#ms. guidance

[yonderghostshistories]

Carol Cleveland as the Lovely ❤️💖✨Ms Deirdre Pewtey✨💖❤️ (ANFSCD Edition)

(and Arthur too <33)

(they’re both very pretty frfr, but ESPECIALLY Deirdre like fr SHE IS GORGEOUS 😍😍🥰🥰❤️❤️)

[modernwitchsguidetolife]

Having trouble being honest with your mother? 💁🏼‍♀️🔮

[projectdivaar]

nearly fainted an also cried @ da cooking prelim 2day. sooo passing

[heavencasteel420]

WIP Whursday

From Drive All Night:

“Jonathan,” she interrupted, and he fell silent. She put down the compact and placed her hands on his heaving shoulders. “It’s very gratifying to hear you say that I was right. You know how much I enjoy that.” 

From Tonight, Tonight, the Highway's Bright (from Jonathan's essay):

Kali is pretty interesting. She has pink hair—nobody really dyed their hair where I grew up, except for ladies who were going gray—and we like a lot of the same music. She’s from England and she has an accent. She doesn’t have family around and honestly I don’t know if she really cares about Thanksgiving, even though she’s lived in America for a while. I don’t know if I really care about Thanksgiving, as a concept. I’m not that patriotic. I watched Reagan win the election earlier this month and it sort of made me want to puke. All those flags and all that chanting. But I do care about eating food with people that I like, and I like Kali. She came over to my place on Thursday night and we ate leftover lasagna and a blackberry cobbler that my friend gave me. And on Friday she invited me over to her place and she made this dish with chickpeas. Have you ever had chickpeas? I’d never tried them before, but I like them because they have these little jackets that you can take off with your tongue. Kali made them like this: she cooked an onion in butter in a saucepan, and then she put in the chickpeas and some spices (salt, black pepper, red pepper, cumin, and coriander) and mixed it all together. She also had yogurt with cucumbers and dill in it.

From Tomorrow's a Long Way Off:

If her parents had both been asleep or still at the Wheelers’ place, Robin would have managed. A good night’s rest would have made all the difference. If her mom had met her at the door with an interrogation or an exasperated lecture, she would have been ready to fight. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of her dad, snoring loudly on the couch. The creaking of the front door must have woken him, though, because he immediately started awake and smiled sleepily at her. She didn’t see her mom anywhere.

From The Sin-Eater's Prom Date:

“You’re right,” she told Mr. Simmons, forcing a smile. Some things, you didn’t discuss. “I was being too dramatic.” “Comes with the territory of working with teenagers,” Mr. Simmons said graciously. He got up and opened the door for her, even though she could have gotten it herself. Maybe, she thought uncharitably, he liked making girls squeeze past him. “Remember, Mrs. Dewitt’s class, sixth period. Ah, Jonathan, there you are.” His voice turned big and hearty on the last sentence, as though he were talking to a person who was either sick or not too bright. When Chrissy saw his audience, she understood. Jonathan Byers was sitting in one of the vinyl chairs, elbows on his knees and headphones clamped over his ears. His left foot, shod in a scuffed, once-white sneaker, tapped out a frantic rhythm on the linoleum. 

[greenfiend]

Everyone has been sleeping on Ms. Kelley tbh…

[tfshouldidohere]

LOL THE SCHOOL FINALLY CAUGHT ME, THEY FOUND OUT I HAVE MANICURE

[crypstox]

[mdmsenquiry]

Why Choose UG PG Medical Courses for a Successful Career?

Are you considering a career in the medical field? Enrolling in UG PG medical courses is a crucial step toward building a fulfilling and successful career in healthcare. With the right education and training, you can pursue professions that are in high demand, such as doctors, surgeons, or dentists. At mdmsenquiry, we guide you through the process, making sure you secure the right MBBS BDS admission to match your aspirations.

• UG PG medical courses offer a broad spectrum of opportunities in both undergraduate (UG) and postgraduate (PG) fields. Whether you are aiming for an MBBS or BDS at the undergraduate level or looking to specialize with a postgraduate degree, the courses provide foundational knowledge and skills necessary for excelling in the medical industry.

• The journey to securing MBBS BDS admission can be challenging, but with proper guidance from mdmsenquiry, the process becomes much smoother. We offer comprehensive support to ensure you meet the eligibility requirements, understand the application process, and prepare for entrance exams.

• Pursuing UG PG medical courses not only opens doors to various career paths but also provides opportunities for specialization. Postgraduate courses allow you to focus on fields such as surgery, cardiology, pediatrics, and more, making you a highly sought-after professional in the medical sector.

• The demand for medical professionals has grown significantly, and securing the right MBBS BDS admission ensures that you are well-positioned for a rewarding career. With a strong foundation in either medicine or dentistry, you can contribute to better healthcare services globally.

At mdmsenquiry, we are committed to helping you achieve your dream of becoming a healthcare professional. Our expert team is ready to assist you through every step of securing your admission into UG PG medical courses.

[admissionprovider11]

Best Admission Consultancy In Patna | Admission Provider

Admission Provider, the premier admission consultancy in Patna! Our team of experienced advisors is dedicated to guiding you through every step of the admissions process, secure a spot at your dream institution. and personalized counseling sessions ,Trust us to admission provider and turn your dream educational future.

Visit us : https://admissionproviders.com

[ratspider]

i hate that thing i do where i prioritize drawing/painting/sculpture above like every other form of art. like if i fill a sketchbook that's more of an accomplishment than this cool hat i made. maybe the equivalent to that is crafting an entire outfit down to making the pattern myself. or filling a box with Stuff I Sewed. idk, i think drawing is just valued so so so much online and i watch all those sketchbook tours and i'm like Wow! these people are so motivated and these sketchbooks are so cool and filled with personality and just. so dense with creativity and I Wish I Could Do That but i already do. i just don't do the 'one sketchbook a month' thing. i have The Yearning but not the drive to draw that much and i need to just value what i'm already doing that's easy for me to do right now.

[collapsedsquid]

Confused, she emailed Columbia’s office for international students the following day seeking guidance. An official informed her that the revocation would take effect only if she left the country and that she could remain in the United States to pursue her studies for the time being, according to emails reviewed by The Times. The next morning, on March 7, Ms. Srinivasan was on a call with an official from the international student office when the federal agents first knocked on the door of her apartment, which is off campus but operated by Columbia. The official told Ms. Srinivasan to call campus security, while her roommate engaged with the agents from behind the closed apartment door. In an interview, her roommate said that the agents had initially identified themselves as “police,” declined to provide their badge numbers, saying they feared they would be doxxed, and stood to the side of the door so that they were not visible through the peep hole. The roommate, a fellow Columbia student who spoke on the condition of anonymity out of fear for her safety, said that the building’s doorman, who is an immigrant, later told her that he had let the three agents into the building because he was frightened. Ms. Srinivasan abandoned the apartment that night, so she was not there when officials returned the following evening. Her roommate once again refused to open the door to let them in and recorded audio of the interaction, which she shared with The Times. “We were here yesterday,” one of the officials says, believing he was talking to Ms. Srinivasan because the roommate had not identified herself. “We’re here today. We’re here tonight. Tomorrow. You’re probably scared. If you are, I get it. The reality is, your visa was revoked. You are now amenable to removal proceedings.” The official stressed that he and his colleagues were not trying to break the law, that she would have the right to go before an immigration judge and left a phone number for the Homeland Security Department that she could call if she had “a change of heart.” “That’s the easiest and fastest way to do this, as opposed to you being in your apartment and us knocking on your door every day, which is just silly,” he said. “You’re a very smart person. It’s just not — it’s not worth it.” The next day, Ms. Srinivasan received an email from Columbia saying that homeland security had alerted the university that her visa had been revoked and her legal status in the country had been terminated. Because she had to immediately leave the United States, the email said, her enrollment at Columbia had been withdrawn and she had to vacate student housing. The email, signed by the university’s international student office, said that, in compliance with its legal obligations, Columbia was asking her to meet with the homeland security agents. The university declined to comment on Ms. Srinivasan’s case. On Thursday night, three federal agents returned to Ms. Srinivasan’s apartment with a search warrant signed by a judge and went inside to search for her, according to her roommate and lawyers. By then, Ms. Srinivasan was already in Canada.

Laudable roommate, prudent visa holder and terrible college administration

[moonchildstyles]

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!

[modernwitchsguidetolife]

Having trouble getting someone to commit?

[thevelvetwhispers]

Elias 'Stack' Moore — SINNERS Masterlist

@euon111a — smokestack blues

@crystalgemcrusaders — til death do us part

@writerofautumnnights — a dance with the devil

@livingmybestfakelife — love rollercoaster

@rdmasevi — blood & blues

@aviawrites — love bites

@fckwritersblock — i never told you [part 1]

@fckwritersblock — what i should've said

@cloveroctobers — act right

@raysogroovy — lead astray [part 1]

@notapradagurl7 — his woman

@mrsknowitallll — soon as i get home

@luna-thecreator — glint and gone

@coldeforprez — is it the way

@solastarr — ms. notsoindepentdent

@willyoubemycherryy — no guidance | fyt

@saudad3 — private photoshoot [prison!au]

@boujaeelibrat — dan

@kumkaniudaku — creatures of the night

@pyraomen — jolene, i am a woman too

@bxunyx — mr. wrong

@enticingmelanin — the reckoning

@szatears — fashion killa [modern!au]

@bananafieldnotes — outta control

@spencersmopbucket — daddy's girl

@mereyapalais — les retrouvailles

@theethighpriestess — light my fire

[humansofnewyork]

“I was seventeen. Only child, not a lot of friends. But I had a plan. I was going to become an actress, get a role on All My Children, meet my husband on set-- and when that was all over, I’d host a talk show. Kelly Ripa did it; I could do it too. Back then it seemed like every woman on television had gotten their start as beauty queen. So my senior year I decided to enter my school’s Homecoming Queen competition. It was organized like a Ms. America pageant. But this was a rough high school, only one other girl signed up, so I had a good shot. My whole family got behind me. My mom was a seamstress. We noticed that in most pageants we watched, the winner wore a white dress. So she sewed me a white dress that I picked out of Seventeen Magazine. First came the interview portion, and that’s when the trouble started. The judges asked me about the Anita Hill testimony; I wasn’t ready for that. I was ready for world peace. They were supposed to ask me about my goals, so I could say world peace. But that didn’t happen. The talent portion was later that night at the homecoming dance. The whole school was there. I chose a Sheena Easton song; poor choice. Not the right crowd for that. The other girl chose ‘I Feel Good’ by Stephanie Mills, and she had the whole crowd singing along. That’s when I knew it was over. But then, a miracle. The guidance counselor quieted everyone down, and announced the winner: it was me. Me! It was my Kelly Kapowski moment. Everyone was cheering, the other girl congratulated me. But it only lasted five seconds, because the guidance counselor said: ‘Wait a second, I’m sorry. Joanna is the runner-up.’ It was the worst moment of my life. In fact, the only thing that got me through COVID was knowing that it could not possibly, possibly be worse than that moment. And here’s a twist for you. Remember that guidance counselor? Several years later I ended up acting alongside his son in a play at Queens College. In one scene I pulled a gun on him, and the director was like: ‘We need more anger. Think about something that makes you angry.’ I was like: ‘Well, that’s easy. His father ruined my senior year. And quite possibly, my entire life.”

[ghostgirl101]

Poppy Playtime Bigger Bodies (Antagonists) x You || General HCS

...if you were an orphan left mysteriously alive in the factory.

A/N: Aka you being protected by every bigger body brother sister significant mother huggable plush dog cat dough boy in the factory. 😀 also random note but I'd love to hear theories about chapter 5 coming out next year, I'm already ready for it lol, I think I heard its gonna be the last and there's gonna be multiple endings and I'm 100% down for all of it

Sidenote: These headcanons aren't gonna be massively romantic or anything just because they're trapped childrennnnn in animal plush forrrrms and idk writing that ifykwimeaaannn 😺someone freakier than me might attempt to tho lmao also I didn't manage to include Ms Delight in this one, I'm sorry, but girl gave me nightmares for a straight week 😭

CATNAP?

🐾 • Basically never says a word. Kitty's always staring in the back with those big, blank white eyes and gaping grin, looming over everything, lurking in red shadows. Don't think he's not always watching you, because he is. Everywhere. Anywhere. He knows.

🐾 • If you happened to know Catnap before "Catnap" and as Theodore Grambell, there are just two things to know. Don't ever call him by his real name. And don't ever leave him.

🐾 • Cat might actually, very, very slightly be tempted to question the almighty Prototype's intentions if and when he ever demands Catnap fetch you for them for a "discussion of sorts."

🐾 • Get used to being flung up onto his back at random points of the day or night to stalk around the factory levels with him. And also get used to the red mist, because if he thinks you need sleep, then you're gonna get sleep.

🐾 • He'll only stop when he realises that you get the nightmares too. That's how you'll know he cares. In his own ways.

🐾 • And if The Player tries to interact or find you in the factory, Catnap will actually scrap his love for a cat and mouse game with them, and go straight for the kill. And there's no death screen for this one.

🐾 • He's pobably one of the most protective out of all the Bigger Bodies surrounding you in Playtime factory. He won't let you go anywhere near the train, or the main ground floor where the entrance and exit are. It's been bolted and secured by The Prototype itself, and Huggy's another willing blockade to any attempted escapes.

🐾 • I'm rambling about the others now, so let's move on to them-

DOEY?

🍭 • Let me first state (for the very obvious fact, but in case you didn't know lol) that Doey the Doughman is infact multiple mans. Three. And more boys than men- we have Kevin, the "problem child" that has an uncontrolled temper, glaring scowl on his features, and the loudest voice. We've got poor Jack, the victim of falling into literal molten dough as a child, who just wants his mum and brings out the pure blue sadness in the mix. And Matt just tries to keep everyone together as a "dream child," being the most thoughtful and caring of the bunch. So that's that.

🍭 • I feel like out of all of them, Jack would barely say a word, probably still completely traumatised by everything and numbed in pain mentally and physically to end up like a bit of a blank, unresponsive slate. But if you give him time, and maybe a few hugs, he'll soften out of his shell in his own way, and will naturally just follow after you wherever and whenever he can in the factory, even giving the other boys a bit of a tug in your direction when they're fighting for control.

🍭 • Kevin wouldn't give the boys a tug, he would physically lunge and shove against Matt's gentleness to do as he wanted, or to speak to you himself. It would be a miracle for anyone to calm him down, and if it's not Matt getting in at just the right time, it'd be you.

🍭 • Matt's a complete gentle giant in every way, and so you and he would be a dream team in helping keep up the safe haven and a sense of order amongst the others. You'd probably see him asking you for guidance and leadership after a little while too, after he's done it almost completely alone up to this point.

🍭 • All three of them would gang up in an instant to defend or protect you, no questions asked, working in perfect harmony. Just like how brutal the fight with The Player ended up being, but heightened to an extreme, because here, there's no mental or physical conflict in their motives, there's just the raw instinct of protecting their own.

HUGGY?

🧸 • Big surprise - or maybe not - that he's probably one of the softest of the bunch when it comes to you and your protection. He would absolutely steal Catnap's move of just randomly scooping you up to wander around or play in the Game Station, except you'd be carried around on his shoulder for most of the time.

🧸 • He'll play whatever game you want with you, when he's not on surveillance for intruders. Tag or It can be mildly stressful with him though, just because, he will absolutely chase the hell after you until he's knocked you off your balance and into the air- "Huggy it's just a game 😭"

🧸 • The Prototype put Huggy Wuggy in charge of securing the main entrance and level of the factory, and so he takes it completely seriously. If The Player's on the hunt to find you, they'll have to get through Huggy first. He'll be raging, screeching the whole end scene of Chapter 4, because he saw you talk to The Player.

🧸 • Very much like a golden retriever one moment and then a guard dog with snapping teeth and dead eyes the next.

MOMMY LONG LEGS?

💗ྀི • This woman is INSANE 😭 😭 like whattt girl calm down just cus Catnap was giving us a ride around the Navigation Room we aren't gonna fall off and "smash into tiny bloodied pieces," if you keep poking at the Cat he's actually going to twist one of your pink arms off-

💗ྀི • Very protective. Insanely, 24/7, obsessively so. Every other child left her to die but one, so if you go anywhere near the main ground floor or the train, get ready for a momentary mental collapse until The Prototype itself has to threaten her nerves to get her to back off a bit

💗ྀི • She can actually be a nice presence to be around if you're missing your parents or family or anything you had to give up to live in hell underground, because she's motherly to the max and will treat you like you're four and can't do anything for yourself even though you most certainly are not four, and haven't been for some time

💗ྀི • Anyone she doesn't think is protecting and watchiing over you enough on the rare occasions that you're out of her reach is gonna risk being webbed up as a corpse somewhere around the factory, just as a warning sign. She has to teach her lessons, after all.

HARLEY SAWYER?

👁️ • This guy's an absolute bitch. In every way possible.

👁️ • He'll keep you around, not because The Prototype commands it, but either because you're either (1) his child somehow - my condolences to you to have a dad who's basically the monsters inc eye in a box - or (2) you were an interesting and possible subject choice for a future test that never saw the light of day before the Hour Of Joy.

👁️ • He just has a weird obsession with you in some way, though not as strongly as The Prototype's mentality. Harley's still a psychopathic ass, so don't expect much soft treatment. Just a lot of eyes on the old, broken-down security cameras in the factory and a snarky remark whenever you come to check on him in the Doctor's Lair.

👁️ • It'd give him all the more reason to dissect The Player if he found they were trying to reach you somehow. "After my orphan, I see. How inspired. You'll save no one."

THE PROTOTYPE?

⚠︎ • The most protective 101/100 out of every single being left alive in the factory. It just goes about things in a different, "creative" way.

⚠︎ • Low-key borderline obsessed with everything about you and everything you represent in their mind. Whatever they're planning, it's for you. Poppy who?

⚠︎ • All the Bigger Bodies under his control have the sole job to follow him blindly, and to make sure you stay alive, unharmed, fed and watered, and nowhere near the exit. You're not going anywhere. Playtime birthed you, Playtime is you.

⚠︎ • It'll go after The Player in its own ways. Using Catnap and Mommy and Huggy and everyone else to beat them down, and then get The Player to watch the inevitable. That's what makes it sweet. "It's not about you."

⚠︎ • Not very soft or sweet at all, because... It's The Prototype. But it can take on many acts, like it did with Ollie, and you might've gone through the whole thing of thinking you were friends with someone else hidden in the factory that tells you they're always here for you, they love you, you look so pretty today! when it's actually The Prototype all along. Just don't expect it to admit to those same words in its usual tones.

And there we have it. Two hours ten mins of writing Poppy Playtime headcanons 😀 I'm now going to lie unconscious in bed for an appropriate amount of time, so thanks for reading.