Fic: 'Little Superstar' Prologue
Title: 'Little Superstar' Prologue ( Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )
Fandom: Glee future!fic
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Jesse, Kurt/Puck (vague implied), Maria Melanie Berry-St.James (OC), random appearances by some old friends.
Challenge/Prompt: A super late response to x_clemonlemon 's prompt on the glee_fluff_meme: Rachel and Jesse realise their daughter cannot hold a note and is completely tone-deaf. Cue the horror. Bonus! for their reasons as to why she's tone deaf.
Rating: PG, for the odd unexpected f-bomb.
Word Count: (This part) 617
Genre: Gen
Copyright: I don’t own ‘Glee’ or anything to do with it.; I just have vivid hallucinations.
Summary: "She's awful." Rachel murmurs flatly, eventually, clutching for Jesse's hand: "Maria Melanie Berry-St.James simply cannot hold a note."
Author’s Notes: Ok, so, this was meant to be a ficlet and turned into an epic fluffy multi-part behemoth that ate my brain. It’s probably not as fluffy as you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway :).
Jesse hangs his coat up carefully on its peg in the closet, pulling the sweat-damp rehearsal clothes from his rucksack before nudging the bag inside as well and shutting the door on the rather messier-than-Rachel-would-like-it cubbyhole. He runs a tentative hand through his hair, grimacing as his fingers catch in clumps and tangles of hair-gel. Maybe he should nab a spritz of Rachel's lacquer instead of his usual wax. Either way: a shower before bed is definitely required.
He disposes of his sweatpants and tee in the washing machine and shuffles towards the bathroom on autopilot, smiling vaguely at the prospect of hot, steamy water soothing away the aches in every muscle of his body (and the hideous sweat clumps in his hair. God, maybe it's time to resurrect the sweatband). He pops the button on his jeans and pulls his shirt halfway up over his head in anticipation-- which maybe explains why he doesn’t see the crouching form of his wife pressed against the outside of their daughter's bedroom door before he almost face-plants into the carpet tripping over her.
"Rachel? What are you--?"
"Shhh!" Rach hisses, pressing a vehement finger to her lips. Jesse does as he’s told-- as is usually safest with Rachel.
He pulls his shirt back down over his stomach, mirroring Rach's position and pressing himself against the other side of Maria's door.
"What are you doing?" he asks, exceptionally quietly.
Rachel meets his eyes with a traumatised expression. She places her palm gently against the wood.
"Just listen." she whispers back, voice uneven.
Jesse controls his curiosity just long enough to feign aloofness, raising his eyebrows slightly; then he does as she asks, pressing his ear against the door.
Maria's first solo performance? He ponders in anticipation. A pitch-perfect and unexpected rendition of Memory perhaps (a new touring production of ‘Cats’ had just arrived at the Ahmanson) underscored with a special melancholy by the sweet, childish voice of the talented but as-of-yet undeveloped vocalist?
He strains his ears. Or maybe just a simple song, Twinkle Twinkle, belted out with the innocence of someone still in the un-self-consciousness of baby-hood, every note clear and perfect and resonant in a way no kindergarten teacher has ever sang it.
Slowly, the lyrics resolve in Jesse’s ears: "…put ‘em together and what have you got? Bibbity bobbity boo!"
But it's not the words that Rachel is making those big, saucer-like eyes at.
"Salicatoo-amamamam..."
It's the voice. God, it's that voice.
Jesse brings his free hand up to his mouth, unable to help biting down on his thumb. He meets his wife's eyes, no longer caring about the stringy locks brushed messily across his forehead, or the pain in his body, or the relief of the shower.
Maria's sweet, oblivious song continues in his left ear:
"Cinderelly-cindrelly..."
"She's tired." he hears himself whisper "She's had a cold for weeks, her sinuses are clearly chock-full of mucus."
Rachel gazes imploringly at him: "She had dairy after 7pm."
"That'll be it." Jesse agrees, nodding. "It's the dairy."
But his stomach is still sinking, as his daughter's lyrics putter off into half-known words and la la las. Rachel's normally full, pink mouth has vanished into a tight line.
"Maybe she's using the voice-changer?" Jesse suggests weakly. "The one that came with that Sesame Street Cookie Monster thing?"
Rachel shakes her head, her slack, pale face the vision of despair.
"She's awful." she murmurs flatly, eventually, clutching for Jesse's hand: "Maria Melanie Berry-StJames simply cannot hold a note."
Behind the door, Maria burbles another happy, oblivious chorus as her exceptionally gifted and hard-working parents cling to each other and try to understand how on earth this could have happened.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
xxx
Fandom: Glee future!fic
Pairings/Characters: Rachel/Jesse, Kurt/Puck (vague implied), Maria Melanie Berry-St.James (OC), random appearances by some old friends.
Challenge/Prompt: A super late response to x_clemonlemon 's prompt on the glee_fluff_meme: Rachel and Jesse realise their daughter cannot hold a note and is completely tone-deaf. Cue the horror. Bonus! for their reasons as to why she's tone deaf.
Rating: PG, for the odd unexpected f-bomb.
Word Count: (This part) 617
Genre: Gen
Copyright: I don’t own ‘Glee’ or anything to do with it.; I just have vivid hallucinations.
Summary: "She's awful." Rachel murmurs flatly, eventually, clutching for Jesse's hand: "Maria Melanie Berry-St.James simply cannot hold a note."
Author’s Notes: Ok, so, this was meant to be a ficlet and turned into an epic fluffy multi-part behemoth that ate my brain. It’s probably not as fluffy as you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway :).
Jesse hangs his coat up carefully on its peg in the closet, pulling the sweat-damp rehearsal clothes from his rucksack before nudging the bag inside as well and shutting the door on the rather messier-than-Rachel-would-like-it cubbyhole. He runs a tentative hand through his hair, grimacing as his fingers catch in clumps and tangles of hair-gel. Maybe he should nab a spritz of Rachel's lacquer instead of his usual wax. Either way: a shower before bed is definitely required.
He disposes of his sweatpants and tee in the washing machine and shuffles towards the bathroom on autopilot, smiling vaguely at the prospect of hot, steamy water soothing away the aches in every muscle of his body (and the hideous sweat clumps in his hair. God, maybe it's time to resurrect the sweatband). He pops the button on his jeans and pulls his shirt halfway up over his head in anticipation-- which maybe explains why he doesn’t see the crouching form of his wife pressed against the outside of their daughter's bedroom door before he almost face-plants into the carpet tripping over her.
"Rachel? What are you--?"
"Shhh!" Rach hisses, pressing a vehement finger to her lips. Jesse does as he’s told-- as is usually safest with Rachel.
He pulls his shirt back down over his stomach, mirroring Rach's position and pressing himself against the other side of Maria's door.
"What are you doing?" he asks, exceptionally quietly.
Rachel meets his eyes with a traumatised expression. She places her palm gently against the wood.
"Just listen." she whispers back, voice uneven.
Jesse controls his curiosity just long enough to feign aloofness, raising his eyebrows slightly; then he does as she asks, pressing his ear against the door.
Maria's first solo performance? He ponders in anticipation. A pitch-perfect and unexpected rendition of Memory perhaps (a new touring production of ‘Cats’ had just arrived at the Ahmanson) underscored with a special melancholy by the sweet, childish voice of the talented but as-of-yet undeveloped vocalist?
He strains his ears. Or maybe just a simple song, Twinkle Twinkle, belted out with the innocence of someone still in the un-self-consciousness of baby-hood, every note clear and perfect and resonant in a way no kindergarten teacher has ever sang it.
Slowly, the lyrics resolve in Jesse’s ears: "…put ‘em together and what have you got? Bibbity bobbity boo!"
But it's not the words that Rachel is making those big, saucer-like eyes at.
"Salicatoo-amamamam..."
It's the voice. God, it's that voice.
Jesse brings his free hand up to his mouth, unable to help biting down on his thumb. He meets his wife's eyes, no longer caring about the stringy locks brushed messily across his forehead, or the pain in his body, or the relief of the shower.
Maria's sweet, oblivious song continues in his left ear:
"Cinderelly-cindrelly..."
"She's tired." he hears himself whisper "She's had a cold for weeks, her sinuses are clearly chock-full of mucus."
Rachel gazes imploringly at him: "She had dairy after 7pm."
"That'll be it." Jesse agrees, nodding. "It's the dairy."
But his stomach is still sinking, as his daughter's lyrics putter off into half-known words and la la las. Rachel's normally full, pink mouth has vanished into a tight line.
"Maybe she's using the voice-changer?" Jesse suggests weakly. "The one that came with that Sesame Street Cookie Monster thing?"
Rachel shakes her head, her slack, pale face the vision of despair.
"She's awful." she murmurs flatly, eventually, clutching for Jesse's hand: "Maria Melanie Berry-StJames simply cannot hold a note."
Behind the door, Maria burbles another happy, oblivious chorus as her exceptionally gifted and hard-working parents cling to each other and try to understand how on earth this could have happened.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
xxx