#I do actually have a title but I think leaving the document name as is is much funnier

[moonchildstyles]

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days. 

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once. 

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently. 

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving. 

(Y/N) stayed silent. 

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her. 

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes." 

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?" 

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in. 

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations. 

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence. 

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—" 

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?" 

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned. 

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway." 

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks. 

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait. 

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media. 

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face. 

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources. 

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said. 

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining. 

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her. 

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either. 

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this." 

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her. 

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone. 

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave." 

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being. 

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her. 

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble." 

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" 

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you." 

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then. 

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise." 

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?" 

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care. 

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me." 

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this. 

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate. 

(Y/N) only shook her head. 

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug. 

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse. 

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here. 

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago. 

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears. 

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing. 

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on. 

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them. 

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know." 

"I know, bu—" 

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear. 

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought. 

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?" 

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club. 

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?" 

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up." 

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—" 

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered. 

"See you soon, honey! Love you!" 

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something." 

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece." 

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary. 

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence." 

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned. 

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car. 

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night." 

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown. 

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue. 

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting. 

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point. 

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet. 

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here." 

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing.  She didn't even know how to reciprocate. 

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office. 

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her. 

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room. 

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father. 

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing. 

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)." 

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her. 

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze. 

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms. 

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes. 

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face. 

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her. 

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him. 

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her. 

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck. 

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing? 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down. 

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges. 

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat. 

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates. 

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her. 

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him. 

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that." 

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched. 

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse." 

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's. 

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day. 

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized." 

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay." 

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey. 

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that." 

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side. 

"Okay." 

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she. 

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her. 

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown." 

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning. 

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?" 

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me." 

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him." 

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out. 

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young. 

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming. 

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all." 

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling." 

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!" 

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you." 

"Love you, too! Bye!" 

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her. 

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment. 

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox. 

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did. 

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about. 

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way. 

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security. 

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own. 

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together. 

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be. 

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team." 

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!" 

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get. 

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now. 

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side. 

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this. 

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway. 

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door. 

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in." 

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment. 

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you." 

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face. 

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt. 

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here. 

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client. 

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within. 

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls. 

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows. 

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him. 

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know." 

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears. 

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being. 

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed. 

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything." 

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm." 

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls? 

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets. 

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail. 

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me." 

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company." 

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from." 

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere." 

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her. 

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday." 

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything." 

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad." 

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?" 

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win. 

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems." 

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment. 

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person. 

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere. 

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone. 

Her lips thinned. "No." 

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother." 

"Right. I won't." 

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was. 

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment. 

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it." 

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad." 

"Night." 

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager. 

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell. 

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her. 

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over. 

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence. 

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep. 

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior. 

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then. 

Until the banging knocks started. 

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already. 

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator. 

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about. 

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand. 

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat. 

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?" 

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place. 

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while." 

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed. 

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft. 

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want." 

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space. 

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress. 

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this. 

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again. 

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far. 

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away. 

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything. 

Life could be so unfair sometimes. 

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning. 

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up. 

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you." 

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it." 

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup. 

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch. 

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself." 

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them. 

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection. 

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch. 

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go." 

Harry blinked at her. "Okay." 

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room. 

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal. 

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex. 

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to. 

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face. 

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby. 

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests. 

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver." 

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake. 

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice. 

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror. 

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face. 

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages. 

Fran🫧

      are u bringing your bodyguard????? 

      jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time???? 

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed. 

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle. 

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror. 

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up." 

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before. 

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side. 

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say." 

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him. 

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer." 

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you." 

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers. 

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings. 

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this? 

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture? 

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe. 

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen. 

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that. 

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—" 

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here." 

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was. 

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him. 

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?" 

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please." 

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism. 

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush. 

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her. 

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest. 

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning." 

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all." 

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry. 

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today." 

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today." 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me." 

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious. 

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana." 

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered. 

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted. 

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her. 

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall. 

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze. 

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons. 

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear. 

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week." 

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on. 

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive. 

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys." 

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma. 

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime. 

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more. 

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?" 

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here." 

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—" 

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now." 

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself. 

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes. 

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off. 

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life. 

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on? 

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind. 

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..." 

—————

"You really have to go home?" 

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug. 

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

 Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips. 

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got." 

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home. 

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow. 

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing. 

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her. 

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge. 

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head. 

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?" 

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter. 

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?" 

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once." 

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again. 

"Y'didn't drink today." 

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No." 

"Why not?" 

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it." 

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets. 

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry. 

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job. 

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought. 

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway. 

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath. 

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch. 

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

     morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home ! 

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal. 

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly. 

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city. 

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today." 

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures. 

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn." 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored. 

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it. 

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions." 

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between. 

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like. 

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger. 

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process. 

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back. 

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through. 

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head. 

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second. 

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now." 

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her. 

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone. 

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway. 

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go." 

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes. 

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again. 

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was. 

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind. 

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms. 

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child. 

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question. 

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt." 

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands. 

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you." 

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say. 

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal." 

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her. 

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text." 

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her. 

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt. 

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal. 

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer. 

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over." 

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page." 

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod. 

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day. 

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out. 

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all. 

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention. 

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge. 

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst. 

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes. 

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines. 

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings. 

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful. 

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal. 

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

[idyat]

An idea

Hank x reader angst/fluff

Like reader getting Hurt and Hank going insanelly mad/protective over them 👀👀

Hank x reader

Insert Title

Summary: You almost die lmao

WARNINGS: Pretty hefty description of gore, blood and an almost dead body, reader gets shot lol

--------------------------------------------------

The alarm screamed as you ran through the halls, emptied out gun in one hand, the other trying its best to reach for your tablet and balance the files you were told to steal at the same time.

When you got it, you checked to make sure you were going the right direction. North West, drive-through storage room, perfect.

On your way there you smashed the alarm disabler off once you passed by it, for good measure. You winced from the glass shards but at least that damn noise was finally off. Picking up a gun from a dead agent, you ran down the building to where you needed to go as fast as possible before any reinforcements come and rough you up even more than you already were.

Eventually reaching the room you were supposed to exit through, you see a strange contraption on the door. You slowed down to check it out, make sure it's not a bomb, and it's...got S.Q inscripted on it? What the fuck?

A weird machine-looking thing with S.Q's logo or whatever tapped on it, stuck on th-

You hear a click and a beeping noise.

As you turn around, you barely have time to see yellow before a shot echoes in the room.

Fuck. You forgot how clever those engineer bastards could be.

* * *

"Hank? Do you hear me?"

Hank brought his bloody hand up to his earpiece.

"Loud and clear. What do you want Doc?"

2BDamned was lucky he only interrupted Hank after he was done killing all the agents in the room, otherwise he would have gotten a way ruder response, if any at all.

Hank wasn't eager on actually listening to anything that was about to be said to him, until the name of his lover was brought up.

"They were supposed to have left the base with the documents by now, but their tracker has been backing away from the exit? I think something happened to them. North-west, 1st floor storage room."

2B didn't need to tell Hank what to do, the latter dropped the corpse he was holding and rushed out like a raging ghost, ready to mow down whatever came across his path.

* * *

The engineer dragged his last victim's body along the floor as he communicated what he found on them.

"Yup, they were the one with the files. Gotta say, I'm surprised at how easy it was to trick them, I might as well have wiggled a cardboard cutout of Nick and they would've fallen for it!"

The radio-like voice laughed before quieting down when something was said in the intercom.

"Make sure to check if they're dead. Stay wary of your surroundings too, last time we checked the rest of 'em were still here."

"Yeah yeah. I'm using a big caliber, I'm sure it'll be good."

The ATP brought the body up to his eyes. There were indeed multiple gaping holes in their body, slowly gushing out blood and leaving a red trail behind him.

"Your optimism will be your downfall engineer, be careful."

"If you say so. Hey, now that we've mentioned Nick, tell him to buy me some smokes when he lea-"

The engineer suddenly whipped his body around, gun pulled up.

"...I heard something. Over."

It's funny how serious he just got, pointing his flashlight and weapon at every corner of the room, slowly advancing, dragging your body with much more care than before.

He begins going down the hall just a little bit faster. Both out of safety, and maybe because of a tiny prick of fear.

While he power walks, he looks back behind him one last time, just to check. The next thing he knew, he bumped against a tall bloody mass.

Just like you, the last thing he saw before blacking out was the splashing of his own blood.

But despite the burning rage, the want to hear this asshole scream until its lungs were fried, the killing machine threw the two halves of the body to the wall and fell to his knees, hands shaking in a frenzy to find out how to make rudimentory treatments before his dearest bled out.

All he could do at the moment was rip up tissues to stuff into the bullet holes and wrap a bandage around the wounds. He would have just torn off hunks of his own flesh to replace yours, but he wasn't yet sure if not only that would lead to an infection or not, or if that would even work any better than cloth.

Even when unconscious, your hands twitched at his first-aid attempts. It hurt. He knew it hurt. But he couldn't do anything about it. And on fucking god if that didn't break his heart. That and the dread of watching the life essence still slowly flow out of you as he called up to Doc.

"Emergency. NOW."

He held you up and ran to the car. No one could see it, but he was praying to any deity that may be left up there for you to be okay.

Protecting you was the best thing he knew to do. Even more than murder. And failing even this once would be a fate worse than an eternity of hell.

* * *

Pain. That was all you felt as the medbay light made you tear up slightly.

You closed your eyes, trying to sleep just a bit more, and potentially numb the horrible pain in your chest, but your attention is now also caught by the muffled voices in the room.

It takes a few minutes and what feels like a few injections for you to finally fully regain consciousness. When your sight unblurs, arm on the forehead to block out the brightness and pain, you see two red circles staring down at you.

"...Hi sweetie."

Hank almost jumps in happiness to his partner speaking up, his cold and calloused hands rubbing over your arm and sides, careful not to touch your many injuries.

"Excited, big guy...?" You tiredly say as you wrapped your arm around his and kissed his wrist. Your voice was weak, but you were smiling and alive and that's all that mattered to him at that moment. "Anything...what happened...?"

"You got shot."

Your eyes widen a bit, you didn't notice 2BDamned in the room until he spoke up while analyzing you a little more.

"Well...yeah, I figured. Anything else?"

"Hank over here finally understood how to not use food wrappings as bandages."

You let out a raspy chuckle. Hank definitely didn't care though, he was too focused on making sure you wouldn't faint and die at any moment.

It took a few minutes before Doc left the room. A few minutes of desperately trying to get to you for further examination without Hank giving him a death glare and pulling his partner away, closer to him.

When 2B finally left the room, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you as gently as possible and pulled you in, resting his head in the crook of your neck and relishing in the feeling of your living skin against his.

"Hanky? You alright?"

"No."

You softly hug him back with a sympathetic look on your face. He was breathing heavily, maybe even shaking a little. He hadn't let you go ever since you woke up, in fact his grip only got tighter and tighter, as if you would fade back away the moment he stopped.

"Hey, it's okay. It was just another little shot, nothing new."

You smile and rub his back, completely unaware of the hours spent to heal you back, of how many times you've flatlined during it, of all the empty blood packets sitting in the trash bin, of how they've genuinely considered just letting you die so they can bring you back later, of all the injections, bandages, tissues, spare organs, and most impirtantly, of how fucking scared Hank was.

Could he have been there to hold your hand while you agonised under 2BDamned, god damn he would have. He would have held it tighter and with more love than any gun he's ever handled. Maybe that's why he seemed so angry at Doc. As reasonable as it was, not being able to get any closer than 10 feet from the love of his life while they were nearly dead was torture.

But it was over now. He could hold you close without your blood staining his clothes. You gotta admit, it was quite pleasant to have basically a living ice pack against you when your entire body felt like you were going through a blender.

You two kept quiet for a bit, appreciating the contact with your lover, before he whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I should've been there."

"You couldn't have known. I should have been more careful if anything."

Hank lifted his head up from your neck before grabbing your cheeks and digging his eyes into yours.

"Don't say that. You got me?"

Your smile widened a bit.

"Sure."

His head fell back onto you after that. How adorable was it to see a ruthless genocidal maniac cuddling up to you like a cat.

--------------------------------------------------

"..."

"Did you save the intel?"

"Fuck if I know. Ask Doc."

"Later. I prefer cuddles right now."

I got lazy with the end sorry

[the-offside-rule]

George Russell (Mercedes AMG) - Academic Rival

Requested: yes and I WOULD ARGUE THIS HAS BEEN ONE OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS TO WRITE

Prompt: 13) "Sometimes I think you do these things just to annoy me."

15) "You're a wonderful person. Don't ever forget that."

Academic Rivals with George Russell

Warnings: bout to be converted to a George girly

"Russell. George! Hey George Russell wake up!"

George snapped awake, looking around confused as his fellow classmates were leaving the lecture hall. "Late night?" He looked up to see Y/n, a girl in his class that he simply despised. She sat a few rows behind him and since they began university, they have been practically rivals. It had been tit for tat on who would get the better test result, who would get the better assignment result, who would get the better anything. "Very, if you must know. Had to finish that assignment that was due this morning." He replied, stretching back in his chair. "Well at least you got it done. I sent mine in last week." Geofge scoffed. "And I am simply delighted that you had enough free time to send it in before me." He replied in a harsh tone. "I've been sending the assignments in before you for the past few weeks, George. Not falling behind, are you?" He stood up quickly and began packing his bag. "Absolutely not! I've just been caught up recently, that's all." She chuckled. "If that's what you want to call it." Y/n opened her refill pad and ripped out a few pieces of paper,before handing them to George. He looked between her and the paper confused. "What is this?" He asked.

"I took the liberty of writing your notes for you." Y/n mumbled, handing him the paper. George examined each piece carefully, seeing her perfect handwriting of her notes on the topic. "You wrote these?" He asked. Y/n nodded and turned to leave. She was just about at the door when she heard the brit call her name, making her look back at him. "Thank you." He muttered, placing them into his folder and walking out of the class behind her. "So what are the plans for this evening?" George asked. "I have a date. My friend set me up so I'm hoping it's not a philosophy student again." George chuckled at the girl. "I'm gonna head this way. My flat is closer to this side." George said. "That's fine. I suppose I'll see you after mid-term?"

"You definitely will. Can't have You having an upper hand on me." Y/n smiled. "Not after today's naptime." George joked. The pair chuckled before bidding their goodbyes and walking their separate ways to their usual study places. Hers being the study hall and his being the old library.

Y/n smiled as she spotted her friend Debs sat at their usual spot with her coffee cup and her headphones connected to her phone and undoubtedly playing Taylor Swift's folklore again. "Hey Debs." Y/n smiled as she sat down and began to set up. "Hey, Y/n. How was class today then?" She asked. "Well, Russell fell asleep. It was funny to see." Y/n replied. "Ah, so noe you have blackmail material. Wonderful." Debs joked. "Actually, I wrote the notes out for him." Y/n questioned the silence after she said that. She looked up to see Debs staring at her eith a shocked expression plastered all over her face. "What?" She asked. "You helped George? Why would you do that? You hate eachother!" Y/n rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Debs. I think it's just a case of us actually maturing now that it's our last year I university together. Just kind of-" Y/n's face dropped as her eyes scanned her files for her document titled Mid-Term assignment but nothing. "Debs....I think I deleted my assignment. Or it didn't save or- fuck!" Debs scooted over to Y/n and scrolled through the laptop while the poor girl beside her, sat with her head in her hands. "Maybe you saved it somewhere else?" She asked. "No, I always save it here. I was working on it this morning! I-"

"Y/l/n." She groaned as she heard the all to familiar voice of her class rival, George Russell trailing behind her. "What the hell do you want?" She asked, continuing to walk and not dignified the brit with a glance. "Studying again?" He grinned. "Yes, I always do." She replied. "It's a shame you have to actually try to be here. It's like you almost don't belong." She scoffed. "And it's almost as if the only reason you're here is because your dad bribed the board." George clenched his jaw before walking over to a table nearby and setting himself up. "What the fuck is he doing studying here? Thats-"

"I'm just gonna have to go to my dorm and start over. All my notes and references I used are up there." Y/n said in a panicked state, began packing everything up and didn't bother herself with why her classmate wasn't studying in his usual spot. She didn't have the time. Every second mattered in this moment. "Debs, I'm I'm sorry. I'll call you tomorrow but I can't right now." Y/n said as she stood up quickly and hurled the bag across her back, grabbing the attention of a particular classmate nearby. She and Debs briefly exchanged goodbyes, before Y/n set off running to her dorm to quickly throw together her mid-term paper.

A few hours later, Y/n had just about managed to find half of her notes and that's about it. She groaned and chucked yet another folder to the corner and onto the next. A sudden knock caught her off guard from the task at hand. She figured it was just Debs coming to say goodbye before her parents came to pick her up so she sat up off the ground and opened the door with a bright smile, only for it to change to one of pure confusion as she was faced with George.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Y/n grumbled, looking up at her rival. "Well I heard your assignment got deleted." He said. "And what? You're here to laugh?" She arched a brow. "No, I want to help. I have some websites. Might be helpful?" Her face softened at his words. He wanted to help her? "Thanks." She muttered. George pushed past her into the room, taking his scarf off. "Right, you start writing, I'll put on some hot chocolate. Do you like marshmallows? Wait a minute-" He looked in the cupboards. "Do you even have marshmallows?" She shook her head confused. "Right, I'm heading to tesco. They should be open. I'll be right back!" He quickly tied his scarf back around his neck. "Wait, what? What are you doing?" Y/n asked as he walked off. "I just explained-"

"Yeah but you said your train back home goes at twenty past eight. It's a quarter to eight and the train station is a fifteen minute drive away." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's no problem, I'll just get the first one tomorrow." He reassured her and opened up his laptop laptop the websites her had. "Right, so these are the websites I used. Very helpful, but you might already have your references sorted out. So I'll leave you alone with my assignment and these websites and I'll head out. I'll be right back." George smiled and headed towards the door.

"I don't understand." She muttered, amking George stop in the doorway. "You don't have to Y/l/n. I'm trying to help my fellow classmate." He said. "But there's no reason that you of all people should be looking to help me." George chuckled and tied the scarf around his neck. "Think of it as paying it back for today. Its no big deal, swear." George said, going to close the door behind him but stopping to give the last word, as he usually did. "It's nice how you remembered when my train went though." He winked and closed the door, leaving Y/n and her burning red cheeks. She let out a shakey sigh as she tried to steady her heart. Did she...no! Out of the question! Its George, for God's sake!

He- he's kinda sweet.

[syninplays]

So uhm... I did a thing...

✨Character Info Template✨

Been meaning to do this a long time ago (and actually started it but never finished it, lol) as a way to share some more information about my ocs without needing to use a custom page theme, but mostly because I haven't found any page theme that looks exactly as I want and allows this much customization.

There are two versions and both are almost exactly the same; but the example shown in the left has an 'appearance' section which is small and has few quick facts regarding the oc's appearance; while the example on the right has a 'moodboard' section instead which allows you to add more info about your oc.

You can change every section/title to fit your needs like I did in the examples below; I personally removed some categories as well and got rid of some connections as this oc doesn't have that many close friends/partners to fill the original template. However, I also included an extra separated 'connections' section in the download in case you want to add more people and more information.

I recommend you stick to square-shaped pictures so it's easier to fit them to each section. Also if and when you edit the information or section titles, please select only one line at a time to replace it so you don't lose the text format. (Titles shouldn't change because that's a single format/font within the same text box, but should it change you can always hit ctrl+z hehe) When you're done, I strongly recommend you save this as a .png instead of .jpg so it's the best possible quality!

Last but not least, this is a .psd file. So you'll need either Photoshop (I did this with Photoshop Portable, but it supports newer versions of PS and it *should* support older versions too) or Photopea to open and edit this file.

Credits: Adobe Photoshop, Inter font, Golften Vintage font

>DOWNLOAD< (patreon but free :p)

(note: I'm posting this with my gaming blog because I think my fellow gamers might be interested in this, but please consider giving credits to me if you use this template by tagging @synindoodles instead of this blog)

More info on how to use and edit this template below the cut!

Layers:

>Each layer is properly named and categorized. The general layers such as the background, the icon shape and background shapes are under the groups.

>If you don't want to see/don't need one of the connections' pictures and information, I recommend you find which one it is (1, 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6) and click on the eye symbol next to the layer to hide it so that way if you ever need it, it won't be truly gone.

>To edit a text section, simply find the layer (such as General Information>Left Column) and double click on the 'T' symbol next to the layer. That way it will open edit mode and allow you to edit the text, just don't hit delete or enter while everything is selected or you'll erase it :p

>Main text sections aren't separated, they're blocks of text. I recommend you don't remove the amount (for example, if you downloaded the version with the 'appearance' section, which has 5 sections of information, don't remove the fifth line.) Either leave it empty or replace it with another data, otherwise it will look weird. The 'general information' section might look good even if you remove a few lines, just don't get rid of the whole block of text.

Pictures:

>To add a new picture, simply paste it over this document and move it using the Move Tool.

>To frame it (so it becomes a circle or fits over the shape you want), make sure the picture layer is over the layer you want, then while holding alt click between the two layers. [For example, if you want to add a new main oc picture: 1) paste the pic you want, 2) move it with the Move Tool so it's covering the big circle, 3) once you've fully covered the shape (if it isn't you can resize it by right clicking on it then on 'free transform', sometimes you might need to hold shift to proportionally resize it) make sure the newly pasted pic layer is over the layer named "picture goes here", 4) hold the alt key and hover your mouse cursor over the line between your pic layer and the circle layer until you see an arrow going down symbol, once you see it click it and tah dah! your picture should now have the same shape as the circle! - you can further move it if it doesn't fit the way you want with the Move Tool (;

Others:

>You can change every color, font and section to your liking, just don't change the general layout of the template.

>To hide/show the guides (those bright blue lines all over the document), click ctrl+,

>'Inter' is a free font and you can get it in the link above (linked with the credits), Golften Vintage is not, but you can get the demo version >here< (just scroll down and click the blue download button under license). I will not tell you how to install fonts as it might be different for everyone (for me it's C:/Windows/Fonts and I just drop the zipped files (except the .txt one) there), but google is your friend.

>I can't think of anything else that needs to be said here, but if you have any other question feel free to send me an ask or dm and I'll help you out!

>Last but not least, a like is appreciated if you plan to use this plus consider tagging @synindoodles if you use it <3

[mommieswithmuscles]

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

Title: Sugar Free (2)

Please read part one for context, future parts will have the previous chapter tagged for easier navigation.

It takes a while, but you get Abby talking. You find out she collects old world quarters, and enjoys scenery. Had she been born in the old world, she thinks she would be a photographer, or maybe a nature documenter. And she has much more pride than Ellie.

"How long did it take you to build yourself like that?" You drape your hand across her bicep upon returning to the bakery. She wheeled the breakfast load for you, even helped you unload it.

"About four years. I think." She flexes when you let go. "Why? Jealous?" Abby's a tease, you note. A challenge. And who doesn't like friendly competition?

"Very jealous. A beautiful girl with stunning muscles wanders into my shop, what else do I do other than stare?"

"It's technically not a shop because you don't sell anything," Abby snarks.

"Who says I don't?" Her brow quirks.

"What could you possibly mean by that?"

"If someone wants something extra, outside the community allowance, there has to be an exchange. Can't be out here overexpending resources." You take a step into her space. Abby stays planted.

"Get to the point, you're talking in circles."

"Maria supplies me with ammo, Jesse gets me fuel, and Ellie keeps me company. Everything has a price." Abby frowns, confused.

"You're so lonely you bake for interaction?"

"Yeah. I work before dawn until after dusk every day to help keep the community nourished. Hard to leave. Ellie usually has dinner with me so I can send her home with midnight snacks."

-

Abby watches you work the new batch. Watches the way your forearms and fingers flex as the dough gets harder to knead. She hands you the pans to let the dough rest before you can continue to bake it. She sets the time on the little kitchen timer Dina found on a run.

"How long have you been in Jackson?"

"Almost four years. I got here not too long before Ellie and Joel. How long were you with the WLF?"

"........About....." you watch her think, "four years."

"Why did you leave?"

"I didn't believe in the same ideals of my leader. After I learned what he was doing to a nearby community, I couldn't stay. The Seraphites only want to survive like everyone else."

"Who were you with before?"

"Hey, my turn to ask. How did you end up here?"

"My community was very small. It was taken out by some raiders." Abby tucks your hair behind your ear. "Your turn to answer."

"I was a Firefly." You pull a tag out of your pocket.

"Do you know who this is?" Abby takes it, inspecting the name.

"We met briefly. She worked with my dad. Where did you get this?" She gives you back the tag.

"She was my mom. Tommy brought this back after Joel told him what happened. I don't have many details, but I don't blame Joel. He was protecting his daughter. After the disbanding, I joined my dad with a small group of survivors. He's the only reason I escaped." You pull out a second tag. She immediately recognizes the name engraved.

"Your parents are Firefly heroes, and their deaths-"

"Their deaths are stepping stones to where I need to be." You shut down the anger you see boiling in her. "You don't blame Joel, either."

"I used to. Until he saved me. I didn't even mean to find him, or this. I was trying to get as far from the WLF as I could get. Rumors of Firefly occupations all over the country but no actual evidence." She heaves a sigh. "And you have a point. Joel was just a father, and he did what he felt was the right way to protect his daughter. I can't fault him for it. My dad would have done the same."

"Jerry, right?" Her ears perk at his name. Her solemn demeanor changing slightly.

-

You bake until the load is ready. After the heavier conversation, you feel like you and Abby have a bond. You've known her for barely a day, and you've grown attached. Stupid, you think to yourself. You were better than this. More careful. You and Ellie fought like cats and dogs until one thing led to another.

You watch her muscles flex as she wheels the bread to the kitchen. "You really don't have to do that."

"I want to." Abby grins, plopping the finished dough in the pan to rest. "Why doesn't Dina tag along for your dates with Ellie?" You frown.

"What do you mean?"

"They're together aren't they?" Your ears start to ring. Is Ellie in a relationship? Does she like Dina more than she told you she did?

"I don't actually know. You would have to ask them." You take over the baking, needing a way to relieve the stress Abby just dropped on your shoulders.

-

"Hey beautiful!" Ellie skips over to you, dropping a gun on the sale counter. "Picked you up a new toy. All checked in and loaded up." You watch her tongue dart out and wet her lips. You subconsciously do the same thing. Ellie doesn't notice, but Abby does.

"That's mighty kind of you," your floury hand leaves white powder streaked on Ellie's hip as you retrieve the weapon. You were just cleaning up from the dinner batch when she came in.

"I'm going to head out now. Have a good night." Abby nods to you both.

"Wait!" You call her. Abby turns on her heel to look at you, her brow raised. "Stay. Have dinner with us."

-

It's not...... awkward, perse........ but you could tell they didn't like each other. The energy was buzzing with watchful eyes and sneaky glances.

The small talk seemed forced, but it was slowly starting to flow. Ellie dropped her walls first, your shoe trailing up her calf and back down. Your hand is resting on Abby's thigh in the booth you're seated into. Ellie is to your right, closest to the door. Abby is to your left, tucked between you and the wall.

"I'm full, and very-" Ellie cuts herself off with an obnoxious yawn, "tired after a long day's work. Goodnight," she salutes with two fingers. Abby nods, returning the pleasentry.

You take the dishes to the sink, Abby hovering behind you. "Are you guys....?" She laughs to herself. "Actually, nevermind. It's not my business."

"No, we're not a couple." You put your damp hand on her bicep. "Why? Jealous?" Her crossed arms tighten over her broad chest.

"What? No. You seem close, and you seemed upset when I brought up Ellie and Dina going out." You watch Abby's heavy shoulders shrug.

"We are close, but we aren't a couple. I'm unspoken for. Do you have anyone back there?"

"No. I haven't for a long time." She takes a step into your space. You take another half step towards her.

"You're standing pretty close."

"Does it bother you?" Abby sasses.

"Not a bit." You glance her up and down, eyes hooded. She watches you intently. "Where are you staying?"

"In the loft above the bar. Joel has me set up until I have a proper housing situation discussion. Why?"

"Come home with me," you offer.

-

Very slow updates. Palestine comes first. Sudan comes first. Yemen comes first. The Congo comes first. Don't bother interacting if you can't grasp the horrors in the world.

[brilla-brilla-estrellita]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

Whoaaaa thank you for the tags @shrekgogurt, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @drowninginships, and @blackberrysummerblog! I'm pretty sure that's everyone! I love being tagged in shit.

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s): So you just like... have names for them? Before you post them?

I will say that for once, a name did come to me, so one of them is tentatively titled Fettuccine and Foreplay, but I might change it because Foreplay is misleading. I'm sorry to say that it is not smutty, and the events are questionably even foreplay. But the alliteration. And Fettuccine and Flirting just doesn't have the same ring to it.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___” God, why am I so bad at this?

Nevermore Academy + Penny = offensive assumptions, defensive students, and a magical breakthrough waiting to happen

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it? uhhhhhh. I don't usually think about tags until I'm ready to post, so I am not prepared for this question... I can't really think of anything. Which makes me feel like my stories are hella boring.

Update after finishing and rediscovering an old wip: fluff! yay fluff.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)? Alternative titles??? So not only do you have titles, you also have extras laying about????

I guess I already talked about it in #1, but Fettuccine and Flirting. I do not like it.

5. ⚠️Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next? Probably the Fettuccine one. It's a one-shot and a good portion done (almost ready for a beta, I think?). I like to write the whole story before I start posting, so the Wednesday x CO crossover is going to take a goooooood while. Idk how many chapters it is yet, I just know it's more than 3.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as) I think my most interesting one is called Sundays With Gran. It's more of a drabble that I might work into a story at some point than it is an actual WIP though. But my actual WIPs have uninteresting names.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

It’s especially hard to believe in this reality when there’s a glow, a sparkle, a buzz around even the most mundane of sights when Simon is involved.

That's not even from a WIP I've already mentioned. I rediscovered this one while looking at document titles for this post!

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP. I have one fic, the one from #7, where I originally wanted musings from each of the main 4, which each describing what's happening through focusing on a different sense or set of senses. Like Simon would be taste or touch, Penny would be sound, Baz would be sight, and Shep would be touch or smell. But that felt too restrictive. Senses are still a big part of it, of course, and there may still be strong affinities for one sense over another for each character, but they'll experience with the most appropriate sense for the moment.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? I really want to write more CO x Heartstopper (which we're calling Snowstopper because we're so clever) fics, but I'm making good progress on these other two and I'm afraid I'll lose the momentum if I start on the next Snowstopper idea. So I'll leave that for Kat to start in the meantime.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on? At the beginning of this post, 2. As of #7, 3!

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? So many! I think I need to rewrite much of what started the Wednesday x CO fic. The entire first two chapters don't feel quite in character for Penny.

And then most of this rediscovered fic, for now called Tiny Dots. (Hey look! A title!) Like I said before, it's character musings, and I'm not sure how to string them together in a way that feels cohesive.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

I feel like I procrastinated on this procrastination game for so long that everyone else has already done it! I'm sorry if you've already been tagged 100 times, and especially if you've already done it and I missed it, buuuuut: @onepintobean @martsonmars @facewithoutheart umm... if you haven't been tagged, but want to be tagged, consider yourself tagged (or tell me and I'll update this post with your tag and no one has to know).

[rorywritesjunk]

WIP TITLE GAME

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @galaxycunt

I am also gonna tag @operationroots @hey-august @lostfirefly @fanaticsnail

Okay ready for the excitement (I am not really creative with document names)

"Untitled Document" is Taron and Buggy smut. I'm quickly doing an edit on Chapter 2 before I post it today or tomorrow.

"Tumblr Prompts" is where I work on requests/prompts. There's only one in there so far and it's Buggy and her Husbands for the Swap AU.

"slow burn request" is Cupcake x Buggy. I'm working on Chapter 15 to get the smut going again. There's a possibility I could break 20 chapters with this story Im realizing.

"400 follower story" is slowly getting worked on. It's the story I had people vote for some things for it and am prolly two pages in? It's going to be fluffy and smutty.

"bakery story" is Birdie and Buggy. I don't imagine that one going past 12 chapters.

"Untitled Document" is my Howl's Moving Castle AU. Still working slowly on that. I think I'm going to set aside a day for me to just hash that out and get it finished to slowly share it.

I actually have a file called "WIP" where I throw in chunks of writing that I didn't like for something but wanted to keep around just in case. It's over 100 pages. Some included things were a bit more angst for stories that I didn't want to add in. There's enough angst out there and I didn't want it in my writing necessarily.

Things that I cut were a misunderstanding between young Buggy and Sunny caused by Benji being a little shit. Benji told Buggy that Sunny had a date with someone else when he showed up one day so Buggy assumed he was being led on the entire time. The two had a fight over it. It involved Sunny quitting Miss Pins' and leaving. I couldn't find a good way to fix the situation so I cut it.

Another thing was Buggy suggesting to Birdie he leave her on an island somewhere until the baby was born because why not, he didn't want to leave his ship and be on land while she waited out the rest of her pregnancy. But I didn't want to undo some of their growth. They'll still have some misunderstandings but I felt that was too much.

And Cupcake and Buggy had many hiccups. I decided I didn't like how I was writing Cupcake so it changed to misunderstandings in the bedroom instead of Buggy losing his temper all the damn time and Cupcake crying constantly.

[valeffelees]

An Ask Game for Writers to Procrastinate Working on Your WIP(s)

thank you kindly for tagging me @shrekgogurt @youarenevertooold, and @monbons i've been seeing this game make its rounds on my dash and was really hoping someone would pull me in!

🦈 Tell us the name of one of your WIP(s)

my main three wips at the moment are without sun, ballad of the final sparrow, which is more commonly known as bitverse, and fragile things (and how to break them), but i've also been fucking around a bit the last two or three weeks with a new (terrible, evil, very self-indulgent) wip called god-forbid.

🍄 Describe one of your WIPs in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  

i think i might be dumb bc i don't understand this question at all.

🌍 What tags or warnings will your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

bitverse: heavy angst, psychological horror elements, alcohol abuse, allusions to suicide, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dead dove: do not eat.

🧭 An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

ballad of the final sparrow -> baz is typing fragile things (and how to break them) -> there's a werewolf in london god-forbid -> the gap between a tragedy and comedy

⚠️ Which WIP you’re most likely to finish or update next?

i have no idea. i mean, you'd think the answer would be without sun since it's the only fic i actually have posted at the moment, but unfortunately i am an untrustworthy villain.

💾 What is the document of your WIP called? (Not the story title, but what you’ve saved it as.)

same as the fic title. if i start a new wip and don't know what to call it, i'll pick something at random and add (working title) at the end.

🖍 Post any sentence from your WIP

from without sun:

“You don’t like peppermint,” he says. But maybe she does. Maybe that’s one more thing he can add to his growing list of things he got wrong about Agatha Wellbelove. No. 1 — Dislikes peppermint; actually, she is quite fond of it. No. 2 — Likes Simon Snow; him, not so much.

♻️ A scrapped idea for your current WIP

one of the biggest changes i made to the plot of without sun really early on was penelope's role in the story. i had a clear idea of the story i wanted to tell as soon as i saw the prompt for the fic. without sun was always supposed to be about more than simon and baz. the story is about grief and love, and the space we take up in the lives of the people around us. but n e way, in my orig draft, penny was actually supposed to be able to communicate with simon a bit, and there was gonna be a whole sect of scenes in the middle of the fic where they sat around together trying to break simon's curse what we know and what we don't know style via passing notes. i ended up tossing this idea really quickly tho, and i'm glad i did bc one of my favourite moments i've ever written in any fic happens in chapter two of without sun and it belongs to simon and penny.

🤔 What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

so many. or, well—what counts as "haven't even started"? i hate to let ideas sit around in my head bc it feels like leaving raspberries in the fridge for too long, like that shit is gonna get mould on it, so usually the first thing i do is rough out a few scenes and/or script out a very rough outline of the plot (like this / this / this style) so that i have something to come back to later. i have dozens of zero drafts just lying tf around. but otherwise, yeah, so many. one big idea i have is called heart on fire and it's based on fanart, but i haven't started it yet bc obvs i wanna get permission from the artist first but i've been holding off reaching out to them about it until i've knocked a few of my less intimidating longfics off my wip list bc heart on fire is gonna fucking hefty so i don't wanna give'r until i'm sure i can manage it.

🤡 How many WIPs are you actively working on?

LMFAO

🛠 Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

i'm having a real bitch of a time with agatha's main scene in chapter two of without sun, i've been fighting with it on and off for months, but i can't get it to do what i want it to do.

❤️ Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

cheers!

sorry for any doubles but, tagging: @drowninginships @cosmicalart @that-disabled-princess @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @artsyunderstudy @thewholelemon @roomwithanopenfire @hushed-chorus @blackberrysummerblog @imagineacoolusername @nightimedreamersworld @prettygoododds @confused-bi-queer @mooncello and an open tag for anybody else who wants to procrastinate their wips!

[ladye-zelda]

WIP Folder Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thank you for the tag @unexpectedstormy @isasan347 @silvercaptain24 and the dozen others who tagged me 😅

Just gonna do a few WIPs who have titles, as many of the things in my google docs are either unnamed or just random scenes that will never see the light of day lol

A Mother's Legacy

One Last Dance

The Reunion

Stay for a Moment

My Kingdom Come; Once a King, Always a King; A King of Warriors* (King Wars AU)

Sheikah Twins AU

In Other Worlds*

A Song for the Storm of Tears*

A Truce of Trust

Mirror of the Past

A World Without a Hero

The Destinies We Carry

If Only

The Secrets We Keep

Ghosts of Hyrule's Past

Hero, Don't Leave*

The Princess and the Wolf-Prince

The Tale of the Minish Hero

The Mistakes that Make us Whole

Fierce Hero Story

A Trek Through Time

The Tale of the Knight-Prince

Again, these are only a few of the WIPS I have in my docs; I'm actually thinking of clearing everything out because a lot is just repeats of one another (I know I have three different titles for the King Wars au, but that's nothing compared to the documents I have for aocamau or sealed princess lol), but if anyone is interested I'll keep these ones up for any asks lol.

Uhhhhh I don't know that many people so feel free to do this XD

*these are Linked Universe-related and I'm most likely never going to come back to these again, so these will be the first ones I delete

[mr-laveau]

Cu-wip-osity tag game >:D

@cash-n-prizes really told me to get my ass in gear and WELL, here I am so here we go!

rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. let others ask questions about the ones that interest them, and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Tagging: there are too many people to tag and i don’t talk to that many people sooooo whoever wants can tag in. Trust me, I cannot tag that many people for this.

And Then there were three - SH, Angel & Baaabe

Roses n’ Thorns - Darlin/Quinn (past) - Darren(Darlin) used to be in a band with Quinn called Rose n’ Thorns. Yes, I did in fact write Darr being in a band with Quinn into his actual backstory, fuck timelines and canon, I do what I want.

Spell slot - Lovely(electro)/Vincent

Gotcha bitch! - Darlin/pack - poly Shaw pack - Darren (Darlin) has a breakdown when the pack throws him a surprise birthday party

In the face of eternity - Lovely(Vampire)

Who’s ya daddy? - SH/Milo (ft. Colm) - Sadhil (SH) realizes that he and Milo have daddy issues, except SH used to work for Milo’s daddy.

Pretty Girl(gn) Walk - Angel/Darlin/David(minor)

Self-portrait - Gavin/FL - Gavin has too many hobbies but this new one is fun.

Stellar Collapse - Starlight

Fed to the Wolves - David/Darlin

The importance of Couch sharing - Poly Shaw Pack - David/Darlin/Asher/Milo

Backup Generator - DAMN Polycule & Lovely(Vampire)/Vincent

Extra Lessons - Sam/FL/Darlin

Come Back to Haunt - David & SH

Do you have an appointment? - Sam/FL - R18

Hate to see em leave, Love to watch em go - Poly Shaw pack - Asher/Milo/David/Darlin - Asher and Milo talk about David & Darren (Darlin) behind their backs but they’re specifically talking about their behinds - R18

Sweet Dreams (are made of this) - Sunshine/Elliott

Dahlia Empowered Records & Profiles Department - audio project - Magnus Archives parody but make it Redacted

Honestly…no - David/Darlin

A Pack of Idiots - Poly Shaw Pack:

"I'm in love with Asher." David said. The room went quiet after that as Sadhil and Milo's eyes locked onto their alpha in disbelief–more specifically disbelief in the fact that David actually said the very thing that everyone in the pack would joke about when they saw him and his beta together in any capacity. The key word there being 'joked' because no one actually expected it to be true. Sadhil had the mind to question the statement further but got beat to the opportunity to speak. "Well no shit, Sherlock." Darren replied. "Took you that long to figure out?" Now eyes were going back and forth between Tank and David, the bigger wolf looking at the usually quiet shifter in bewilderment as they met his gaze with nonchalance. The investigator could already feel the tensions rising and if they knew both of their fellow pack members well enough then there'd be more to this. "What do you mean, long enough?" "–Darr means," Milo is the one to speak up this time, cutting off Tank from making anymore frank remarks and riling the other man up, "that we can all tell." "What?”

Running Memories - Darlin focused

Can You Roll a Charisma Check? - Lasko/Listener (pre-canon listener) - Lasko finds out that someone new has joined his DnD group and he’s definitely gonna have to roll high if he wants to impress them

Out for Blood - Sam/Darlin - R18

What if we all dated each other? - DAMN Polycule

In-Spectre - Yes I know that’s name of an anime, I’m being funny - SH/Milo:

"Why don't I take you dancin' some time?"  "You got two feet shorter than myself there, toots. You think you can keep up?" Sadhil smirks.

Bad Dog - (Dom) Darlin/ Sam - R18:

"Course not." The vampire huffs. "I know you better than that Darlin." "Do you really, doc?" Darren smiles as crosses his arms and slowly strides over to Sam from across the bar with a sly grin. "Because I know for a fact that there's a side to me you haven't met yet and he wants to make you beg like a hungry mutt." Sam Collins has never in his life wanted anything more than just to let his mate have their way with him right now. He doesn't have time to question why when the one thing racing in his mind is to let Darren use and abuse him like a bone for his wolf to chew on, and he'll be damned if he doesn't let tonight be the night for that to happen. "Where?" "As much as I would like to fuck you in one of the stalls here, I want your ass on a bed where I can have it to myself tonight."

Broke Back Mountain - Sam/Huxley

Ghostly Touches - Lasko/SH/Milo - R18

Don’t Hold Your Breath - DAMN Polycule

Two Birds - David/Darlin

Worth of Chance - SH & Colm

Sway - Vincent/Lovely 

Heart Strings - Asher/Baaabe/Darlin

Keeping Track of Things 1 & 2 - Darlin/Sam (feat. BE & Fred) 

Reset Button - Lovely(Vampire) & Sam

Ghosted - SH/Sam/Darlin

Parks & Recreation - Darlin/David

Anyways, have fun~

[blazescompendium]

The hunt for the elusive allegedly chinese legendary Dragon: Haoxian. Conclusions, investigations and thoughts (Case closed)

Some months ago i have crossed paths with someone looking for a specific piece of Chinese mythology, and it was so elusive that i got compelled to bring it here and see if i could gather any help on finding clues.

I posted it back in April, and lately the user @nuzme from twitter, reached me through Discord to document his findings. All credits on this research goes to him, since i was there mostly to discuss his findings.

Just to clarify: Credits on most of the research into finding Haoxian sources after my original post, goes to @nuzme on twitter, aka Nawell. He is the one who took the time to analyze my post, sources, and info. I am only updating the post! Thanks Nuzme!

Credits also goes for DennysFFD, the original person that reached me and was able to read the chinese hanzi we found. Thank you as well!

If you are hunting information on a fantastical being, demon, yokai, whimsical creature, monster, etc... And want help, please DM me here or in my Discord! @megidolaonn

Firs thing's first, Nuzme was able to trace back one of the sources from my last post: The book ''All About Chinese Dragons'' From Roy Bates.

This Book is interesting because Bates actually tells us where did he found Haoxian, and he mentions a ''Beijing Tourist Magazine'' from 1989. Bates also treats Haoxian as a title, or type of being, rather than a specific name of a creature.

Sadly Bates did not share the Hanzi for the Haoxian, and i could not manage to contact Bates by any means. But the way he puts it, seems like he read that in an old tourist magazine in the late 1980s.

But, Nuzme also pointed that Bates puts it like Haoxian has some importance, ''A celestial beast with extraordinary powers''. But still, we were not able to find much about this so called celestial beast.

Nuzme efforts also pointed that the Haoxian web presence much probably started in here:

https://web.archive.org/web/20060824100320/http://www.chinapage.com/main2.html

It seems most of the sites parroting Haoxian copied this page. Even the BlackDrago sources from my last post. The China page site is at least from 2003 according to web archive, and seems to be the root of Haoxian web presence. Also worth to notice that in China Page, Haoxian replaces Chao Feng. Bates comments this, telling us that Chao Feng is a Haoxian, as if it's a type of creature or title, but he does not expand on that, besides the supposed importance of this type of creature. Furthermore, after China Page posts it, later westerners started to copy and paste it.

We know for sure that Bates was probably the one who started the Haoxian thing, because there is no mention of it older than the 1980s. At least, not that we could find...

There is another book about this group of dragons, The Sons of the Dragon King, from the author Ed Young. But again, it does not mention Haoxian at all.

This leaves us with the only unaccounted source in this story: The fabled Beijing tourist magazine, Bates mentions. Which i think it's absolutely lost to time, so we are getting by his words.

It is almost safe to say whatever this is, could have been invented or misinformed by this magazine. However, would be very good if anyone that knows Chinese and Chinese mythology could shed some light if Haoxian does indeed means anything, because as me and Nuzme found out, googling it is no use.

Nuzme went as far as to check for more sources, even in English, about the 9 dragon sons, but also did not found nothing.

I did brought up the hypothesis about the magazine have being made by westerns who could had misread the name, but Nuzme doubted it. If that was not the case, i think that it is even possible that locals could have misread some Hanzi, they are not that easy to read after all.

Maybe Haoxian do exist, but it was misplaced as a part of this group of dragons? That's what Bates seemed to think as well.

I would love to ask Bates himself, but... As i said before, i was not able to find him. That's a shame, but maybe this post can reach him somehow.

Nuzme also found another person in charge of Chinapage, because the original owner was not active anymore. (Nuzme suspected he already passed away, since the page is 20 years old, and was ran by a old person) And this was a man named Siu-Leung Lee. Curiously, he worked at the movie Avatar, and was very active on the web, even had a LinkedIn account. I could not message him, because his page was locked though.

Nuzme found what seemed to be another good lead, in another of Roy Bates books: What seemed to be Haoxian's Hanzi! That was a breakthrough in this case. The book in question is ''29 Chinese Mysteries'' also from Roy Bates:

The hanzi would be: 耗羨

Which.... when using software translates to ''Consumption Envy'' and not to ''Squander-Mouse'' as Bates points, which would still be very confusing. It seems not even him was being able to find more about this elusive dragon, mentioning the sources were scarce.

Also, looking to Chao Feng and this supposedly Haoxian hanzi, we can rule out misreading because they at least, from our perspective, looks very different side by side:

Chaofeng 嘲風 - 耗羨 Haoxian

My honest reaction....

Then if it is not a misread, then what on earth gave birth to this elusive creature? Well, it all traced back to that said tourist magazine from Beijing. We have no way to access it, nor knowing who wrote it, and contacting Bates is also impossible at this point, so we were at that point, drawing our own conclusions here.

Mine was that it could be a complete fabrication, a hoax, something to catch tourists attention, maybe something the creators of the magazine really did believe, or maybe it is some regional and very specific tale that made its way to that magazine. Either way, with all the evidence gathered to this point, we could at least assume that Haoxian is not a part of the 9 dragons, it is probably refereed as naming for a type of ''Celestial Creature'', and if it is not a hoax, it probably got there by accident or misinformation.

Nuzme's conclusion was that it ''is either a complete fabrication, some sort of pet theory that the tour guide passes off as true (which is very common in anything folkloric or religion) or a very specific regional thing (...) '' Nuzme also leans more in the idea it was a misunderstanding, since it came from a non academic or intelectual source: A tour guide magazine.

I even found what i THINK could be said magazine being sold on Ebay and Amazon, but it ended up expensive to import, and it's too much trouble for something i don't even know that will help. But, if you end up having it, or have access to it and want to send us a PDF, be my guest.

This could be the magazine, but there is no way to know for sure.

Back to the Hanzi and how the case is closed

So, having reached this point i brought the case to the person that originally brought this mystery to me, the OP DennysFFD. They were already very happy to have the Hanzi Nuzme found, and they were actually capable to read it properly.

We discussed a theory, but: There is no way to know 100% without Bate's word and or the magazine, but based on our evidence, we can go for this theory, and it makes a lot of sense at least for me.

The OP was able to clarify that the hanzi for Haoxian was referring to some sort of tax system. The OP made a wild guess that the author, Bates, could had got something wrong there. That is because, there is another similar hanzi: Shouxian 仙兽. Shouxian can mean immortal beast, and would made a lot of sense to be used for Chao Feng.

There is also Xianshou, a beast who attain immortality, which is the same hanzi but swapped. A dragon could be called both, it's a generalization for mythical creatures.

-Addendum: 仙兽 in chinese science taxonomy also refers to a type of extinct gliding animal, its unrelated just a shared name.

The author could have misread or misheard the word Shouxian referring to Chao Feng, then unknowingly asks people to write the word, which ends up as the word haoxian. Without any context, people would write it as the most common haoxian they knew... a tax system!

Chao Feng Source of the image: Inchin Closer

In conclusion: Chao Feng was described as an immortal beast by this magazine, it was misread as ''Haoxian'' and the name spread from there. From what we could gather there was no dragon called Haoxian and it is fore sure, not a part of the 9 dragon sons.

It was all a educated guess and a theory, if Bates come foward this could be much easier explained, but evidence strongly suggests that. So it's a case closed for me.

Thanks again Nuzme and DennysFFD for their findings, and specially for helping me to bring this post to life. It was such a journey!

Sources are through the text, but are generally the two Bate's books. I hope you all liked it!

[accidentalslayer]

🎃 Some changes coming to this blog 🎃

TL;DR Summary: You might notice me branching out into new topics or areas of interest now that I'm no longer writing TVD fanfiction. The overall vibe of this blog might alter a little. Although, I'll still be fall & autumn posting until the day I die and well into the afterlife if there is one. Things leaving: TVD fanfiction, my personal fanfiction, vampire stuff unless I feel like talking about them. Things possibly being introduced: More shitposting, mental illness related posts about my feelings on stuff, art maybe??? A journal on my adventures in lucid dreaming, shifting, and astral projection????* *That might turn into a whole new blog tbh. I don't know if any of my followers would enjoy listening to me babble about weird dream crap.

Read below for an expanded discourse about my ideas on what will change.

So! I've kind of run out of steam when it comes to writing fanfiction for TVD. Netflix eradicating the show from their streaming services kind of slammed down the final coffin nail on my muse, so to speak, & I was really bummed when I found out yesterday. This blog started out as a TVD/Originals sanctuary for me, after all... But it's grown into something more now. It's become a place where I can express feelings & thoughts that I've had hiding inside me but never felt safe enough to say out loud. And I've had so much fun with Autumn aesthetics; turning this blog into a Fall paradise has improved my mood in so many ways! Whenever I'm depressed, I just look at my blog and imagine that I'm relaxing in my pumpkin patch, far away from the noise and troubles of the world. & I've also made a couple of friends along the way here! Looking at you guys: @king-yandere and @margueritetheduchess05💖

The question remains, however. If I won't be writing about vampires anymore, then where do I go from here? What should I do? It's a solid fact that I go insane if I'm not actively engaging with my creativity in some way. Last night, the only thing I did was brainstorm, and stress myself out trying to think of SOMETHING. Today, I think I finally have a game plan. so lemme lay it out for you. Or rather, me. I don't know if anyone is actually reading this LOL. 🎃 "Accidentalslayer" name will still remain along with blog title. My autumn & spooky aesthetics are here to stay. I might reblog people's fanfics from time to time but I think I'm moving away from writing fic myself. Besides, it didn't feel very rewarding if I'm honest. I got very little engagement on my chapters. So, if I ever DO write another story on this blog again, it'll be definitely be an original fiction. My pumpkin hat off to fanfiction writers everywhere, though! A LOT of effort, time, and research goes into fanfic that readers will never know about... 🎃 It's already been there on the periphery but I think this blog might just turn into my main shitposting/journal outlet for talking about my mundane experiences. Mental illness, funny thoughts, & feelings that visit my brain every day. If I can somehow get my "art brain" to work again, I might post art here, idk. 🎃 I'm a spiritual hoe. I love talking about witchcraft, tarot, and lucid dreaming but I'm not really sure this blog is where I should talk about that stuff. I have @flowercrone for all my tarot/PAC readings but I've really REALLY started to take an interest in astral projection, shifting, and lucid dreaming. I even started a journal recently to document all my experiences. I should probably start another blog that's dedicated JUST to shifting and astral projection, idk. If you've gotten this far in the post, you're loved beyond belief right now. 💖 Please feel free to send suggestions to me in my asks if you have any ideas about anything I've written in this post.

[thetragicallynerdy]

So many of your WIPs sound really intriguing but I'm gonna go with "and we will build a home from the wreckage - jim olu cowboys" (for now 😉)

Hahaha aww thanks friend!!

So this one is actually partially posted already!! It's still in my WIP folder because all of the chapters are in one big document because I'm terrible like that.

The premise is: Jim, an outlaw in ~1770s old West, is on the run from Spanish Jackie's gang after being shot. They try and break into Oluwande's barn to get shelter, and he catches them, and gives them a place to stay and heal. The town Oluwande lives near is run by notorious US Marshall Stede Bonnet and his partner, a retired Blackbeard.

If you feel like reading the two chapters that are up, it's posted here! It updates SLOWLY. Like, it's been 9 months since the last chapter.

Here's a long snippet from probably the next chapter!

And if anyone feels like dropping me an ask for the WIP folder game, my long list of WIP titles is here!

--

“Oh – Oluwande –" Stede gives Oluwande a smile. "Fang wants something from you. He’s in the kitchen! Go on, go on back –“

Oluwande gives them a sympathetic look, then disappears. If the suspicious timing hadn’t already set them on edge, that would have done it. They watch him head back towards the kitchen with growing apprehension. And then he’s gone, and they are alone, but for Stede and Ed.

Ducking under their hat and hunching their shoulders, Jim knocks back the rest of their whiskey and reaches for their coin purse. But Stede is already sliding into view, that too bright smile on his face.

“Jim,” he stage whispers, loud and too cheery in the quiet of the near empty saloon. “I’ve got something for you.” He sets a yellowed piece of paper on the bar in front of them, sliding it over.

They don’t need to pick it up. They already know what it is, as soon as he fucking sets it down. But they pick it up anyway, everything in them going cold, numb. They’d hoped – they’d hoped.

Jim stares down at their face, their name, the $1000 bounty. This isn’t the one from Jackie, the insultingly low one. No, this one comes from [COUNTY NAME], government certified. This one – this one they can’t run away from.

They look at Stede, then at their bounty poster. Side eye Ed, wondering how quick they can reach for their knife. If they can strike first, maybe they can be non-lethal –

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate,” Ed says, voice coiled like a snake as he wipes another glass clean. “Not a good idea.”

Their hand does not shake. They nod, stare down at the poster again. “Outside, then?”

“What? No, no one’s going outside –“ Stedes smile drops. Jim can’t make sense of the upset on his face, the guilt. “This isn’t – I’m not challenging you to a dual.” He makes a weird sort of grimace at Ed. “I should’ve burned it, shouldn’t I? Oh, I thought maybe I should –“

They don’t understand. They don’t want a duel – don’t want to have to leave, don’t want to have to kill this bright and odd man, don’t want to have to ruin Oluwande’s home – but they will. They will, if they have to, so why is Stede saying no –

Oh. Oh, that’s – that’s worse.

God, they need to leave. They won’t let Stede throw them in prison, won’t let him make them rot behind bars until they finally hang –

They glance at Ed. Stede, they know they can take, with a knife or a gun or even just their bare hands. But Ed – Ed is fucking Blackbeard. And they’re good, they’re very good – but they don’t know if they can beat him. Not with a still healing wound, and not without having seen him fight. And the way he watches them now, nearly lazily, tells them it would be a terrible idea.

“Don’t think so,” Ed says, still cleaning and cleaning his glass. “Think Jim here’s the sort that needs to see it burned themselves.”

Jim grits their teeth. They’re scared, and they don’t understand, and that always makes them angry. “What the fuck are you talking about, burning it?”

“Oh – oh dear.” Stede looks dismayed. “You thought I was bringing you in, didn’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” They spit out, and they barely manage to keep the torrent of curses in.

“No,” Stede says, voice going gentle. “No, I’m not. I’m giving you your bounty poster, so you can destroy it. If new ones come in, and you’re still here – well, we can destroy those ones, too.”

[spaceofentropy]

Brain Weasels! Assemble!

aka: @creepkinginc (hi, Nosho! 💙) tagged me in this thing that @thatoneao3author (hiiii!) concocted, and today the brain is braining the right way, so here we are! With a long long long thing. I made it Gallavich. Maybe if the brain keeps on braining right, tomorrow I'll do another version for another ship, who the heck knows! Not me!

So, the rules (more or less) are:

use this au generator to assign you an au, this fan fiction trope generator to give you a trope/situation/sometimes another au, feel free to keep clicking until you get something that inspires you.

then try to come up with the title, plot, vibe, and details of a fic including whatever the generators gave you. you don’t actually have to write it, just put the concept into the world! this is basically just a thought experiment.

The randomizing gods gave me a Hacker(s) AU and (after a couple of nope tropes, because I don't know shit about Regency, sorry, gods!) on New Year's Day soulmates switch bodies for 24 hours and have to try and figure out who the other person is so they can find them when the time is up.

Title: Words within the margin [I'm terrible at titles but make do with music 😎]

Plot: it's after the cut because it's long! 🫣

Mickey as our hacker. He doesn't think the whole soulmate thing will ever happen to him, so he is well beyond plastered when the New Year starts and the switch happens. He wakes up in a cabin somewhere in the fucking woods, not a car, let alone a road or even dirt path, near it. He's in the middle of fucking nowhere. Not happy about it. Oh, and this weirdo doesn't even have a cell phone or computer or anything like that in the cabin! And clearly he doesn't believe in mirrors. All that Mickey has are food, shelter, and books on psychology and mental illness. The best idea of this weirdo's face he gets from the lid of one of the pots in the kitchen: pale, redhead, greenish eyes maybe? Hard to tell from a lid. Great dick. And tall, holy fuck it's weird to be this tall, he keeps on bumping against stuff because he miscalculates spaces and distances.

Meanwhile, Ian does not wake up early and bright in the little cabin where he's taking a well deserved pause from the world and his job as a counsellor. Nope. It's well past midday and he's in a body that's super hangover, in an apartment that looks more like a computer repair shop than anything else. All the devices are password protected, even the couple of cell phones he finds. There are two wallets with two different sets of IDs for two different names. No paper mail or useful documents anywhere that he can find. The more he tries to pinpoint who this guy is from stuff in his house, the less he knows, aside from the fact he likes cheap beer, knives, and videogames.

Mickey spends most of his time in the cabin perusing the books, there are little notes here and there, the guy has a dorky sense of humor that makes him chuckle, but he also sprinkles here and there glimpses of bad experiences with doctors, with meds and treatments and healthcare providers that were not great.

Ian leaves the apartment to look for more clues about, at the very least, where this weirdo lives, but it's even worse, one of the neighbors catches him as he tries to steal someone's mail (it would have been such an easy way to get at least an address!) and he runs, not sure why but he just runs. Wanders an unknown town like many others, no idea where he is. Finds his way back to the building, he has a road name and a number, except there must be so many Washington Streets around... He spends hours looking at the weirdo's stuff, feeling like he's intruding just by being there, every moment less sure of wanting to know this guy. They are soulmates, apparently, but... he feels like he's stepping into a cheap spy story. Perfect stuff to further unbalance the already unsteady situation inside his brain. What if this guy is even crazier than him? There are so many weird thing, in his apartment and potentially his life... 

There's a phonecall to one of the phones, he answers hoping the person at the other end will say something useful, a name, a detail, something, but the girl only calls him fuckface and dickhead. A relative, judging by how, after a while, she gets worried when Ian doesn't answer the way she expected. He's debating whether to tell her that he's a visiting soulmate or not, when midnight strikes and he's thrown back into his body, in the cabin, with one of his books open in his hands and a note in a different handwriting than his in the corner.

Nice refuge you have here, Firecrotch. Bet I still can find you in a week or less. Hope you didn't make a mess at my place. Had no idea what to do with them, so take your meds, dude. M.

It takes Mickey 8 days to come knocking on the door to Ian's cabin, and only because he has to go to an office in person, they do all stuff on paper in Bumfuck County, Wherever It Is Ian's Cabin Is, damn neanderthals!

Less than twenty minutes after meeting him in person for the first time, Ian's doubt about Mickey are relegated to background noise. The universe might be right with this soulmates thing!

Yeah. I think that's it. That's what happens when the brain weasels latch onto an idea they like (and they LOVE soulmates) 🤷‍♀️

I'm supposed to tag people, but honestly I don't know if I have the bandwidth left for it. 🥲 If you read this and want to do it, you're welcome to! ❤️

[marthammasters]

6 & 11 for the ask game? :)

HII^_^

6. 💾What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as): i do boring summary type names w no spaces which leaves me w such beauties as “HilsonPet” (it’s exactly whagt u think) and an older one of “jetkomullet” from my atla era💗

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? I have a wilson-going-to-house-instead-of-Cuddy s6 finale oneshot in Le works but the exact moment/dialogue where Wilson walks in has been a kicker… reading episode script and going from there save me

Procrastinating WIPs Asks

[mipwrites]

WIP TAG GAME

Thanks @isahorcrux for the tag!! I love WIP games, and it is nice to check in and let everyone know where youre at in terms of writing! I have a lot in the pipe I haven't even hinted at for writing lmao

Guide:

1. List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

2. An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

3. Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

4. Then tag 10 writer friends!

Titles

A Court of Snow and Shadow Chapter Four -- ACOTAR, Azriel/OFC multi-chapter.

2. Sermon Chapter Eleven -- Batman, JasonEra!Robin Jason/OFC multi-chapter.

3. currently untitled Teen Wolf fic -- Derek Hale/OFC multi-chapter

4. ACOSAS Sequel A Court of Song and Flame -- ACOTAR, IC!Children fic, multi-chap

5. currently untitled Reacher fic -- Reacher (TV series), Reacher/Roscoe whatif! fic - possibly a one shot, more likely short multichapter.

Spoilers Abound Ahead! Turnback now!!!

Upcoming Writing

1. I've been incredibly sick for the last few weeks, so my goal to get chapter four out by the end of February likely will not happen, but I am so excited for this chapter. We're getting into Nyra's POV here, and diving deeper into Winter Court dynamics and her feelings on everything that happened. Her internal monologue has consistently made me laugh while writing, she's hilarious lol.

2. Sermon has been my white whale since 2017 lmao. I took two years (!!!) off because it stressed me out so much just staring at that document, plus everything else going on in my life. But I'm determined to finish it!! and now that actual plot is happening and all the exposition is over, I think that will be a lot easier. I love my lil babies cannot wait to finish their stories lmao.

3. So this one came to me once the Teen Wolf movie came out and uh....I had some issues with it. Namely how this entire series treated Derek. But I also was really interested in the idea of Derek being a parent, and all the questions around that - like who was Eli's mother? Where is she? What would rebuilding a werewolf pack like the Hales *look* like? I delved into it and sadly never found anything concrete enough to plan around, but I may rewatch the series again to get some inspo if there's enough interest.

4. Okay, so yes, I haven't even finished ACOSAS yet, why am I thinking about a sequel lol. Honestly, I just got really interested in what the Inner Court's children would be like, and quickly found myself pulled under lol. A Court of Song and Flame focuses on [SPOILER] Azriel and Nyra's daughter, Aella, and her relationship with a certain son of an Autumn Court Prince. It sort of turned into a buddy cop/romcom/mystery and I really, really love the idea. Just gotta finish ACOSAS!!!

5. I. Love. The. Reacher. TV Show!!! I found the first season so fun and compelling, and just absolutely fell in love with Roscoe. I had this idea of "what if, after leaving Margrave, one day a blonde teenager comes calling to find a father her mother only had stories of. Chaos ensues. I only have the first threads of it but I hope to expand it later.

Tagging a whole host of people that I'm sure might have already been tagged: @thequibblah @clare-with-no-i @emeralddoeadeer @sunshinemarauder @noneedforbloodpressure @acourtofwhatthefuck and anyone else who'd like to do the wip tag!