Summary: A new opportunity presents itself for Nova, and Ethan continues to wade in the waters of guilt.
(gif by @vintagedolan ❤️)
On his first day as Co-Director/Executive Producer on his first short film, Ethan Dolan stepped onto the set wearing checkered slacks, a plain white t-shirt tucked in with a shiny belt buckle, and a violet colored baseball cap that his wife had gifted him that very morning, his role of director embroidered right across the panels. He’d laughed when he opened the box it came in, thanked her with a kiss, and realized just how much of a heartfelt gift it was when she ushered him to turn it around to point at the small initials embroidered right above the strap. Each of their children’s initials, and theirs, lining the curve of the opening.
“So you can take us on set with you,” she’d said with a smile. “And in case Gray tries to steal it and say it’s his. I think Mia got him one too.”
He was wearing it the first night that he was working late on set, and she’d gone to visit him. She found him hunched over his computer, playing back footage, referencing his notes and screenplay, face stern and concentrated, shaded by the brim of his hat. When she set down a paper bag of takeout, he looked up and his eyes changed. He grinned. “Hey.”
“Surprise,” Nova smiled. She came around the desk, where he pushed back in his chair to give her access to plop down right in his lap. Her arms went around his neck, and her lips blanketed his, quieting all the stress running in his mind.
Ethan hummed, his hand sliding along her thigh. “The boys?”
“All fast asleep and under the care of your amazing mother.” Nova played with the wisps of hair coming out the bottom of the cap.
Ethan kissed her wrist. “And our girl?”
Nova smiled. They both looked down between them, where Ethan’s fingers brushed against her swollen belly that held their youngest child. “Oh, she’s doing fine. Just hungry,” she stood up to distribute their dinner, and then peered over his shoulder as they ate. “What are you working on?”
“Reviewing some footage … trying to figure out the rest of the schedule,” he huffed. “Looks like we’re gonna fall behind.”
Nova pouted at the look on his face. “Well, hey, it’s your first big film right? It’s a learning process.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Ethan rubbed his eyes, and then sat back in his chair to call it a night.
Nova pressed a tender kiss to his head, smiling at him. “You’ve got this, E. I respect all the shit you have to think about when you’re a director. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever do it.”
You know what I always think about? those late (well, late for Grayson being 8pm lol) conversations you'd have in bed together, your chance to really just breathe and relax after crazy days filled with work and responsibilities but at night time it's just you two, each an anchor for each other. You'd have your leg hitched up on his waist, head on his chest where you'd get to really hear the rumbled of his laughter or just the sound of his hear and UGH can I please have this
I don’t know why whenever I think of moments like those with Grayson, everything’s just warm. Even with the window open and that cool breeze coming in, it’s just that comfortable warmth of having him near. Your ear on his chest, one arm behind his head and the other one wrapped securely around you, his Finger dragging along your arm. He’s all pensive, staring at the ceiling, but he’s got this ghost of a smile on his face and you can just tell he’s thinking today was a great day.
And the comfortable silence lasts, just not long, because he loves talking, especially to you, especially now, especially about what he plans on doing with the rest of his time. He’s not an idle man, Grayson Dolan, and his mind is always moving.
So his voice is cutting right through the silence: “I think I’m gonna build a bench tomorrow.”
And it makes you laugh, quietly into his chest. His own chest rumbles with a chuckle as his head shifts to look down at you, eyebrow cocked. “What? You think I can’t?”
“I know you can,” you tell him with a smile. He’s already proven his skills by building you and your mom a coffee table, not to mention a countless number of other things he’s put together in that shed of his. “I’m just wondering where you’re going to put this bench. And what’s gonna make it special?”
“It’ll be a storage bench,” he says, playing with your hair. “With a cushion. You can pick out the pillows for it.” he knows you love going to HomeGoods with him. “And I'll put it on the far side of my shop. That way you can hang out while I”m building. Oh, I’ll build you one of those couch-desks too. So you can bring your computer out if you’ve gotta work.”
“You really thought this through, huh?”
“What can I say, I’m needy and I miss you when I’m in there.”
“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.” Víctor Hugo
She was like a song stuck in his head, only hers was a melody he never wanted to get rid of. Grayson almost wished he was capable of carrying a tune worthy of her, so he could sing her name off the top of every cliff and mountain in California. He wanted to serenade her like the guys in those old rom coms she liked to watch, stand in her driveway with a boombox and say something cool to sweep her off her feet.
But Grayson knew his limits, and his tendency to trip over himself when Penelope was around. So he did the next best thing:
He made her a playlist.
—
1 ENTERGALACTIC
2 BEST FRIEND
3 XO
4 REALITY IN MOTION
5 DRIVE
6 GET YOU
7 MORE THAN A WOMAN
8 GOLDEN HOUR
9 SAW YOU IN A DREAM
10 PLEASE NOTICE
11 BUTTERFLIES
12 CONFIDENCE
13 PLEASER
14 THE SOUND
15 CUDI ZONE
16 MY FAVORITE PART
17 HUNNYBEE
18 HEARTS IN HALVES
19 BLESSED
20 CANT HELP FALLING IN LOVE
21 NO ONE’S GONNA LOVE YOU
Also give my baby leena beena @dolandazeee some serious love for being my musical genius and helping me compile this playlist! And for making the gorgeous moodboard for these two 💙
Oh my gosh I love you and I can’t wait to see you running a production empire one day! Could I be the Papo ask 🥺
YESTERDAY SEASON 3.1: CALCULATED FEAR | Yesterday Masterlist
Don’t let her background or love of the beach fool you, Marisol Ocasio is afraid of the ocean.
Not water; she loves the pool, and can swim just fine. She’s just afraid of the ocean itself. And with good reason. Despite the earth being 97% ocean, 80% of that in undiscovered, unexplored, and unmapped, with thousands of possible beings, creatures and animals living within it. That’s what she always said anyway, when people would gape at her at the realization she was serious, and would never wade farther than a waist-deep tide at the beach without getting panicky and jittery.
Some people called it irrational. The first time that she’d admitted it to Grayson, after he offered to take her surfing, he raised his eyebrow at her and pointed out the fact she was born and raised on a peninsula— as well as the fact that her family was from the literal carribbean.
“You should love the ocean,” he’d said, his smile wide and his eyes disbelieving. “You came from the ocean.”
He was right. She did love the ocean. As a child, she’d spend hours with her family on the beaches of Santo Domingo, Samana, Punta Cana, La Romana; South Beach and Biscayne Bay and the Keys. Always happy as she splashed away at the shallow end, sputtering up to her parents with a collection of seashells. She always liked the ugly ones, the ones that were broken or shattered, that she thought might need some extra love. Her fear of the ocean didn’t let her go too far into it, but her love of it helped her appreciate it, and respect it. Deeply.
Rodolfo Herrera hated the beach. Maybe it was the bright sun, the open space, the refreshing air, the moving water that was too healing for him. Alegria always said that he had an odd affair with sadness, with darkness, more love for his depression than anything else. He supposed she was right, because he liked the dark, stuffy comfort of his bedroom more than the sandy, golden isles of the beach.
Marisol was fairly young when Rodolfo played Jaws for her the first time. Too young for a movie of that caliber, too gullible and sensitive to blood and screaming. It was a calculated effort on his part, and it worked. His daughter’s susceptible mind suddenly realized the beach and the ocean that surrounded it housed monsters, waiting for the until she’d wade out far enough to make her lunch.
Not much longer after that, they took a family trip to Universal Studios Orlando and he took a young Marisol onto the Jaws ride with him, laughing— as most fathers do when they terrorize and traumatize their children— as she screamed and cried and hid her face in his chest when the Jaws “attacked” the boat during the show. She was too young to understand what an animatronic was, and by that point, sharks and ocean became synonymous.
One day, Rodolfo pulled Marisol up onto the couch while he was eating vanilla ice cream and diced peaches. He handed her a spoon, and she pouted as she moved the orange fruit out of the way and tried to find some plain vanilla that wasn’t tainted with the too-sweet syrup of the it. Animal Planet was playing on the TV. Marisol recognized the logo, and she nearly dropped the spoon when she saw the angular shape of a Great White Shark on the screen.
Rodolfo, always ready with fun facts for his daughter, nudged her. “Did you know? They say sharks hide under the sand, on the low end of the beach.”
Maybe Rodolfo found comfort in the fear in his daughter’s eyes. “Really?” She asked him, her voice small. He nodded.
When it came to Rodolfo, one could never really verify his fun facts. Nevertheless, the next time the Ocasios went out to the beach, with her cousin and her aunts and her uncles in the water, Marisol stayed posted up next to her father on the sand. Alegria whined and cooed as she tried to get her daughter in the water, but Marisol didn’t budge. Rodolfo only smirked, handing Marisol a fruit cup that she stared at, wondering if that’s what sharks would think of her as if she went in.
“Dejala tranquila, (leave her alone)” Rodolfo told his wife. “No le gusta. (she doesn’t like it.)”
They fought about it on the ride home, while a sun-kissed Marisol slept in the backseat. But the damage was done.
A few months into dating her, Grayson asked Marisol to go surfing with him. She shook her head furiously, her eyes big and childlike.
“You can go ahead, Papo,” she’d said. “I’ll stay tanning on the beach.”
“It’ll be early,” he said. “I’ll teach you. It’s fun.”
“You ever see Soul Surfer?”
He deadpanned her. “Mari.”
“Grayson, I love you, but no. Absolutely not. I’m not paddling out on some board in the middle of the ocean and dangling myself in front of a shark.”
“You know more people die getting trampled by moose than shark attacks?”
“I’ll take my chances with the moose.”
He did manage— with lots of begging, lots of pouting, and lots of kisses— to convince her to go snorkeling with him. And even then, they stayed close to the reef, with the shore not too far away, and Marisol clutching Grayson’s arm when he waded out too much, much less enchanted by the colorful fish then she was paranoid about some unexpected appearance by a shark and/or barracuda a la Finding Nemo.
“Your dad’s an asshole,” Grayson told her the night where she’d explained why, exactly, she was afraid of sharks and the ocean as she was. “I can’t believe he ruined water activities like that for you. You need to get over that.”
Marisol just scoffed. “None of this is new news to me, Grayson. And if I could get over it, I’d probably be a fucking mermaid by now.”
Grayson didn’t ask her to go surfing with him after that. And Marisol tried to swallow the paranoia that would nag at her when she’d watch him from the shore when she did tag along for a morning surf, always sitting up too quick, too straight when he’d crash into the water, and not breathing out until she saw his head bob back up to the surface.
***
“Do you have any, like, sunflowers?”
“We’ve got arrangements in the fridge in the back.”
“I saw those, yeah, but there’s no sunflowers. I’m looking for sunflowers. Or just… do you have any butterfly themed baskets… or balloons? My niece’s name is…“
The look on the gift-shop cashier’s face has Ethan swallowing the rest of his words. Beside him, Cassie bites back a laugh, holding his arm. “I don’t think she cares about her name, baby,” she whispers.
“Right,” Ethan chuckles, still looking at the cashier. “I’m sure you get a lot of overexcited uncles in here, huh?”
“You’re the twelfth one today,” the woman says flatly.
“Twelve? Damn, that’s a lot of uncles.”
“Are you going to buy something?” She asks, her patience wearing thing. “You’re holding my line up.”
Ethan and Cassie glance behind them. There’s a bit of a line, making them duck their heads with amused chuckles as they step out to let the next person ring up. Towards the end of the line is an older man who’s got an armful of a pink gift basket, and maybe half of the entire balloon collection available in the hospital. He looks nervous, and something about him makes Cassie’s eyes linger on him. Ethan notices, but assumes she’s just looking at the balloons. The man feels their eyes on him, and offers them a charming smile that looks familiar. He jerks his chin towards the far wall to the left. “Think I saw some butterflies on some balloons over there.”
Ethan follows, and grins. “Thanks, chief.”
“No problem. Congrats on your niece.”
Ethan beams. “Thanks! You too, on your uh—“
“Oh, granddaughter.”
“Oh awesome. Congrats, grandpa!”
“Thanks.” He huffs, almost as if he’s nervous to meet her.
Ethan tugs Cassie over to make their selection, but she can’t help but glance over her shoulder back at the stranger in the line, who’s now up at the register paying. “Does he seem familiar to you?” She asks Ethan.
“Who?”
“The guy in the line. I feel like I’ve seen him before.”
Ethan, distracted by his search for the perfect balloon, shrugs. “Dunno, babe, could just be one of those faces.”
***
At 6:00 am on September 28, 1997, Alegria Ocasio woke up to use the bathroom, and went into labor. The first contractions were intense, but far apart. It allowed her to take deep breaths, wash her face, look at herself in the mirror, and time them. She went to bed. Fifteen minutes between, she had time.
At 6:23, she shook her husband awake.
“The baby is coming,” she told him.
Like flipping a switch, Rodolfo Herrera had never looked so terrified in his life. The sleep gone from his face, he took his wife’s hand and said, “are you sure?”
“Get my mother.”
He ran, across the house, nearly knocking down the door to the guest room, where his mother-in-law slept.
“Doña Mera! Doña Mera! The baby, she’s on the way!”
Emerenciana Ocasio, who’d fallen victim to her son-in-law’s less-than-funny pranks for the last three weeks she’d been a guest in his house, only huffed and rolled over, waving a hand at him. Rodolfo tried to insist, but her trust had already been broken. He groaned as he ran back to his wife, who was calmly wincing and pulling on some pants. He held her hand.
“My mom?” She asked.
“She doesn’t believe me.”
Alegria sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”
As she went to get her mother, Rodolfo booked it to the kitchen. Sweating, he yanked the pantry door open, his fist closing over the neck of a bottle of Ron Barceló, which he tipped back four large gulps. He straightened up and shook his head out, letting the burn in his throat calm his nerves.
Alegria was deadpanning him by the door. Emerenciana was shaking her head.
“Really?” Alegria asked. “That’s what you need?”
Rodolfo just burped, set the bottle down, and grabbed the keys. “Let’s go have a baby.”
***
In her panic to find and board a flight to Los Angeles, Alegria had informed the big Ocasio family group chat on WhatsApp that her daughter had gone into labor and her granddaughter would be born soon. The Ocasio family group chat boasted thirty-two members that included Alegria’s sisters, her brother, their significant others, their children, and their significant others. Her sister, the wife of a pastor, had then copied the message into another WhatsApp chat with their small-ish congregation, urging them to keep her niece in their prayers as they awaited the arrival of Marisol’s baby. A member of that congregation was the mother of Esteban Rodriguez, who worked for a brief time with Marco Valdez, who now lived in Argentina with his wife Sylvia Herrera, who’s brother had moved to Long Beach from Miami a few years ago for a new job with an up and coming swimsuit company.
That brother, was Rodolfo Herrera.
And by the time Alegria and Rudy had gone down to the Starbucks in the hospital lobby, ordered their drinks, and sat at the table to wait for Ethan and Cassie to join them, the Ocasio family group chat, congregation of El Nuevo Amanecer Iglesia Bautista de Santo Domingo, and Rodolfo, all knew that Mariposa was born, her weight and length, and had even been blessed with a blurry picture of the newborn wrapped up in her blanket.
Of course, Rodolfo had already made his way upstairs, We could wonder how he knew where to find Marisol and Grayson, but there’s no real way to pin it down. Two interns on the maternity floor were fans of Marisol, and had caused such a commotion when they saw her name on the chart, their attending took them off the case. That didn’t stop them from telling their friends, who told their friends, until word hit twitter that Marisol was in labor and in the hospital.
How hard would it have been for Rodolfo to simply let one of those fan interns know he was literally Marisol’s father, here to surprise her, with his charming smile and his seemingly-wholesome action, and ask them where her room was?
Not hard at all.
And the sneaky videos that had hit Twitter of Ethan, Cassie, Rudy and Alegria in that Starbucks in the hospital lobby with the frantic status of I’M IN THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW AND ETHAN IS HERE AND HE’S GOT PINK BALLOONS WITH HIM I THINK MARISOL GAVE BIRTH! Only assisted Rodolfo in confirming that his ex-wife was busy, and that Marisol was available for a possible one-on-one to talk things out.
Social media was a beautiful thing, sometimes.
***
With the scattered holes in the drywall put there by Rodolfo’s fist, and a nearly constant stream of heated threats to take the children out of the country and “as far away from you as possible,” Alegria was able to take out a restraining order on her husband during the process of divorcing him. Once custody was sorted, papers were signed, and a marriage was dissolved, the order was lifted on a Wednesday afternoon, allowing Rodolfo back on school ground to pick up his daughters for the first of his mid-week visits with them.
He was supposed to pick them up at 3:30 PM.
His truck pulled into the empty school parking lot at 6:20 PM. The after school teacher had moved all the kids left— Marisol, Ileana, and one other child— into the smallest classroom available, where she’d begun to call parents to come get their children. Marisol had kindly asked her not to call her mother. Alegria was already spamming Marisol’s text messages, asking her where she was, if they were still at school, if her ex-husband had managed to show up. Ileana was huffing an impatient breath every ten minutes, complaining about hunger, asking her sister if their father had gotten them. Marisol had only ignored her. She ignored everyone, watching the window intensely, praying her father wouldn’t give her a reason to enact some damage control.
Rodolfo didn’t bother parking his truck before hopping out. He didn’t bother walking over to the classroom. Marisol and Ileana were standing by the door with the teacher, watching this man in a dirty baseball cap and sweater vest wave his arm over his head.
Tucking his thumb and index fingers into the corners of his mouth, he gave that whistle: three tones that Marisol hadn’t heard in months, making Ileana’s face light up as she collected her things. The teacher turned to Marisol.
“Is that him?” She asked.
“Yeah.” Marisol said.
“He’s late.”
“Yeah.”
“Give him this.” She handed Marisol a slip; an invoice for the extra time they’d spend in her supervision considering the school and aftercare system closed at 6 PM. Marisol shoved it into her jacket instead, saving it for her mother to use in court later. Ileana ran out, either in excitement or hunger, or both. Marisol ran behind her, not because she was excited to see her father, but because she didn’t want her to trip over the lunchbox that was hitting her in the knee.
“Papi!” Ileana squealed, colliding with her father’s legs. He was quiet, dramatic, holding her as if he hadn’t seen her in weeks.
He hadn’t. It didn’t feel like that to Marisol. She felt like she saw him yesterday.
“Hey Pa,” she said easily. She was numb when she walked into his outstretched arm, gasping when he yanking them both into a tight hug that had the sisters looking at each other. Rodolfo said nothing, squeezing his daughters tighter and tighter in the parking lot of the school until it got hard to breathe, until Marisol wondered if he was really missed them, or if he was just trying to suffocate them. His unshaven cheek rubbed against hers and felt like blades against her skin, stinging more and more the longer he held her.
“Pa,” Ileana spoke up. “Let go.”
He obliged. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, but there were no tears. Marisol watched him quietly.
“How are you girls?” He asked them.
“You’re late,” Marisol said at the same time that Ileana said, “hungry.”
Rodolfo looked at Marisol. “I got held up at work.”
“Where was that?”
He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he took them to McDonalds, where Marisol stared at her burger while Rodolfo told them he missed them, and only Ileana told him she missed him too.
“It’s been very difficult for me,” he said. “I’ve been pretty much homeless since your mother kicked me out of the house. Very hard to find somewhere to live. Work is very hard, I can’t go to church because I will get arrested, because of what your mother and your grandfather have done.”
The girls said nothing.
“I never wanted to do this to you,” he said.
Marisol didn’t believe him. He was good at calculating fear.
***
“Grayson, close the door now!”
Grayson’s head is swimming in white hot rage and confusion as he swings the door shut, the slam of wood against frame so loud that it triggers a loud cry out of the newborn in Marisol’s arms.
Grayson didn’t think he’d get defensive this quickly against someone who made his daughter cry.
Marisol’s crying too, bouncing her daughter clumsily, breathing hard, tears streaming down her cheeks, effectively freaking the fuck out as her words all string together, her voice high-pitched.
“It’s okay,” whispers to her daughter as she weeps. Mariposa’s little face is red, her mouth pink as she shrieks. Marisol fixes her hat, her shoulders trembling. “shh, mi amor, sh…” she whimpers as she watches her own tears fall on her baby’s cheeks, and squeezes her eyes shut. “Grayson,” her voice breaks. “Papo…”
Grayson reaches out and yanks on the string to the right of the window. His jaw is tight, eyes glaring at the intruder on the other side of the door as he snaps the blinds shut and hurries over to Marisol. Mariposa’s cries are loud, sharp in their ears. It breaks Grayson’s heart. His hands hover by Marisol as he scrambles to figure out what his best course of action is. His eyes are wide, panicked, his mind hazy with exhaustion and confusion.
“What do I do?” He asks Marisol, desperately. “What do I do?”
“Why the fuck is he here?” Marisol demands, rocking her child. She glances outside, where she can still see the shape of those pink balloons floating through the cracks in the blinds, her anger flaring. “Who the fuck told him I was here? What kind of security—“
“Mi amor,” Grayson says gently. It catches her attention quickly. Marisol’s eyes snap over to him. She breathes. Grayson’s hands cover hers, so much larger, they nearly take up the entire expanse of Mariposa’s body. “Let me,” he says.
Marisol swallows, nodding as Grayson lifts their daughter from her arms carefully. She watches Grayson cradle their crying child to his chest, so much bigger than the little being that it’s almost funny. Grayson holds her with the kind of delicacy and care that Marisol’s never witnessed before, his eyes glowing for his daughter so bright, it makes Marisol’s face contort back up into a helpless sob.
Grayson’s face falls. He coos at her, his eyes darting frantically between her and their crying baby. “Marisol…”
Marisol slumps against the pillows, hands to her face, full-out sobbing. Grayson is already vastly overwhelmed, trying to soothe the two most important women in his life at the same time. It takes a few minutes, where silence finally takes over, Marisol’s sobs quiet and breathless, that Mariposa finds it in her to quiet down. Grayson watches her carefully as she settles into his arms, her breaths evening out until she’s asleep. He exhales, and sets her down carefully in the crate before returning to Marisol, who’s hormones and onslaught of stress and uncertainty are not treating her well.
“Hey, Mari, Marisol, mi amor,” Grayson sighs, coaxing her hands way from her face. She looks so tired and sad, he wants to kill someone. “Marisol, breathe, Mama.”
They take a breath together. Marisol’s fingers dig into his hands. She leans her head forward, and Grayson lets his forehead fall on hers. He holds her hand to his chest. Marisol focuses on his breathing to match hers to it, until she finally stops those quick sobs from racking her body.
They stay like that for a bit, until Grayson’s confident that she won’t spiral again, until he’s confident that she’s breathing properly. If he could keep them frozen in time like this right now, he would. When Marisol’s eyes finally open, a bit more clear—though he can see that emptiness in her expression that he’s terrified of; the brown in her eyes is flat— Grayson tucks her hair behind her ear and clenches his jaw.
“You say the word,” he says. “And I’ll get rid of him.”
He’s serious. Of course he’s serious. She can see it. Grayson’s mouth is set into a deep frown, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes hard, his brows angled slightly. She’s only ever seen him like this one other time, before he got put into a police car.
For a moment, she considers it. That seven-year-old in her that got manipulated into fearing the ocean, the thirteen-year-old in her that was kept waiting for three hours, the infant in her that got abandoned in a flea market— they’d all love to see Grayson’s fist collide with Rodolfo Herrera’s nose. But then she looks over to the little crate that holds her baby, wrapped up in her blanket, her father wrapped tight around her finger in the mere hours she’s been alive, and Marisol sighs.
“No,” she says. “Just—“ she bites her lip, the tears returning. She’d thought this would be the end of it. Like a countdown, the blessing of her daughter would somehow get rid of all the stress and confusion in her life, if only just for a bit. But here she was: confused, and angry, and exhausted, with no rest in sight. Sniffling, she leans into Grayson, her head on his shoulder as she breathes him in. Grayson’s quick to wrap his arms around her, and she lets her eyes closed. Her voice is muffled against his shirt when she says, “just stay here. With me. Please.”
Grayson’s lips are warm and firm against her head. He scoots closer so she’s more comfortable, but tightens his grip on her. He wishes he could just absorb her through his skin, create some sort of bubble around her and around their daughter that no one or thing can penetrate. All he can do is hold her, so he does.
“Not going anywhere, Mari,” he says. “I swear.”
***
Before sending her daughters off on their first weekend with her ex-husband, Alegria handed Marisol a hundred dollar bill. She was quick to strike down the excitement in her daughter’s face, because one hundred dollars to a thirteen-year-old seemed magical.
“Eso no es para gastar, (that isn’t to waste)” she told her sternly. “That’s for emergencies, only.”
One emergency, actually. A specific scene that played over and over in Alegria’s mind while she tried to sleep at night, no matter what kind of variation there might be. It’d been plaguing her so much lately, it’s spurred her to take action. She wagged an insistent finger at her eldest daughter and fixed that sharp gaze on her. “If you feel uncomfortable, or your dad does something, or says something, or wants to take you somewhere you don’t want to go… you call a cab. I saved the number in your phone. You call a cab, you give them the hundred, and you tell them to bring you home. Okay?”
Marisol stared at her mother. It’s the first and only time she’d seen Alegria Ocasio genuinely… scared. She didn’t ask any questions, tucking the bill into the back of her phone case, praying she’d never have to use it.
***
December 8th, while bringing them their biggest gift, has proven to be a long ass day for Marisol particularly. Discovering a contract from long ago, her boyfriend nearly slicing off his hand, bringing a new life into the world, and now her father coming back into her life had the poor new-mother pooped and more then exhausted.
Grayson wants to be relieved when she falls asleep in his arms, but he can’t. Because she cried herself to sleep, and that information itself has a level of anger spreading all over his body in a way he’d hardly experienced before. He’s teetering the line before the blackout, using the kiss he presses to her forehead when he tucks her back into the bed to ground himself. He does it again when he walks over to his baby, his hand careful on her as he feels her belly rise and fall with her breathing, closing his eyes until he can breathe properly again.
He sends a message out to his brother and his mother in law. He keeps it vague.
[Grayson] Mom and baby are both asleep. Wanna give them some rest. I’ll let you guys know when they’re awake.
The last thing he needs is Alegria running into her ex-husband. If that’s how Marisol acted seeing him, Grayson could only imagine how Alegria would be. He needed to avoid that at all costs. He texts his brother sidebar.
[Grayson] Yo, keep Mama Ocasio busy, alright? Trying to sort some shit out up here.
[Ethan] Contract talk?
Grayson huffs.
[Grayson] Just keep her busy.
[Ethan] Mom’s landing soon.
[Grayson] Good. Take Alegria with you. Let them talk about being grandma’s or something.
[Ethan] Everything okay?
[Grayson] I’ll explain it later.
Ethan hearts the message, and Grayson rubs a hand over his face.
Then, with his guard back up, he steps outside.
Rodolfo is seated on a spare bed in the hallway. He looks up when Grayson steps up to him, straightening up quickly. He clears his throat. “Hi, look, I just—“
Grayson pictures his daughter to keep himself from slamming this dude into the wall by his throat. It helps. He storms up to him with enough hostility to scare him, and Rodolfo staggers back into the cot behind him with a clatter, holding a defensive arm. That helps too.
Rodolfo’s only a few inches shorter than Grayson, stocky, with a gut that hangs over his cheap belt from twenty-plus years of eating ice cream and peaches as a main food group. He’s got white stubble, but his hair is black, like Marisol’s, though thinning out and combed back with way too much gel. He’s got Marisol’s eyes, too. And her nose. Grayson feels stupid. He’d interacted with this man not too long ago, not registering how familiar he looked. He’d only seen a few pictures of Rodolfo that Marisol had shown him from when she was younger, but he’d aged more than ten years, and honestly Grayson’s focus was only on Mariposa when she was around.
She’s not around now, so Rodolfo better pray the mere thought of his daughter will keep Grayson at bay.
In a fairly frightening display, Grayson’s voice is quiet, even, threatening.
“Why are you here?” He asks, simple.
Rodolfo looks down at the gift basket he bought, offering it to Grayson. Grayson’s eyes don’t leave Rodolfo’s face.
“I just want to see my daughter. I just want to meet—“
“How did you get here?”
“Look, man,” Rodolfo sighs. “I know you don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me, but I come in peace—“
“No, man, you look,” Grayson steps closer. He still hasn’t raised his voice. “Judging by Marisol’s reaction to you, you’re not welcome, and I’m not about to doubt her feelings about this. You’re right. I don’t know you. You’re just some stranger who’s weird as fuck because you pretended not to know who I was earlier, and that makes me, and my girlfriend, uncomfortable. You don’t get to do this. Not here, not today, not anytime soon. The only thing I know about you are horror stories, and the fact that I’ve spent the last three years or more of my life trying to convince your daughter that I’m nothing like you, just to get her to give me the time of fucking day. So here’s what we’re going to do: you’re going to leave. You’re not going to go anywhere near my girlfriend, and you’re not going to go anywhere near my daughter. You’re going to walk out of here the same way you walked in: a stranger. And if, my some miracle, whether it’s now, or some distant…. distant… possibly alternate future, Marisol wants something to do with you, I’ll make sure to set up a supervised meeting.” He glances down at the basket finally and shakes his head. “Plus, we’re vegan, so the chocolates aren’t gonna work anyway.”
His words hang in the air between them for a while. It’s cold in the corrider, but Grayson can feel the beads of sweat slipping down the sides of of his face, down his back. He’s heated, and he doesn’t like the smirk on Rodolfo’s face, it makes him dig his heels into his shoes the way his dad taught him, and take a breath.
“You’re protective, aren’t you?” Rodolfo says. He sounds amused, but Grayson can hear the slight tremor in his voice that keeps his ego right where it should be.
Grayson offers him a smile, though it’s more of a snarl. “You don’t know the half of it, bud.” He lets up, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Hope the drive home isn’t bad. Go ahead.”
“I’ll be back,” Rodolfo warns.
“I’ll be here.” Grayson promises. He glares after him as Rodolfo disappears down the corridor, leaving the gift basket and the balloons behind. Grayson throws them away, using his keys to quickly let the air out of the balloons, and heads back into the room. Marisol’s awake and out of bed, her hand in Mariposa’s crib as she looks up at Grayson.
She sniffles. “What happened?”
“He’s gone,” Grayson says.
She bites her lip. In her crib, Mariposa fusses. “I think it’s time for the first diaper change,” she says.
“I’ve got it,” Grayson says, stepping forward. “You just gotta walk me through it.”
Marisol watches the way he lifts Mariposa out of the crib. He’s already developed the instinct to kiss her head before adjusting her in his arms, and despite everything, it makes her smile. She follows him to the changing table, stopping him for a moment once he sets the baby down and turning his head to hers for a kiss. Grayson keeps a careful hand on their daughter, but kisses her deeply.
Marisol’s eyes dart all over this face when she pulls back, almost in awe of him. Her thumb drags along his jaw, and her lip pulls up in a little smile. “Papo,” she whispers.
He winks at her. “Soak up the romance, mama, it’s about to get really shitty in here.”
Marisol snorts, grateful for his humor. “My god, the dad jokes have started.”
- definitely all of @persistence-ofmemories OCs! pao really has a way of bringing her characters to life and i often find myself laying in bed late at night being sad that they don’t really exist :( of course, nova will always have a special place in my heart but marisol and penny are also pretty bomb
- ang @dolansficsandpics recently posted list of people (to try & forget about) which has an OC named jade whom i think is going to become one of my favorites, especially because of the plot 👀
- @episkygrant has her lovely gia as well who kind of haunts the back of my brain for being really fucking sexy lol
- riah’s @plantbasedgray mj has also become one of my all-time faves since i read desperate a couple months ago
- fresh daisies you can’t keep by @milliondollardolan has a character named josie staring in a nanny series! i’ve always been a bit of a slut for the nanny trope and having an OC as amazing as josie just makes it 10x better
- drown by @dolanstacoma introduces bianca in a sort of friends to lovers/jealousy thing that is so freaking perfect and makes me wonder how men can be so fucking thick so you know that gaby is doing a good job as an author :)
- @deeperdolan has 2 series, lost & found and the finish line, which both respectively have awesome OCs! as always, the angst completely destroys me but i really admire how areana manages to make her characters as human-like as possible
- and how can i forget the magnificent kate in kind stranger by my love cat @baby-grayson! currently, in love with this series and the emotional roller coaster it puts me on lol
- last but most definitely not least: avery lane by @ethandolxns! avery was actually the first OC universe i read/explored/saw when i joined tumblr this past march. the whole concept of having an OC outside of a single series was new to me, but i’m quite glad that avery introduced me to it!
B31. “This is the place we first met. And now here we are, years later.”
300 DIALOGUE PROMPTS
It’s a hot summer day in Beverly Hills. The kind of unbearable dry-heat that makes anyone feel like they’re on actual fire, where the sun is merciless, and the shade is a saving grace.
It’s not the best day to go out on the town with a pack of young children aged 3-9, as Nova and Ethan have discovered. What was supposed to be a fun day of shopping, ice-cream eating, and exploring soon turned into a string of complaints and whines from Ezra, Phoenix and Luc, their flushed faces and sweaty hair calling for some much needed relief in the air conditioning of the nearest Starbucks, where Nova and Ethan could quiet them down with cake pops and lemonades, while taking a moment to rest themselves.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” Ethan asked his wife, who settled into a corner booth with a drowsy Phoenix, who leaned against his mother and pushes his glasses up father on his face. Ezra sat across from her, feet swinging as he played subway surfers on Ethan’s phone, and Luc-- hyper even when he was tired from walking--was currently enjoying messing with his dad, holding onto Ethan’s forearm and asking him to lift him up like Hercules, squealing when Ethan would oblige him mindlessly, eyes on Nova.
She smiled at him, playing with Phoenix’s hair. “I think I’ll just take my usual white mocha? Iced.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes at her. “Alright, one decaf white mocha.”
Nova chuckled, both of them sharing a knowing look. Even though she was only about seven or eight weeks along with their fourth baby, Ethan was already getting protective and annoying about it, not letting Nova have more than one cup of coffee a day. And considering her double espresso from this morning, there was no way he was giving her more caffeine. Nova appreciated him. “I guess decaf works,” she said, playfully, winking at him.
Ethan smiled, and then looked down at Luc, who was still tugging on his shirt. A strong hand on his son’s wrist, he plucked him right off the ground and sat him on his shoulders. Luc laughed gleefully, holding onto Ethan’s hair. “I want apple juice, daddy!” he screamed, too loud. “and the kitty cake pop.” Ethan chuckled, squeezing his leg.
“Alright, bub. But we gotta use inside voices.” He looked over at the other two. “Are those apple juices all around or?”
Though half asleep, Phoenix lifted his head. “I want the same as Mama.”
“You can’t have that, babe. It’s got dairy in it.”
Phoenix pouted. “Can I have dragonfruit then?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know what dragonfruit is?”
“No.”
“Wait, I want dragonfruit!” Luc yelled. “That sounds cool!”
Ethan sighed. Nova snickered, shaking her head, always amused at her husband’s reactions to their sons’ crazy antics. Ethan nudged Ezra with his foot. “What about you, bub?”
Ezra glanced up from his game. “Cookies and creme frappe, please.”
Ethan grinned. The kid’s had the same order since he was three. “You got it.”
Luc accompanies his father as they wait in line, loving the view from the top of the six foot mount Ethan Dolan. Phoenix, a bit more awake, walks around the table to sit next to his older brother, big eyes curious and interested in watching his brother play. Ezra is quick to tilt the phone so he can see, and Nova smiles at them, snapping a cute picture for her story to post. She’s feeling a little faint from the heat, and is glad for the cool down herself.
“Z,” she says gently. Ezra’s eyebrow twitches in acknowledgement, and Phoenix glances over at her too. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Watch your brother, okay? Dad’s right there.”
Ezra nods, and Nova signals over to Ethan, who’s in viewing distance of their sons, that she’s headed to the bathroom. He nods, and then laughs at Luc when he insists on placing the order for the family, thanking the barista for being so patient with the three year old when he starts getting confused and orders “vanilla free sugar syrup” for Ethan’s drink.
After using the bathroom, Nova stops by the napkin and material stand on the way back to the table, where she grabs some extra straws and napkins for everyone. when she turns back around to head to the table, she gasps when she almost runs right into Ethan, who’s got a whole tray of drinks in his hands considering he’d had the same idea and went to grab some extra napkins too, after sending Luc back to the table with his cake pop. He’s quick this time, stepping back with a gasp. Nova’s hand goes to her chest with the startle, and they both laugh when they realize the close call they just had.
“Excuse me,” Ethan chuckles. “I’d hate to spill all these drinks on you, miss.”
Nova smiles at him, and for just a moment, they’re fourteen years younger. Ethan’s eyes dart around for a moment, his lips parting when he realizes. “Holy shit, Nov, wait--”
“This is it,” Nova nods. “This is the Starbucks. It’s still here.”
They head back to their boys, who are now all crowded around the phone as Ezra hits a new high score. Ethan distributes the drinks and snacks, and then sits back with Nova, resting his arm on the seat behind her and inviting her to lean into his side. She does, taking a happy sip of her drink as they watch their kids. It’s fascinating the way that two people can make different variations when it comes to their kids. Ezra, who’s nearly identical to Ethan, down to the intense gaze of concentration as he plays, that crease between his eyebrow he gets from Nova. Phoenix, with his sandier hair, his cheeks heavier and rosier, his eyebrows thinner. Luc, with those staggering blue eyes, those jet-black curls. All beautiful, all half nova and Ethan. All theirs.
nova wonders what their fourth will look like. More like her? More of a mix? Hazel eyes? Brown? Blue?
Ezra loses, and the boys all boo but cheer at his high score before finally paying attention to their drinks. Their eyes all raise to meet their parents, and it’s three precious smiles at them. Ezra’s got Ethan’s smile, Phoenix has Nova’s, and Luc’s got Grayson’s. Ethan beams.
“Wanna hear something cool?” he asks them. They all nod. Ethan squeezes Nova’s shoulder. “This is the place we first met.”
The boys’ jaws all drop, and big eyes suddenly look all around. Ezra’s been here before, it feels familiar, and it makes him grin.
“Really?” Phoenix gasps.
“Yep. I met your mama here, for the first time, right over there.”
“wait, you met mama here?” Luc gasps. “And then you made us?!”
Ethan and Nova laugh. Ezra, an expert on this conversation already, shakes his head. “No, dude, there was a process. Here’s how it went...”
As he tells his brothers the story of their parents being soulmates, Nova looks up at Ethan with that magical little smile that he loves. He smiles the same smile right back at her, and ducks down to capture her lips in a kiss. “This is where we met,” he tells her.
“And now here we are,” she grins. “years later.”
“Three kids.”
“and one on the way.”
Ethan whistles, kissing her again. “Life’s fucking crazy.”
“always knew it’d be that kid that spilled coffee on me.”
i miss avery so much she was my favorite OC ever!! the way you wrote her was so relatable and they way you wrote ethan in a relationship was so realistic to me! they make me so happy! dont feel pressured to start writing for them again i completely understand life gets wild (especially lately)! just know if you ever do decide to write for them again you’ll have people supporting you
I’m so so so so so sorry it took me so long to respond to this I’m literally the absolute worst. You have no idea how sweet this is to me 🥺 I love them so much too and I truly hope that one day I get back into their story! I love you endlessly and I hope you’re having a a great week! 💜💜💜
Nova having a nightmare after her car getting broken into and ethan having to wake her up and comfort her 🥺
The DeLuca house got broken into twice in the same year when Nova was about thirteen years old. Luckily, no one was home. Nova and Ivy had been at school all day, Marina working late at the office. Rafael had picked his sisters up in his truck and driven home, stopping uncharacteristically far down the drive way when he saw the front door open. Nova saw it too. Her hand curled around his arm as she straightened up in the passenger seat, her heart dropping as she whispered a panicked “Raf....”
“Don’t fucking move,” Rafael had said in a tight voice, jumping out of the truck to survey the area.
Whoever had broken in-- Rafael had his suspicions but no one was ever brought in-- had taken almost all of the family’s electronics, what few expensive pieces of jewelry Marina had, and Ivy’s piggy banks. Rafael suspected that they’d run away once they heard the truck in the driveway since the living room television was lowered from the entertainment center but was still on the living room floor. While the items stolen were material, there was an underlying feeling of unease in Nova as she walked throughout her house in the days following. There was something to violating about seeing her mattress overturned, her clothes ripped from her drawers in search of some unknown treasure, by people who wanted to take things from her. A big “what if” thinker, she couldn't help but lay awake at night and think of what would have happened if she had stayed home from school that day? If Rafael hadn’t stopped for gas on the way home? Would they have encountered those people? Would they have gotten hurt?
The panic and anxiety went away with time, and the installment of a pretty good security system, and the baseball bat that Rafael told her to keep under her bed. But it was always in the back of her mind, and it was something her brother tried to use against her to scare her into not moving to California.
“Do you know how dangerous those LA streets are?” he scoffed. “Pretty girl, living along, leaving shit in your car like you always do, how long before you get jumped? Huh? And who’s gonna be there to protect you? not me. Who are you going to go to? Huh?”
Of course, she knew enough self defense to take care of herself. And the mace and taser she kept in her bag was helpful.
But something about that night coming back from a fun night with her roommates to see her car’s window shattered, her valuables gone, brought all that anxiety and stress back. And it hurt even more, that sinking feeling in her, almost like Rafael was right.
But he wasn’t. Because she had Ethan to call. Ethan to pick her up and insist on having her stay at his house with him until they got the investigation and security of the apartment sorted out. Ethan to fix her car for her, to buy her a new iPad that she got so mad at him for, Ethan to tuck her hair behind her ears and kiss her nose and admonish her for not listening to him when he told her not to leave her stuff in the car, Ethan to tell her that he wouldn’t let anyone get to her, ever.
Ethan.
Ethan who’s got his head and shoulders pressed up tight against the seat of the Tesla, hands trembling and up by his ears, eyes wide and panicked as his lips quiver and try to plead for some sort of mercy from a shadow by the driver’s seat window. Nova, confused, and panicked, and hysterical, is screaming at the sight of the barrel of a gun pointed right at Ethan, some detached, inhuman voice giving him unintelligible directions, giving Nova unintelligible directions, while Nova’s voice cuts out and makes absolutely no sound at all.
The shadow, with the gun, hits Ethan over the head with the butt of it, and that’s when Nova wakes up, her entire body white-hot with terror, breathing a lot harder than she thought she was, her vision blurry with tears.
She was dreaming. A nightmare. it takes her a moment to register that she’s in Ethan’s room, in his bed, the drum set off to the right, the dresser to the left, the pictures they’d taken in the Photo Booth at the boardwalk pinned to the wall in front of them. And Ethan, with tired eyes and puffy lips and crazy hair, sitting up, his hand warm and firm as he shook her gently by the shoulder. Her eyes meet his, and he huffs out with a concerned smile.
“Hey” he says. He pushes her hair back from a clammy forehead, and swallows. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m here. E’s here.”
Still in a semi-daze, her heart still racing with the remnants of that nightmare, she reaches out for him. Her hand slides over his chest, around his arm, fingers brushing over the point in his shoulder. “Ethan,” she says. She reaches his jaw, cupping his cheek, and groaning. Her hands drop onto her face. “Holy fuck, that was the worst dream--”
“You freaked me out for a second there,” Ethan tells her. “Moving around so much, calling my name. Didn’t like the way you said it. Then you started crying.”
She frowned. “I dreamed we were getting like-- carjacked. Or something. At gunpoint. And the guy hit you with the gun and I just...” she takes a deep breath. “Holy shit. It felt so real.”
“I know the Zodiac was not a good movie to watch,” Ethan sighs. He rubs her cheek. “No car jacking here, sweetheart. Everything’s fine. Just you and me, safe in bed.”
Nova nods. “I know... I know I just... I didn’t think getting my car broken into was gonna affect me this much.”
“It’s traumatic. But you’re okay. I’m okay. See?” he leans back so she can get a full view of him. He’s wearing a UCLA t-shirt she’d bought him when she started art school, which he wears proudly for her. Nova smiles, and pulls him down with her by his shirt. Ethan chuckles slightly, accepting her kisses. His lips are soft, and a little slimy considering the sheer amount of lip balm he has on, but she doesn’t mind. It’s a little minty, and the softness and comfort from his lips alone has her warming up again, relaxing.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into her mouth. He’s practically laying on top of her, heavy against her, and she loves it. She feels his lips curve up against hers. “I’m here,” he says again.
“thank you,” she whispers.
They kiss for a while longer, until they’re both getting sleepy again, their lips slowing down, lazy. Then, Nova pulls back, a slight rustle by the window, which could be anything. She swallows. “Is everythig locked?” she asks.
“Yeah, Nov,” Ethan chuckles. “Did my rounds before going to bed. Gray too.”
She nods, and he kisses her one more time before they finally just settle in to sleep. Ethan drags her into his chest, an arm tight around her middle, his leg easing between her thighs. Nova exhales contently, pressing her ass back against him with a giggle when he groans and squeezes her belly cautiously. There’s silence as they both close their eyes, but it doesn’t last long, because there’s another rustle and Nova’s eyes are opening again. She sighs, sitting up. Ethan just groans, head still on his pillow.
“Okay, but can we double check?”
Ethan opens one eye up at her, and he wants to be annoyed but she looks so genuinely concerned, he can’t. He just sighs, nodding as he drags himself out of the bed. He raises an eyebrow at her as he stands by the door, reaching a hand out to him. “Well, come on, then. Not leaving you in here alone.”
Nova stares at him, her face breaking into a grateful smile as she shimmies out of the bed and hurries over to him, fingers locking with his as they do one more round to check the locks and alarm system in order to bring a peaceful sleep back.
Summary: Diana Adams had never done anything extraordinary in her life… until she ran into Grayson Dolan.
Word count: 4.8K
A/N: I don’t fuckin know.
(Gif by @graysonsbailey 🤍)
Diana Adams can’t really remember the last time she did anything extraordinary.
Her day to day was mundane: wake up at 8 am, feed the cat, get ready to work a retail job she’d told yourself two years ago would be a seasonal position, eat a rice bowl from that Mediterranean place a block over and then go home at 5, feed the cat again, go an an evening walk, and fall asleep either on her phone or watching TV.
Nothing special. Just another body occupying the overpriced rental spaces in West Hollywood trying to get by, any sort of dream she had when she moved to the city of angels long gone. No auditions booked in over a year, no courage to send out a demo, folders of unfinished brainstorming documents for a podcast she never started, no confidence to pose in front of a camera and less knowledge about how to properly engage on influencer platforms. Just Diana, her cat Friday, and old episodes of Law and Order she let mindlessly play in the background while she read books or scrolled through way too many hours of Tik Tok.
Every other week, her mother called to tell her to stop living day by day and do something with her life. Diana agreed, but still spent her evenings not getting much done other than a farther walk around the block. Her mother could be relieved, at the very least, that Diana was getting some exercise in.
