deep_red_bells: ([Julian] You were meant for me)
It's technically his first Father's Day with a child not still wrapped up in her womb, and Baileigh wanted to make sure it was special and kicked off right with French Toast topped with strawberries, and fresh squeezed orange juice, served in bed. Along with it is a flat wrapped box containing a recent picture of Julian holding Irina in a frame Baileigh had custom made, with Irina's little handprint in the corner, engraved with the words "To Daddy, Love, Irina". Underneath that is a snap shot of Baileigh and Irina in matching yellow sundresses, wearing sunglasses and in Irina's case a little sun hat, standing in front of a brand new 560 Cruiser Yacht. Which is the Father's Day present he has waiting for him at the docks.

Sure, he already has a boat, but he said it himself, they'd need more boats when Adam seals the deal on that island!
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] Soft touch)
She does very well buying for everyone else, but finding anything for her husband is an absolute impossibility.
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Mommy & bb)


“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” --Rajneesh



It didn't seem right, to have been confined to a bed for eighteen hours and yet feel as though she'd not only run a marathon but met a troop of UFC champs at the finish line who'd knocked her down proceeded to beat her with sticks. She'd sustained a lot of injuries since she'd been called as a Slayer, and thought she knew what pain was and what her limits concerning it were. After hours of hard labor without a drop of pain medication, she discovered she'd grossly underestimated what she was capable of getting through.

It hadn't been easy. She'd yelled. She'd cried as Julian combed his fingers through her hair or dabbed the sweat from her face and neck or rubbed her back, anything to try and soothe her. She'd sworn rapidly in Spanish, used every filthy and angry curse she knew and invented a few creative and colorful phrasings of her own--probably not fit behavior for a new mother, but she'd worry about censorship once she got through the labor. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd clutched Claire's hand hard enough to fracture the bones, despite the conscious effort she made to keep her strength in check. She'd been at the point where she didn't think she could do it anymore, that she didn't have it in her to ride through another contraction, before the pushing had even started. She must have even said it out loud, because everyone around her had begun the mantra of you can do this, Bee, you can do this. They didn't add that she really didn't have much choice, kindly, but she was more than aware of that fact all the same.

For months she'd counted every little kick and stretch and shift and movement of the little person growing in her belly. They'd listened to her heartbeat at every appointment, talked to her, named her, read her fairy tales and nursery rhymes, played Mozart and Beethoven for her. She'd thought they were already completely in love with her, but she realized how wrong she'd been when she heard the first beautiful, gasping cry of her daughter in a suddenly still and small room. It was terrifying, and joyful, and just like that, all of her uncertainty was gone. They took her away, and all Baileigh could think was No, she's crying, what are you doing, you can't take her away, you have to give her to me.

It was a little startling, the way the pieces fell into place, when they finally got her cleaned up, weighed, measured and thoroughly checked, and Cain carried the swaddled and now somewhat calmed newborn and settled her into Baileigh's arms. She was so small, she could barely feel the weight of her at all, but one look into those tiny, watery eyes, eyes the very distinctive shade of deep blue that belonged only to babies and kittens, and she thought Oh, well...of course, it all makes sense now. And if the world had shifted before, it was nothing compared to the way it moved now. The world didn't just revolve around little Irina Lazarey, the entire universe did, and woe betide anyone that tried to say differently.

[JFM] 14.9

Aug. 13th, 2009 06:43 pm
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] Bedtime snuggle)

(based off this image)


It took an hour or two after Baileigh settled in for the night for the baby to decide she wanted to sleep as well. So long as mommy was moving around, baby was still. Rocked to sleep by the motion of walking, of Baileigh going about her daily routine, and roused fairly quickly when her mother took a break. She wondered if it was a preview of things to come, if little Irina Nicole would be one of those babies that needed to be held and rocked to sleep, and found that she was both dreading and looking forward to it. She wanted her baby in her arms, she wanted to meet her and know what she looked like, to hear her little voice and listen to her breathe, but once she was born, it wouldn’t be just the two of them anymore. She’d have to share her with the whole world. It was selfish, but then, Baileigh had never denied that she possessed a selfish streak.

Read more... )

Baileigh Solis
Buffy the Vampire Slayer OC
word count: 862
(yes, I faded on the smut, sue me. written for Sark's mun, who has had a horrible day and requested shiny fic *hugs* love you sweetie!)
deep_red_bells: ([F] Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly)

based off this image


She collects the symbols.

Things have changed in subtle ways over the years, after all. The types of ceremony. Religious beliefs that were lost, new trends that became popular, old customs that were remembered. She has a box full of jewelry, mostly rings, of course, made from a wide range of metals and gemstone adornments, whatever was the fashion. She’s kept a few other things. Strands of rope, wine glasses, dried vines that once held flowers twined into crowns. Sticks of incense, trinkets and gifts, wood carvings, pieces of tulle and silk and satin and cotton cut from dresses and clothing, lace garters, glass jars full of sand.

Sometimes it was necessary to keep up appearances, and sometimes they simply wanted to, for fun. Most of the time they didn’t bother with it, merely shed the old life and the names that went with it, and stepped into new roles, with new names and new rings. As husband and wife.

They know who they are, after all, in themselves, and to each other.

The rest is just symbols.


deep_red_bells: ([Julian] All smiles)

ooc: backdated to before all TEH DRAMAZ, obviously. Julian Sark is [personal profile] elementof_risk and is used with permission and love that shines and brightly as the power of a thousand suns. Or something.




Every woman knew the sort of faces they were prone to make when they did their makeup. In Baileigh’s experience, those hideously odd contortions were a necessity. Here eyeliner and mascara never looked right unless she twisted her lips to the left just so while she applied it, and she had a tendency to poke the tip of her tongue out the corner of her lips while she painted her toenails.

Apparently men were just as prone to those look as well, except her husband’s expression was more akin to that of someone holding down the pin of a grenade, or dismantling an atomic bomb.

With a soccer ball sized belly wedged between her upper torso and her toes, she’d been rather neglectful of this particular vanity, and anyone that knew Baileigh knew she was incredibly picky about her feet. There wasn’t much point in having awesome shoes if the feet they were on weren’t pedicured. After she pouted about the chipped polish for long enough, Julian volunteered to repaint them for her.

It was sweet, and cozy, to curl up on the couch with her feet in his lap, but she hadn’t been able to stop giggling since he started painting. She’d never in her life seen someone so particular and fussy and focused on perfecting nail polish before. He shot her a glare every time she giggled and jostled her feet, which only made her laugh harder, arms wrapped around her stomach to minimize the motion’s effect on the baby. Something that should’ve taken all of five, ten minutes took much longer because he insisted on starting over every time she made him smudge the paint, despite her insistence that it was okay, she wasn‘t that particular.

She made an effort to press her lips together and look repentant when the top of the bottle met the glass lip with an irritated clack. “Do you to walk around like this, love,” he drawled, indicated her one finished foot, the other still bare, the cuticle stained pinkish from multiple polish removals.

“I’ll be good,” she promised, pulling her most innocent look, and smothering a grin behind her hand as he glared at her before going back to work.
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] You were meant for me)
This is found perched on Baileigh and Sark’s bedroom dresser on Sunday morning, with a big glossy navy blue bow on top of it. Nestled inside the top compartments are several colorful, whimsical ties, carefully rolled and placed just so, a pair of sailboat cufflinks, and the newest model of the iPhone. Balanced in front of it is a card:

barf-worthy sweetness ahoy )
deep_red_bells: ([Text] Princess Huffypants)
Baileigh had just about decided that staring at the squiggling lines on the EFM readout would make anybody crazy, and she made herself stop obsessing over every little bump and rise and stare at the blank TV screen instead. “This is stupid,” she declared for the fifth or sixth time, ignoring for a moment that it had been her decision to come to the hospital and make sure nothing was wrong. “I fell. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure when I get fat and try to wear heels, I’ll fall again. The stupid vamp getting in a sucker punch has nothing to do with my uterus. I should‘ve just gone HOME. They won‘t even let me have my phone. I could at least play a game of Stick Wars, that‘d make me feel better. Julian‘d let me play Stick Wars. Stupid hospital. Stupid nurses. Stupid Cain. Stupid, stupid vampires.”

Claire looked up from where she was sitting as Bee declared once again that this whole thing was stupid. She could have pointed out that it was Bee's idea to come to the hospital but she was sure it would just fall on deaf ears once again. "We just needed to make sure the baby was fine, you did fall pretty hard." She replied as she listened to her friend rant. "They're probably worried about your phone interfering with the machines here or whatever." She nodded to the machine that was currently attached to Bee.

“I’ve fallen way harder,” Baileigh pointed out, pouting down at the transducers strapped to her abdomen. They itched, stupid, stupid things, and they kept having to move them because Beanie kept moving and they were losing her heartbeat. Hi, duh. She was moving, wasn‘t that a good sign? “Okay, yes, that was before. Before is before. But she’s fine. I’d know if she wasn’t fine. This is stupid. Julian’s going to flip, Cain flipped, Annie’s gonna flip and they’re all gonna put me on house arrest-- stupid fucking vampires.” She plucked at the soft, worn scrub pants they’d given her to wear. “I’m kinda pissed the last one got away,” she finally admitted, glowering. “The bitch bit you. She needs to die. Any other time she would‘ve.”

Claire almost felt bad for the fact that she had been the one to contact the others; not Julian because he deserved to know but maybe she felt a little bad for calling Cain who then called Annie. She knew they were going to flip out. "It's okay, I'll come keep you company?" She offered with a faint smile as she crossed her ankles, glancing over at the machine to watch the heart beat for a moment before looking back. "It's okay, I'm fine." She motioned at her neck. "See, no bite marks." But she could understand and she did with a little frown. "I'm kind of pissed she got away too. Do you think she saw me heal?" There was something else she wanted to ask.

In which Claire gets bad ideas, and Baileigh is singularly unhelpful in dissuading her from them. )

ooc: anyone else in the verse who's in the state is more than welcome to stop by as well, I just have limited subject room and those were the muses I knew were on their way. :P
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] All smiles)

Well, we’re married, so I think it stands to reason that yes, we live together. It’s us, our two dogs, and…huh, in about four and a half months, a baby.

Of course, we were living together before then--yay for living in sin? Personally I don’t think you should marry someone without living with them first. I mean, really--people have quirks and habits that can, potentially, drive you nuts. You should be aware of these things before you take a step as big as marriage.

It’s funny…I used to be one of those people that had to have their own space. I’d never lived with a guy before. I hated to feel smothered. I wanted my space for me. My things. My towels and my underwear drawer and my stuff in the shower and bathroom put up just how I wanted it. I didn’t like feeling…crowded.

And then Spike shacked up in my basement. Of course, I didn’t really have to worry about him encroaching all up in my personal space because we weren’t like that, and he didn’t really eat anything save for the occasional cereal or vanilla wafers crushed up in his cup of blood (which, hm, I haven’t eaten vanilla wafers since then, come to think of it), and he was pretty good about replacing any booze he drank (he was more of a beer guy anyway, and I hate beer, so), and if he left the toilet seat up or put wet towels in the floor I could just, you know, punch him. Still, I think things worked out pretty well. It was a good stepping stone. Having a roommate, to living in a dorm type environment with the girls, to living with Julian.

And honestly, he’s most definitely the easiest to live with, and I’m not just saying that because I love him.

He never forgets the toilet seat.

[CP] 61.6

Apr. 21st, 2009 10:01 am
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Teary eyed)

Discuss a time when you doubted the strength of your relationship.

=========================================

It still fit. It was snug, slightly uncomfortable when she sat down, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to bend over--but then, who the hell bends over in their wedding dress anyway?

Baileigh stood in front of the mirror and stared blandly at her reflection, toyed experimentally with her hair and tucked the mass of curls back into pins. She tried it on almost daily, not out of the breathless anticipation of most brides--or at least not solely that--but because she was terrified it would be too smile when it came time for her to walk down the aisle.

It was a beautiful dress. Pale gold with just a hint of silver brocade on the bodice. It suited her, complimented her figure. The material was elegant without being overly delicate, she didn‘t do well with delicate fabric. She’d walk barefoot down the aisle, which might be a surprise to some, but after finding the pretty crystal barefoot sandals it seemed like a better decision. No one would be able to see her shoes anyway. She had everything. Her jewelry. Her garter and lingerie. Every accessory and detail taken care of.

Pinpointing the source of her sudden loss of excitement and sparkle wasn’t difficult. She fiddled with her tiara and her veil , smoothed her hair. The little voice in the back of her head kept hissing at her. He only asked you to marry him because he thought you were gonna die. Now you’ve quit slaying and he’ll be stuck with you. You were stupid and got yourself pregnant--how long do you think it’ll take before he’s had enough? You’re making him change. This isn’t what he wanted. Who the hell are you kidding?

She sat down in the closest chair, bent over and rested her head in her hands as tears threatened--or tried, and the fabric resisted and constricted her movements, which did nothing to help her calm the sobs that threatened. She stood up and fought at the zipper in a tearful fit. Shut up, she thought savagely. Just shut up, stop it. You’re being ridiculous.

Except the voice didn’t go away, and she left her dress in a crumpled heap on the chair.

Muse: Baileigh Solis
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Alias crossover
Word Count: 370
Partner: Julian Sark ([personal profile] elementof_risk), rp based
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] You were meant for me)

ooc: the mun apologizes for her lateness, though she did try to make up for her lack of wanting to mess with photoshop and looking for pictures and all that yesterday with writing, which she did want to do, but anyway.

Birthday presents and whatnot )
deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Sex)
ooc: written for [personal profile] elementof_risk at their request; any mistakes are mine and mine alone. This is set earlier in Baileigh's pregnancy, probably at about seven or eight weeks. :)


"Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it."



Satin and underwire might not make much noise being thrown across the room, but the sound of feet stomping angrily across the floor was more than enough to alert those downstairs that all was not right in the upstairs bedroom. Sark found Baileigh sitting on the edge of the bed, the room slightly humid and scented with the steam and soap and perfume combination of a fresh shower. Her hair was damp, makeup freshly applied, her skin glowing and clean--and she was clothed in nothing but her underwear, clutching a blouse to her chest and glaring at a pile of bras across the room, a myriad of colors and lace. She looked as though each piece had done her a great, personal wrong, as though she were about to cry. “Love?”

They don't fit anymore. )


deep_red_bells: ([Text] Brown Eyed Girl)

ooc: um...IDK? I felt like writing? Obviously it's not binding to any muses mentioned, it's just cute birthday fic for Sark and his mun? Set after paintball and dinner during drinks and cards at Sark and Baileigh's place. Technically his birthday's not til tomorrow, but celebrations were planned for today because honestly, what's there to do on a Sunday? Forgive me if I messed anyone up, for I love you all very muchly. :P


“It was cheating.”

“It was tactics!”

“Tactics?! You pretended to sprain your ankle!”

“And I played the ‘Don’t shoot, I surrender!’ card on Hiro, and he totally fell for that, too! Geez, let it go, it’s not our fault you’re all noble and gullible. It's a dog-eat-dog world, Petrelli.”

Peter laughed and sent a mock glare up at Baileigh over the fan of his playing cards as she smiled innocently and set a drink down in front of Mohinder. “Don’t you think it takes just a little bit of the fun out of it? You playing the damsel so Sark can shoot us in the back?”

“Considering the huge advantages you guys had over us? Nope.”

“Hey, we balanced the abilities!”

“Oh, please. We were at a clear disadvantage and we kicked your asses brilliantly. Juuuuuust admit it.”

“That’s enough, love,” Julian interrupted, calmly re-arranging his cards with a barely concealed smug smile. “Let them retain their pride.”

“Nooooo, I’m on the winning team, that means I’m entitled to gloat, and CRUSH their pride under my heel, like this.” She stomped the heel of her shoe lightly against the floor and twisted her foot for emphasis, and pouted at Julian’s raised eyebrow. “Oh, fine.” She bent down to steal a kiss before taking her place at the table and settling in to arrange her own hand of cards.

“You did not have to shoot us so many times,” Hiro put in, rubbing his shoulder with an uncomfortable grimace.

“Tell me about it, I still haven’t gotten this crap out of my hair,” Claire sighed, playfully trying to sneak a peek at Baileigh’s cards.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch--hey!” she squealed and snatched her cards to her chest, nudged Claire with her elbow.

“Children,” Adam chastised mildly at the giggling/shoving match that ensued.

It wasn’t surprising, considering that neither of them could stop giggling long enough to take the game seriously, that Baileigh and Claire were the first to run out of chips, but as there was ice cream and cupcakes in the kitchen to be nibbled at and a cake to be ‘ooo’ed over and prepared with candles, it worked out fairly well. They kept the drinks coming while the menfolk did their best to out-bluff each other and Sylar and Peter were accused more than once of using telepathy to cheat.

The final bickering match was broken up by Claire dimming the lights so Baileigh could bring the lit cake to the table. It was the most masculine birthday cake she could find, which was surprisingly more difficult than it should‘ve been, “Anyone sings, I will shoot you,” she warned, setting the cake down in front of Julian.

“Awww!”

“Shush, Claire.” Baileigh bent down and rested her head on Julian’s shoulder, kissed his cheek lightly. He looked both somewhat dubious, and somewhat overwhelmed, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed briefly before straightening. “Make a wish, babe,” she murmured, and sent a smile to the rest of the table. “Anyone claps, I will also shoot you.”

“You mean you’ll distract us so Sark can shoot us.”

Adam sighed lightly as Julian gamely extinguished the candles with a puff of breath. “Let it go, love.”


deep_red_bells: ([Julian] A killer pair)

They were roomies.

It didn't seem to matter that they'd technically been together for over a year, or that they were getting married next month, or that they would have a baby in six months--they were roommates. Getting anything out of Julian when he was in these moods still took a team of wild horses. She tried not to let it bother her, tried to remind herself that it was how he'd been brought up, how he had to be, but dear God--a year. And he still failed miserably at communication.

Part of her wanted to snap and lash out and yell, still. She couldn't promise herself that she wouldn't, but she was going to try talking first.

She scooped Irina-the-puppy up in her arms--a feat which was getting harder every day and would be impossible soon--kissed the top of her fuzzy head in apology before sitting her down on the floor and taking her place beside Julian on the couch. In typical dog fashion, the puppy shook it off--literally--and trotted off into the kitchen, most likely to eat. "What's wrong?" she asked simply, settling against the cushions and throw pillows and propping her chin in her hand. Not much point in beating about the bush--especially after the snideness and the slamming doors and the nearly two bottles of wine.

deep_red_bells: ([Text] She's a big girl now)

It was funny how weeks of non-stop questions and excitement over shopping for school clothes and supplies and perusing through backpacks and lunch boxes until finally choosing the perfect one seemed to dissolve at the realization that from now on, she would have to wake up at 6 A.M. on the weekdays. It took a lot of effort for Baileigh not to giggle at the sleepy-eyed pout they kept receiving from across the kitchen table over a half-eaten bowl of Fruit Loops, as though the inevitability of growing up and therefore being forced to deal with the world at an earlier hour was something that her parents intentionally inflicted on their daughter.

It is her time, watch her run, with ribbons undone )
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Lips and hair)
So, I don't know how many of you know it, but Julian's birthday is April 4th. I'd like to have a party of some sort for him. Who's in?
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] You were meant for me)

Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones


I don't know...it's just pretty and has been in my head.
deep_red_bells: ([Julian] You were meant for me)

On the surface, you probably wouldn't think so. We're opposite in a lot of ways. He's a bit reserved--not in the sense that he's quiet, so much as very controlled. You never really know he's thinking. He's Mister Cool, Calm, and Collected. I? Am loud. I wear my heart right out there on my sleeves. I'm emotional, or, as the ninety nine thousand memes I've done say, passionate. I usually say hotheaded, but whatever. Our personalities, you would think, would be completely at odds. You wouldn't think we could put up with each other. You'd think we would argue all the time. And even deeper, our 'motivations', as he puts it, fall on opposite sides of the line. We're even complete opposites visually, as shallow as that is: he's fair skinned, blonde haired and blue eyed, and I'm...well. Tejano. As in jet black hair and olive skin and boring brown eyes.

As it turns out, though, all of that works in our favor (disregarding the physical comment--I think it's pretty obvious we look damn good together). We have just enough similarities--important similarities--to connect, and understand each other. So that instead of clashing, we balance each other. He brings out all these things in me that I never thought I had--boldness, confidence, a sense of adventure--and I hope I do the same for him. I try to pull him out of that control and make him laugh, and smile, and play. He's patient enough to tolerate my outbursts, and most of the time he's the only one that can calm me down and keep me grounded.

And on top of that and most importantly, we love each other. John Lennon wasn't completely right--love is not all you need. But it does go a long, long way to overcome a lot of things.

Plus, fantastic sex. What? That's important too.



deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Serene)

[ooc: inspried by this conversation. [livejournal.com profile] elementof_risk used with permission and a whole lotta love]

“…What are you doing?”

Baileigh quickly slid a piece of construction paper over the infamous mouse ears picture, but she could tell by the look on his face that he’d already seen it. She bit her lower lip and gave him the best sweet, wide-eyed innocent look that she could produce; it was a shame he never fell for those. Damn. “Scrapbooking?”

“Give me the picture.”

She squealed and snatched up the incriminating evidence before he could and hugged it protectively to her chest, turning away and shaking her head. “Uh-uh, no!! Mine!”

“Baileigh, as much as I may love you, you are not putting that in a photo album--”


“Scrapbook!”

“--glorified and ridiculously overdone photo album--”

Her mouth fell open. “They are not!”

Julian sighed and made the face that she’d come to think of as his ‘gathering patience’ face. “We agreed that if you weren’t going to burn it, it wouldn’t be shown to anyone.”

“It won’t be!” She pouted again, quivered her lower lip. “This is just for me! I swear, I’m gonna be the only person to look at it. Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye and you know I don‘t kid around when it comes to sharp objects close to the cornea.”

He didn‘t appear convinced. “No one makes those things just for themselves, love.”

“I do!” She put on her best pout and gathered the album up in her arms as well, lest he decide to take it and hold it as ransom. “This is totally and completely, one hundred percent, just for me. In fact, you know what, you can't even look at it. You don't have the clearance. That's how exclusive these pictures are. And I promise if we‘re ever raided by the CIA this picture the first thing that goes into the shredder, but you should also know that your continued happiness? May very well depend on this scrapbooks continued existence.”

She kept her poker face as he studied her--it wasn’t hard to make it seem like she meant it, since, well, she kind of meant it--and when he finally sighed, she knew that she’d most definitely won. “Don’t leave it lying about. You never know what the puppy might decide to chew on.”

“Duly noted.” She beamed at him and settled back down on the couch comfortably. “Hand me those glitter pens, would you please?”

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Baileigh Solis

December 2010

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