you pour the milk into his cup in the shape of a tulip. emmie passes by, peering over your shoulder. she teases you for drawing ‘hearts’ in your boyfriend’s coffee.

you’re caught too off-guard to correct her, and on instinct, you’re glancing up— and you know felix heard but the way his smile deepens, eyes crinkling.

you hand him his paper takeaway cup, felix uttering a deep ‘thanks’ as he reaches for it— fingertips brushing yours. your stomach flutters at the contact. you don’t mention it. neither does he.

you should get back to work before the morning rush, but you linger instead. hold his gaze as he pops off the lid, inspecting your work, delighted.

“a tulip for spring?” his teeth flashes as he smiles, which slides into a smirk. “or hearts, for me?”

your face drops as you let out a groan. felix chuckles, taking it back.

to make it up, he has his first sip, humming contently.

“i could lie and say i just want a discount,” felix says, “but i’m hoping you’ll take the compliment.”

you blink, hesitant. the safe thing would be to smile politely, send him on his way. reaffirm that he’s just some student you make coffee.

but of course, you ignore that thought.

“when’s class?” you ask instead.

“just this morning. i’m free after that.” he glances up at you, and you’d almost think he looked nervous. “was hoping maybe, you’d tell me what time you knock off?”

a pause. you should probably tell him.

you should say that someone else waits for you at home. that your evenings aren’t really your own. that your life is not what it looks like.

but he’s standing there, eyes full of sunlight, voice gentle with hope.

so probably— probably not.

“not any time soon.”

“i’m patient.” he’s quick to reply.

the first round of customers filter in through the door, students bustling with chatter. in the same breath you’re telling him when the café shuts and excusing yourself, but felix softly calls after you.

wordlessly, he hands you a folded napkin, slipping out of his seat and uttering a goodbye before you can say more.

you slip the napkin into your back pocket, dashing behind the counter to serve the line of people waiting to order.

you slide back into routine— wipe, stir, pour, smile— and when you’ve got a second to breathe, you glance over at the window to catch sight of your snowy beauty.

a second turns to a minute as you stand there in disbelief. out there by the lake is felix: tossing bread crumbs into the water, surrounded by the chattering birds.

there’s one gliding close by, and you watch felix’s mouth move with words, greeting the swan with a smile. your swan.

you duck behind a wall, out of sight of your supervisor, and take out the napkin from your pocket.

you unfold it, sighing as you read what felix left for you, written in pen.

eight digits.

⠀

felix was waiting for you.

he’s perched on the short stone wall outside the café, scrolling on his phone as his legs swing slightly. the sun’s dipped low, dragging an aureate light across the sky that leaves golden tinsels in felix’s hair.

he looks up as you step outside, and that smile— sweet and crooked— greets you instantly.

you had offered to close up shop today. insisted, really. your supervisor hadn’t opposed as she left work early— leaving you alone for when you meet back up with felix.

you give one last glance around before you lock the front door. there’s no one loitering, no familiar faces passing by in the distance. you wouldn’t doubt it— there being people asked to watch over you. better to be careful.

better to pretend, momentarily, that it’s not a lie to stand here with felix.

“you waited here?” you scoff softly, joining him.

“of course i did.” he hops down, walking in stride with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you smile, shying away as you glance to the side. “i saw you earlier. by the lake.”

his lip twitches. “ah yeah, feeding the swans.”

“thought you’d win her over today,” you remark, nodding toward the lake’s far side where your snowy lady likes to linger. “she’s a picky girl.”

“nah, she’s just playing hard to get.” his eyes flick toward the water, watching the gentle ripples beneath the afternoon’s glow. “or maybe she knows what she wants, and is just, waiting for the right one.”

the words sit heavier than they should.

were we still talking about swans?

you walk together in silence for a while, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you tread towards the lake’s edge.

there’s a bench near the water, slightly concealed by the trees, budding with vibrant petals that draft in the breeze. you sit there together, felix leaving a few inches of polite space between you.

a couple swans start trumpeting in symphony when they recognise felix. you giggle as they glide over on the water, obnoxiously honking in demand for more food.

at your soft noise, felix glances over to you, his lip quirked. you don’t realise it, but it spurs him on— and suddenly he’s mocking the swans, honking right back at them.

your laughter only encourages him till you’re patting his shoulder, telling him to stop being mean.

“it’s okay, they love me,” felix chuckles, picking up a stone from the ground. “they’re forever loyal to me.”

you giggle. “swans do mate for life.”

he glances at you, thoughtful.

you don’t meet his eyes.

“i’ve been meaning to ask,” he starts, then pauses, fidgeting with the stone as he rolls it around in his hand. “the ring.”

your body stills. felix makes a vague motion with his hand. he doesn’t want to say the word out loud— real— but he doesn’t have to. it’s all there in the breath he doesn’t take.

you nod. “it’s real, yeah.”

silence. you could cut through it with a knife.

you stare out at the lake, at your swan drifting alone. you wish you could trade places at will. she can deal with your employment and impending marriage while you swim and eat breadcrumbs from a gorgeous blonde.

felix breaks your train of thought as he tosses the stone to the lake, and you both watch it skip across the water. you exhale, just barely glancing at felix through your peripheral.

“sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” you say quietly. “most of the time, actually.”

he doesn’t speak. after a breath, you crack.

“i don’t even know what i’m doing here,” you laugh bitterly, grabbing your forehead. “it’s all so stupid.”

you’re not even sure why, but your breaths come out heavy, exasperated— and your chest is heaving and your throat is closing. you consider biting your ring finger clean off and chucking it into the lake.

felix says your name, shifting closer. and then it all comes flooding out.

you’re just as surprised as him: one moment you were fine, then your voice cracks with a sob, and felix is closing the distance between you.

his arms come around you without hesitation, but carefully. you press your face into his shoulder before you can second-guess it. he smells like laundry powder and brown sugar and all the warmth you’ve gone without that you’ve so desperately needed.

felix holds you quietly. doesn’t ask more, just understands without needing all the ugly details.

“so that’s how it is,” he murmurs, maybe more to himself than you.

you shudder with another sob, and he’s cooing a soft: “hey, don’t cry,”

you finally pull back, wiping your tears across your face. you blink away the last of them, and your vision comes into focus on felix smiling at you— small and sad and full of something you don’t know what.

you take notice of the wet patches on his hoodie, and you crack up with laughter. he giggles with you, soft and deep.

“i wanted to show you something.” he stands suddenly, offering his hand.

you’d be a fool not to take it.

he leads you away from the lake by the hand, down a narrow path that veers off behind a grove of trees. you walk to a lone bench, covered with fallen leaves, surrounded by a patch of flowers. a quiet haven secluded from the nearby buildings— tucked into the edge of campus where no one but the groundsman really goes.

“it’s so pretty here,” you whisper.

felix looks at you instead. “it is.”

you know what’s coming before it happens.

felix shifts towards you, raising his palm again for you to hold. he’ll probably lead you further down the path, keep showing you more of his little hideaway.

but when you take his hand, your fingers curl around his quickly, and you’re leaning in— only stopping yourself once you’re a breath from felix.

your name falls from his lips, breathless. his jaw flexes. you’re not sure if he’ll push you off or pull you in. he just waits; adam’s apple bobbing with his eyes darting over your face.

you feel yourself tipping, slowly, towards him. and then he’s leaning in to meet you there.

the kiss barely even exists— just the soft press of his lips to yours, a whisper of a moment that’s over as soon as it came.

but it’s enough.

enough to shatter the delusion you’ve been clinging to— that it could be just friendliness, just harmless company to ease the ache of your lonely days and nothing more. you told yourself that you were just starved for conversation, for warmth, for someone your own age who looked at you like you were alive.

but this was never going to be just company.

it’s a crack in the dam. a current you can’t swim against. and you don’t want to even try.

because your lips are finding his again, and it’s different. deep, heavy. a question blending into a confession. you feel him exhale against you like he’s been holding his breath for days.

your fingers lace with the soft blonde at the nape of his neck, and his hands settle at your waist like he’s memorised every curve of you. there’s no hesitation now. no pretending. just heat and hunger, the kind that’s been simmering beneath every lingering glance, every shared laugh, every stupid reason he’s found to talk to you.

felix’s tongue teases your lips, tentative, before you’re parting your mouth to let the kiss deepen. you push yourself impossibly close to him, tugging gently on his locks and pulling a heavy sigh from his throat.

you don’t know if you’ve ever been this fired up for another person. you jut your face forward, tilting felix’s head with your hands to kiss deeper, to taste more of him. his fingers twitch on your waist— you know he’s still holding back.

you can’t help yourself to rolling you hips against him. a low groan from felix rumbles down your throat, a spotlight on the hardness pressing at your thigh.

suddenly his hands are snaking down, and you gasp when he grabs the underside of your thighs. you don’t even realise how, but suddenly felix has you sat down on the bench, kiss unbroken while hands trailing up your sides.

his mouth comes off yours in a breathless cuss, eyes hooded with want as he takes you in— panting, whining for him to come back.

he trails kisses along your jaw, hands sliding over your chest with a firm squeeze. you’re sure he feels how your heart’s drumming under his touch as he snickers lowly at your neck.

you shudder when his hand slides up your thigh, fingertips brushing over the fabric of your shorts. his eyes are on you the whole time, checking for hesitation, and coming up with none.

you blink, and suddenly felix is dropping to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the seat. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you’re gasping as his mouth latches onto your skin— tongue hot on your inner thigh. his fingers curl around your waistband, and he glances up, watchful as you writhe above him.

you nod then, permission to do what he’s asking to— and felix smiles like you just hung the moon in the sky.

and then your phone’s ringing.

your whole body jolts as the shrill sound slices through the moment. you’re already scrambling into your pocket for your phone, heartbeat stuttering.

the screen’s lit up with a name you’ve learned to dread, and you’re pulling away from felix in the next breath.

“i have to go,”

he stands with you, hands falling to his sides, blinking like you’ve just woken from the same dream.

“wait—” he reaches out, but doesn’t touch you, brows pinched like he’s afraid to burn you.

you shake your head. “i’m sorry.”

and then you’re gone— running, throat burning with bile, mouth still tasting of felix.

but you can’t look back.

because if you do, you might have second thoughts.

it’s not until you recognise the car pulling into view that you glance over your shoulder, checking that felix isn’t chasing after you, glass slipper in hand.

but there’s no prince charming to coming to save you. the clock strikes midnight as you reach for the door handle— your dress turning back into rags, and your real happily ever after waiting behind the wheel.

your lips still tingle with him. felix. with what could’ve been yours, and was never meant to be.

⠀

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @emmiesoverthemoon @burlesquerade @crashmunson @cathlyn11 @mysatnin @charlyxx @heartzfromscar @maxinehufflepuffprincess @aizshallnotbefound @inejghafawifesblog @bananamilkii @yutanize @dawgidkk @0ma0k @jchotch726 @animeotakugirl @saphire2110 @upirs @dezznuggetsblog @scvghh @dumbtrin @velvetmoonlght @kookiesandboba @tsweezey ← won’t let me tag :(

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #felix x you #felix x reader #felix stray kids #lee felix #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #felix fanfic #yongbok x reader #stray kids felix #stray kids fluff #stray kids

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ahollowgrave · 10 months ago

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Steer (verb): to direct the course of. A young nun far from home. Some waterway of Vylbrand.

Wooden plants creak in protest as the ferry glides through water pushing the opposite direction. The ferryman whistles a tune as he gazes forward, his work second nature to him. You marvel at it. Watch as his arm flexes and the ferry effortlessly pivots past an outcropping of bright white stone. The canyon river is narrow and winding and he knows it well. His eyes - a velvety brown - catch yours and his big mustache bends with a smile and a wink.

You look away, embarrassed. Lean over the edge of the boat. The water here is impossibly clear and you can see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Schools of fish drift by, and minerals and rocks glint in the afternoon light. You spot and identify several useful water plants before the flow of water begins to make you dizzy.

You could not bear to catch the ferryman’s eye again. Your stomach clenching at the mere idea. Thankfully, the ferry is full. Farmhands lean against one another, hats pulled low as they doze. Their hands are weathered with dirt packed under the nails, in the knuckles. They breathe in sync. A trio of adventurers in the front have a map out; they’ve been arguing in hushed voices since boarding. They talk over each other in familiar patterns. A child leans over the edge of the boat, their mother’s fingers clutching the back of their tunic. She points out a turtle sunning itself on a rock. Their laughs match.

A sharp, green shoot of yearning sprouts along your rib, pierces the soft muscle of your heart.

Your pack rests solidly against your legs. A short but effective wall between the seat you claimed and the rest of the passengers. It isn’t personal, you try to say with your expression, you just need your space.

The ferryman’s hands pull the rudder and the boat responds in a graceful, slowing turn. It comes to a stop with a gentle bump against the dock. There is a chorus of rough laughter from the bow and as you watch the adventurers clap each other on the back, share long-lived grins. They’ve had that argument before and they’ll have it at least twice more before it’s done. The mother and her child are the first ones off, carefully aided by dockworkers. The child squeals with laughter as a worker pulls a flower from behind their ear. You rub at your chest. Falling in behind the farmhands you shoulder your pack. You will lose your fellow passengers soon -- to the crowd and to their paths. You don’t know their names and only some of their faces yet still you grieve these minuscule relationships.

Laughter and song pour out onto the street from an open door. An tavern, bustling and busy in the middle of the day, bards reciting old favorites. From the street you glimpse skirts flaring in the steps of a spirited dance; flowers blooming with each turn. It would be easy enough to slip inside, find a corner to claim, build more tiny relationships between strangers.

The letter you carry -- carefully folded in your chest pocket -- is time-sensitive. And the address it bids you travel to is far from this harbor town. Isolated. You linger. You could delay your trip for a day, perhaps two.

You leave the open door behind. Guided, as always, by the chilled hand of your most holy bride.

#Pigeon Writing #FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite2024 #first day of ffxivwrite was hard haha (':#but that's ok she's a challenge so!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#still had fun writing this #hello welcome to “pigeon forces everyone 2 read second PoV for a whole month”#god speed #anyway this is odette on her way to claim the house her aunt '''left''' her #her first time truly *leaving* the shroud

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burntheedges · 9 months ago

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Pas de Deux Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader | 18+ | ~40k words | complete 1/15 main masterlist | ao3

summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

full fic tags/warnings (spoilers!): modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

a/n: welcome to the Din ballet fic!! I started writing this in April and it’s finally finished! I’ll post a new chapter every Wednesday, there are 14 total. There’s some smut coming but it’ll be a while, folks. See my notes below about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!! This fic is so much better because of you. 🧡 And thank you to @almostfoxglove for reading over it and confirming I didn't forget all my ballet, lol. 🩰

note about reader: in this fic you’re a ballet dancer, first soloist at Nevarro Ballet Theater company. I haven’t mentioned the reader’s body size or shape (or hair) basically at all, even to the point of avoiding clothing (except for costumes), but I understand the image that goes along with ballet – I danced for almost 20 years. Din does lift you many times. Please feel free to picture whatever you want, but I know that this might seem more limited. You also have a best friend named Adrian who is in the company with you. I never specified age, but to make first soloist most would be in at least their early 20s. Din is 27.

Chapter list and notes about ballet under the cut! Comment or reblog to join the tag list. 🥰🩰

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

** Bonus: Amazing art of Din by @kenobiwanx!! **

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

...

some notes about ballet: I will share links to videos and such as much as possible, but here are some definitions to get us started – principal, (first) soloist, corps de ballet, variation, and class vs. rehearsal:

Principal - this is the highest level a dancer (of any gender) can reach in a company. Dancers are ‘promoted’ through the ranks. Principals usually have exceptional technique and artistry and can perform solos, pas de deux (partnering), headlining and/or the most challenging roles, etc. (e.g., the white (Odette) and black (Odile) swans in Swan Lake, both usually performed by one principal). Sometimes dancers are hired directly in as principals (like Din, in this fic). Smaller companies might have 5-6 principals, while larger ones could have as many as 20. Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 14 principals, including Din.

First Soloist - not every company has this rank, but it’s in between principal and soloist. Nevarro has 4 but they are counted among the soloists (12-14ish total). Soloists are often understudies for larger parts, and first soloists would do the same. In this fic reader is a first soloist, just promoted at the start of the season.

Soloist - this is sort of a middle level, for dancers who are doing very well and have proven themselves capable of taking on bigger roles. Many ballets have multiple roles, including supporting roles in the narrative, for soloists and principals to showcase many dancers’ talents. A smaller company might have 5-6 soloists, and a larger company might have as many as 20. (Larger companies also do more shows.) Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 12-14 soloists, including first soloists.

Corps de ballet - this is the lowest/starting level in a company. It’s where most would start from and has the largest number of dancers – these are the dancers who come out on stage in large groups or form the background unnamed roles in narrative scenes (like a party). Reader started in the corps and was promoted to soloist and then first soloist.

Variation - a solo dance, usually a piece from a larger ballet (e.g., the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker). We say ‘variation’ because there are many ballets that have been choreographed differently by multiple people in the ballet world (e.g., there are famous versions of the Nutcracker by Petipa, Gorsky, Balanchine, Nureyev, Baryshnikov… and more). So there can be multiple variations of a solo from a single ballet, and more can be created or altered, etc. But in general the term just means solo.

Class vs. rehearsal - most companies distinguish between ‘class’ and ‘rehearsal’. Class is for the whole company and focused on improving technique. It’s quick and often repetitive and everyone sort of knows what to do. Most people would have ‘their’ spot at the barre and fall into a typical order for going across the floor. After class, most would go into multiple hours of rehearsal, PT, strength training, etc., depending on whether it was a performance day or not. Most companies are rehearsing for more than one performance at a time, so they might have a longer rehearsal for the show coming up this or next weekend, and a shorter one for another performance a bit farther away. But in the days leading up to a show, that show’s rehearsals would probably take over. This can vary by company. On show days, most would have fewer rehearsals with a 1-2 hour break before the call time to get ready.

Season - companies have 'seasons' which just refers to their plan for shows/schedule for the upcoming year. They might refer to like a fall season and a spring season, or the might have a full year schedule with different parts (fall/winter/spring), or they might have only a spring season that runs into early summer. It depends on the company and the size! In this fic Nevarro has a fall season and a spring season, but they tend to think about it as a full year for contracts/etc. They would have 3-4 big shows planned (think Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Onegin, etc.) in each part of the season (so, 3-4 in fall and 3-4 in spring). And then they'd fill in the gaps in the schedule with "mixed programs", which are programs with multiple smaller ballets or pieces that feature a lot of dancers. So a mixed program might have a 20 minute Balanchine ballet, a pas de deux, a full corps piece from a larger ballet, and a piece for like 8 dancers. or something. Mixed programs are often when choreographers-in-residence and on staff get to debut their own work.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian #nbt fic #pas de deux fic #here we go folks #x reader

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lilianaxjackson · 2 years ago

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"Something to think about." She smiled, speaking in a low whisper as if she didn't want to disrupt the intimate brushing of her lips against his stubble, coarse enough to feel pleasurable against her lips. She couldn't get enough of him, but she wasn't bothered having to interrupt her shower of kisses by gazing into his eyes. She lifted a hand, gently caressing her fingers through his hair. "Then I'll gladly be your arm candy, Guapo."

"It sounds like it would've made this whole thing interesting." He admitted to her and sighed as she kissed his jawline. His hands ran along her skin and he closed his eyes for a moment, but he really wanted to ask the question before they got deeper into this. He laughed softly hearing her counter and kissed him back. "Isn't that part of the deal already?"

#( convo. )#( convo. travis jackson )#i decided to use sam gifs because we need more of this man in our lives #you are welcome guys #i have a lack of cute odette gifs for this situation? No not at all what do you mean *awkward cough*

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blueblossomrose · 7 months ago

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This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, marriage, children, household contents, afab!fem!MC, general hcs.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Resume HCs [5]

He invested more in his career after graduating, it was a plan he had made a long time ago. Well, he is an actor, singer, dancer... a complete artist.

Yet, being the great planner that he is, he easily managed to balance his career with dating with MC.

He made his father proud.

The wedding was organized, Vil simply loved deciding the decoration.

The children were also part of the planning, of course.

You had twins: a girl named Kanae and a boy named Johann.

Some years later, you two had another girl named Georgia.

He pursued a career in photography after graduation.

He does work for many celebrities including Vil and Neige. Truly a dream come true for him.

It increases his happy dream that MC is together with him.

The marriage proposal came after just a few years together.

Rook's family supported the idea fervently.

Rook is a devoted husband and father, when you had your four amazing children (he wanted a lot more, but MC convinced him to reduce the number): two girls, Odette and Florience, and two boys, Luciel and Oliver.

He moved to his family's farm after graduation. There was a lot that needed to be done.

He was happy that MC wanted to help. His family simply adored Epel's girlfriend.

As long as his family loves you, marriage is imminent. He knows it. And he's not against it too.

You two had a boy that was named Neal.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst #twst mc #♡ twisted parents. au #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #pomefiore x reader #twisted wonderland x fem reader

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circeyoru · 1 year ago

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Collection of Overlords _ Part 3 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Related Ask (1) + (2)

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 (here) — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13 — Part 14 — Part 15 — Part 16 — Epilogue

On the appointed day, you dressed your best and made sure everything was right. Then you sat at the balcony that overlooked the entrance of the hotel, enjoying your drink with a hum. You were pleasantly surprised when Alastor joined you with a plate of traditional breakfast platter, just as you like it but never spend the time to make

The two of you enjoyed a peaceful morning together, until a little argument got too heated between a hotel guest and an outsider. Alastor swiftly got up and bowed to excuse himself, working as the host of the hotel, he needed to handle the issue since Charlie was a bit of a pushover and not quite convincing when it came to breaking off fights

It led you to wonder if you should give Charlie some pointers like you did to her parents, but then you recalled how Vaggie, Charlie’s girlfriend, was by her side. You’ll admit that they have quite the unique dynamic in their relationship and not in the bad way. So you decided against it and let things go as they please

With a miniture earthquake and some screaming, the argument seemed to be handled well. Not long after that thought, Alastor had returned to your side. Both of you enjoyed your time together again, before you decided it would be fun to drop in on Camilla, not that she’d be preparing when it’s this late

Alastor offered you his hand with a bow, you rose from your seat and gave him your hand. A portal opened beneath you two and the both of you emerged on the other side in the blink of an eye

“Who dares to enter—! My Liege!” Carmilla caught herself half way when she looked over to see you and Alastor arrive earlier than expected, “Welcome to my humble abored. I hope this is satisfactory.”

“I sprung this onto you, so it’s okay.” You turned your head to her, removing your hand from Alastor’s while a small but soft smile played on your face. With your closed eyes, it gave you such a look of elegance that Carmilla strived to be.

“You’re too kind.” Carmilla bowed to you in greeting.

“How are your daughters? I heard you’ve survived quite the ordeal last last extermination.” You inquired, your smile widening just a smidge.

Carmilla flinched, though it wasn’t the fact that you knew since she did tell you about killing an angel and what to do if it got out. It was more on the sense that you were showing care to lesser individuals, as much as she hated to admit. “They are fine. Would you like to see them?”

You hummed, “Of course.”

Not even a second later, Carmilla’s daughter duo came out from whatever hiding spot they were at. Odette and Clara both gave you a bow of their own style, though still respectful. “Collector! It’s good to see you again!”

You raised their heads by the chin, then rubbing their heads with a chuckle, “Look at you two, still fun sized. You’re as beautiful as your mother, you know?”

Carmilla blushed while Alastor gave her a teasing grin. Meanwhile, Odette and Clara chuckled along with you. “Thanks!”

You turned to the Overlord, “Now, we have time, why not chat a bit? Tell me about your business.”

Carmilla Carmine was your first female and second Overlord that you came into contract with. She was by far one of the more successful souls that you favour and support from the shadows. Her initial deal was the right to make business ventures to other Rings of Hell in exchange for your ownership of her soul

It later changed when she knew angelic weapons can be wielded. For additional protection that would extend to lesser demons, namely her two daughters, she gave you a range of modified angelic weapons and crafted your Cages with angelic steel. Of course, with Carmilla’s successful, you later continued to support her and protect her daughters from danger

Passing along a card to Odette and Clara that holds the power to summon you in times of need no matter the case. Good acts are rewards, Carmilla learned, you weren’t at all evil to the core or cruel to abuse your owned souls like other would, that’s what she admired about you

Before your absence, you would hang out with her and her daughters on days to discuss about business opportunities and how business was going in the other Rings since it was hard for Carmilla to receive feedback like that

In fact, that day, they were trying to find you, only to end up being cornered by exterminators. While Odette and Clara wanted to summon you to their aid, Carmilla made them hold off. She was present, she can protect them and show you they weren’t weak. So she did what you had suggested before, to actually test out her weapons on the intented targets

You were overjoyed when you first heard the news. An Overlord had actually managed to kill angels and it was done while protecting others. You truly didn’t waste your time and energy on Carmilla, that’s for sure

Yet you wonder why Carmilla was still insecure about her position as one of the Elites that you’d never give up. She can’t be threatened when she has such success in her domain; the best Weapons’ Dealer of Hell

“I desire I wasn’t late to greeteth thee, mine own Liege. (I hope I wasn’t late to greet you, My Liege.)” Zestial greeted with a bow.

You waved your hand, by now you have returned to the meeting room with Alastor stationed behind you by your left side. “No, no. I was early. Wanted to catch up with Carmilla, you see.”

Zestial took the seat to your right and next to Carmilla who had already left his seat empty, “T hath felt as though t hast been ages since we lasteth did talk. (It felt as though it has been ages since we last talked.)”

Zestial was your first and oldest Overlord by far. He maintained his spot at the top of your collection with ease. With his fearful reputation before your support, he was one to be reckoned with

It seems that his knowledge of Hell and wisdom served him well, as he was the one to seek you out when you were first on the hunt for potential Overlords to crown and give your support to. He offered himself to you wholeheartedly and obediently, something you didn’t expect someone of his caliber to do so. Yet it proves that he was knowledgable not to cross you

His humble nature earned your good graces. You offered him support and protection to which he agreed without much thought. Funny how he never asked for more as he was someone deserving of more. So you gave him a fearsome authority that makes sinners and demons alike trumble in fear in his presence

During your time of weeding out the weaker Overlords, it was with his knowledge that you overturned the system the sinners so ignorantly constructed without power or authority. To this day, you didn’t think your ‘Overlord rank’ planning would be this smooth if not thanks to Zestial

Needless to say, he was also another soul you won’t let go

“Oh, My lovely darling Liege! It’s been so long! Where have you been?! Oh, you’re always so mysterious!” Rosie greeted with a bow and a half curtsy to you, she came to your left side, setting her umbrella on the second empty seat as the first was for Alastor should he be told to sit. Then she opened a box and showed it to you, “A gift from Cannibal Town~! Prepared it myself, your favourites.”

“Thank you, Rosie. You know my taste well.” You smile, picking up the demon parts before nibbling on it, savouring the taste. “It’s wonderful. Tell me, how’s your town after the battle with Heaven?”

“Everyone had their fill, Alastor did me no wrong.” Rosie winked in Alastor’s direction who smiled back. “We’re all happy to be able to help out.”

Rosie was your third Overlord to form a contract with. Her record was quite perfect and ideal too, the leader of the Cannibals. At the time, she was a ringleader, sure. But she lacked the territory to provide for the other Cannibals, so you provided and supported. The moment the deal was signed, a town was constructed to be named as her domain

You’ll say, they were quite the nice ones, save for the devouring other demons. Rosie’s territory had to be one of the more respectful and disciplined ones that you love. You lament on the fact that Rosie wasn’t the violent type, though it’s a relief as well perhaps

“My Sovereign!” Zeezi bursted in, immediately bowing, “Sorry, I would have been here earlier but some pucks was trying to get in and I have to teach them a lesson!”

“It’s all well, the meeting has yet to start.” You eased Zeezi’s rushed thoughts.

Zeezi bowed her head as a nod, taking her seat next to Rosie. “Right.”

Zeezi was the largest within your Overlord Collection and the most physical one. Whenever it was a more violent and brutal ordeal you needed taken clear of, she was the Overlord you call upon. Unlike those that came before her, she was more free spirited and you let her keep that element of hers

At first, she was hestitant to submit to your service, but you’ve showed her there was now to power than violence and brute force that she displays and revolves around. She pride herself as the strongest Overlord with great physical strength. Maybe she’ll win against another Overlord, but not you. As easily as squashing a bug, you had her pinned

In return for her soul, you offer her strength and authority, as well as your support in her rise and maintance as an Overlord. She was smart to take the deal without a need for a beatdown, while you’re delighted to provide, you didn’t want to damage your soul

“The Witching Hour is almost upon us.” You spoke. It was an indirect question to ask who was still not in attendance.

Everyone turned to the opposite side of the table from where you sat, the three empty seats for the only grouped Overlords. Alastor suggested, “Perhaps they don’t want to attend.”

“Or their representative is running late.” Carmilla hissed, an obvious scowl on her face.

The doors suddenly bursted open, though even more force as opposed to Zeezi’s entrance. However, they appear to be still in their little world.

“I told you it’s this way but you didn’t even listen!” Velvette shouted.

“How was I supposed to know? It’s all the same!” Valentino exclaimed back.

Alastor cleared his throat rather loudly, bringing the Vees’ attention to the room they’ve entered. “Quite brazen of you to not greet our Liege.”

Vox flinched, immediately passing by the other Overlords and stood to your side, he bowed repeated as he apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just trying to make sure you’re safe! It’s nothing like stalking! Really! Trust me! I’d never—!”

“Damnit! Stop apologizing so much!” Velvette came over to slap Vox in the back of his screen head, making her partner glitch and malfunction. Velvette pulled back Vox till they were next to Valentino, she silently whispered but everyone could hear as clear as day, “One, two, three…”

“We greet our Master.” The Vees all bowed, finally greeting you.

You hummed, head tilted a bit, “Arriving the last and creating a scene, you three almost amuse me so.” Your eyes peeked open a bit, “Not in a good way.” A chill ran down the three’s back while Alastor had a smug smile directed to them, especially at Vox, and the other Overlords remained quiet but were internally grinning. “Now sit down.”

“Yes…”

And then there were the Vees, the last to add to your collection and the most disappointing souls by far. They are strong in their own rights, yet they require the other two to boost their power. You were already able to do so, why would they prefer each other more? It was in a way insulting. However, you’d rather they be under your thumb than them running amok in the Pride Ring

It’s times like these where you wonder if Husk would make a better Overlord than them if he learnt his lesson

With Vox, he was trying to please you while also trying to appear better than Alastor. In your opinion, if he had focused more on himself and his strength, he could go places. Yet he opted to working with the other two

With Velvette, she was a strong lady, no doubt. Similar to Zeezi, but more chaotic and destructive. She doesn’t take criticism well, more focused on her own perspective and views. Nothing wrong in that sense, but it limits her capacity for more. She could have been so much more

With Valentino, oh, you don’t even know where to start. You honestly believe he’s a total lost cause. While believing so, your fear tactic worked to perfection. Your dissatifaction and anger was the first thing he avoids. Usually, he’s very very outspoken, but when you were around, he was more careful. Though that doesn’t account for his actions and behaviours when you were out of sight

You clapped your hands together, your eyes closing once more. All your Elites were here and accounted for, all three levels seated as you’d like. All the souls that you own have gathered before you once again. “Let’s begin the reunion of an afterlife time.”

Note: Still not the exact meeting yet, but the drama is gonna happen next one! I think this one might be a bit boring cause I'm laying out the relationship. Oh well~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203 @hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro

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