#fallingforafantasy

his bag is at his feet and he's nodding along to what mrs. salah is saying , even if he only hears about 30% of it . because this is always the worst part . being at someone else's home , in someone else's space , feeling too large and too in the way , knowing that he's inconveniencing them by being there . and sure , they sign up for this , but it doesn't make him feel any less out of place and like an imposition . ' you'll be staying in the room next to fabian's , ' the name snags his interest the same way it did during their first introduction several minutes ago . ryan's eyes cut briefly to the aforementioned teenager , sullen and clearly irritated by this whole ordeal . he has painted nails , lined eyes , and is wearing a shirt that he's pretty sure colleen also has . and he's... stunning . ryan instantly feels his heart rate pick up and his cheeks burn and he drops his gaze . " thank you , " he murmurs , voice threatening to break towards the end . shit , he doesn't think he could be more awkward if he tried . ' fabian can show you the room . '

"Jacob Hendriks will be coming back after the game to meet everyone"

Brandon barely hears anything that's said after 'Jacob Hendriks'. Fuck. His stomach immediately plummets, his mind scrambling for any excuse to try and get out of the situation. He won't be able to. Management is already pissed at him for comments he'd made to the press last week supporting Troy Barrett - He's under strict instructions to be on his best behaviour and coach the team, nothing more. Maybe it'll be fine. Jacob probably barely remembers him. That thought stings, Brandon's eyes fixing on himself in the mirror as he straightens his tie.

Has he ever really gotten over Jacob? It's so stupid, it's been what? Twenty years? And he's still getting nervous. Their last conversation is still so vivid in his mind. The sadness, the hurt - The feeling of vulnerability. Fuck. Hands grasp the edge of the sink as Brandon takes a few deep breaths.

"Come on -" He psyches himself up, nodding in the mirror before heading back into the locker room to line up with the rest of the team.

His eyes and smile are still the same. To the point that it causes Brandon to feel winded. How is it possible that he can remember so intimately every dimple and expression on this man's face? Jaw tenses, expression attempting neutrality as he approaches. Hand extends, because that's what a good coach would do. "Long time no see, Hendriks." Because of course it had already been mentioned - 'Didn't you two play together at one point?'

Ilya has been watching him for a few months now. He knows when the ship makes passage; he's timed it by the moon. Every month, this man sails with his crew, and Ilya watches with silent reverence. He seems to be the leader, judging by the way he orders them around. And yet, he seems detached from them - Ilya's often seen him on the deck at night, sitting on his own.

There's this overwhelming desire to hold him.

Ordinarily, he keeps his distance. Humans are rarely kind. But there's something about this man.

This time, he follows the boat, right up until they dock on land. He treads water in the shallows, watching as the man heads down the beach, alone. Swimming up behind a rock, he conceals his tail. He hesitates for a moment before tossing his gift onto the sand. It's a fish.

It was a circumstance in which Mr. Darcy had never imagined himself. Not because he was encroaching upon his fortieth year with no wife and no heir, nor because guardianship of such a young ward was beyond the realm of possibilities for a man of such a charitable disposition, but because of the circumstance of which the ward had come. An appeal from a young woman with whom held an acquaintance with a person he had not spoken to for nearly a decade. A person who, having shown little reformation of character even now as a married man, Mr. Darcy had hoped never to see, nor speak to or of, ever again. Yet fate had once more brought the name of Wickham to his doorstep in the wrappings of a small child barely old enough to speak.

Fortunate as it was for the lad, Fitzwilliam did not believe that a child was responsible for the sins of his father. With the intervention of God and His good graces, he may never have to bear the consequences of inherited disposition or fall under the influence of his father, should he remain under Mr. Darcy's care. This is not to say that the choice came easily to the gentleman. What he knew of raising a child came from the dutiful rearing of his little sister, but his guardianship of Georgiana had come with the benefit of a governess to aid him. The woman which helped bring up Miss Darcy, lately married and under a new name, had gone with his sister upon the day she wed and left his nest empty.

There was no possibility that he could raise a child he knew not without a governess, and in spite of his apprehensions, he had at last advertised amongst trusted and close acquaintances. One reputation had recommended itself amongst the many; a young Miss Lucy Beaumont with a few years of experience, but with a stated character which appealed to Mr. Darcy far greater than even the most experienced governesses who were known for leading with heavy handedness rather than kindness and understanding. Mr. Darcy would not bring a child into his home if he could not ensure that, at the very least, they would be treated with decency and patience—and he would not find disappointment in Miss Beaumont.

Business had called Mr. Darcy into London for a fortnight, and in those weeks, he had found his mind strangely occupied by his ward, little Nicholas. An eagerness to know how much progress had been made with his transition into a permanent residence within Pemberley had begun to grow within Fitzwilliam's chest as he made the journey back to his beloved estate. And as for Miss Beaumont, she too had seized his consideration on occasion, for Nicholas was not the only person deep in transition. Mr. Darcy knew so little of the governess, and had he not been called away, he may have indulged his curiosity a bit more. He was an employer known to ensure loyalty with his humble regard for those who served Pemberley. This, the maids had assured Miss Beaumont. She would find no better placement, even if at times their master seemed as solemn as the grave.

Cal looks up from his book, leaning over to check the time on his phone. "A couple of hours. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you, so I raided your bookshelf instead." He grins, holding up the book before placing it to the side and looking over at Quinton.

Armand rests his chin in his hand, eyes watching with interest as Daniel taps away on his typewriter. He should probably go check on Louis, yet he cannot drag his attention away from the journalist.

He flits around the desk, practically curling himself up in Daniel's lap, getting close so that he can inspect the machine.

movie sets have always been chaotic in the best way. but it's where she thrives. everyone has a job to do and everyone is so busy that people don't look at her like she's some sort of sideshow act. she just gets to be part of a team. and getting to be in a movie where she doesn't have to be painted blue? or spending the majority of it screaming, crying, being kidnapped, or being surrounded by men? well, this might be a dream come true. because she's only known allie for a few months, but they've hit it off in a way that rose knows is rare and true and precious --- and she will not be losing that. besides, allie hayes is going places. even if that place right now is decidedly not the makeup trailer. much to the dismay of the man currently trailing at her heels like a lovesick puppy --- which is actually, maybe, the best way to describe allie's other ( and somehow more melodramatic? ) half.

"you literally saw her last weekend." rose remarks, casting a sideways glance over her shoulder up at dean, who is scanning the chaos around them with the kind of determination and focus that she's sure shane would appreciate. allie wants to be annoyed, but, well. allie and dean are kind of disgusting in how adorable they are. it's every girls dream to have a guy that into you. "and she's probably in the trailer anyway." rose takes a few steps up the rickety steps towards allie's trailer and knocks twice before pulling the door open to catch a glimpse of the other actress. "i found something of yours." rose barely gets the words out before she's being bodily ( and somehow respectfully? ) moved to the side.

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[text; Elio] Nope, sorry to break it to you [text; Elio][Selfie of Kip in bed, a book resting on his chest] I'm wide awake. [text; Elio] What's up? You okay?