#I don't think is necessary anymore tbh

[your-zipper-is-down]

Okay Undead Unluck fandom, let's see,

Feel free to share your reasoning in the replies/tags

[unladielike]

After watching Act II of NiER: Reincarnation, I can't stop thinking of an AU where instead of Yuzuki and Hina, it's Vivian and @spiritpyro's Hayate who were both transported from their universes (Chiba, Japan) to the Cage. Of course, Vivian would be tasked with fixing the sun while Hayate would be tasked with fixing the moon, but due to the fact their timeline follows the private verse (aka Vivian losing her memories before becoming neighbours with Hayate) and their revolving theme is 'not quite lovers, yet not quite friends', I feel like the companions assigned to them would be different while the characters unlocked would still remain the same (meaning they will all get to witness Yudil, Sarafa, Saryu, Marie, Priyet, and Yurie's memories).

Whereas Hina had Papa as her guide, I headcanon Vivian's companion would be called 'Gent' and he'll have this particular design, which I badly edited to have a dapper feel to it. As her guide, he would take on the role of what an ideal boyfriend and perfect gentleman should be like (and because Carrier had canonically once ranted about his wife being a nag/having elderly parents that need care, I can see Gent going as far as to claim he works as a rental boyfriend on the side), so I can see him calling her 'darling' and 'Ms. Vivian'. I also have this idea he'll hold onto Jude (the crocheted butterfly she always carries with her) for Vivian every time she needs to enter a Dark Scarecrow, which are these black statues in NiER: Reincarnation that blocks the player's path and contains memories of characters' backstories. Furthermore, Gent would have taken her hand with one of his weird black arms and lifted it to where his mouth should be after he first introduces himself to Vivian, but considering he looks like a ghostly apparition, she finds it hard to really take him or his suave remarks all that seriously most of the time.

As for Hayate, his companion wouldn't be Mama/Babe the same it way had been with Yuzuki, but a pink one called 'Lady' that I headcanon would have this appearance. As his guide, she's supposed to take on the role of what a kind, caring girlfriend should be like and similarly to Gent, would mention to Hayate she works as a rental girlfriend on the side. While Gent uses 'darling' with Vivian, however, Lady prefers 'honey' as her go to term of endearment for Hayate. She'll also offer him massages/pats on the head and remind him to not push himself too much and that it's fine to take breaks if he's tired from traversing the Cage.

Anyways, in true Yoko Taro fashion, Vivian would end up seeing a memory of her huge falling out with Hayate that led to her eventual suicide attempt at some point, which would understandably break her all over again... yet thanks to Gent calming her down/preventing her from ripping apart Jude, she would somehow have enough strength to keep going. Then somewhere along the way, it's later revealed from her point of view that Hayate one day started dating someone else (that's definitely not Hideaki), and to make matters worse, this person was a scumbag. Not only did they secretly record them having sex without his permission just to taunt her and rub further salt in her wound, they also hurled ableist slurs at Vivian whenever Hayate wasn't around, to the point where months later, she ended up snapping and killing them instead of asking Hayate to just dump them.

And Hayate, upon not knowing this, would angrily lash out at Vivian, which resulted in him accidentally killing her before learning what had truly happened... yet because he still cared about her, knowing he was responsible for her death would cause him great anguish at the same time. Regardless, it would seem she killed his lover out of jealousy from his point of view, which is meant to make the player sympathize more with Hayate if they're playing as him and not Vivian. Anyways, they both became isekai-ed to the Cage afterwards (or in Vivian's case, reincarnated within the Cage), where they were each promised a wish by Gent/Lady if they ended up acquiring the necessary Fragments to fix the broken Sun and Moon.

Honestly, though, I feel like Vivian would wish she had never fallen in love with Hayate due to all the suffering he caused her while Hayate would wish he had never been an asshole to her; however, compared to Vivian, who would be angry enough at him to throw hands and yell at him that he pretty much ruined her life, I feel like Hayate would just want to talk/de-escalate things.

...In fact, he'd pretty much be the only one who would actually not want to to kill Vivian to fulfill his wish, so the options would be A) Vivian should get her revenge, B) Vivian and Hayate shouldn't fight, or C) Vivian and Hayate should talk things out (which can only be unlocked after completing one of the prior endings). Unlike with Yuzuki and Hina, though, there does exist a reality where they're happy together, so instead of staying in the Cage, I could see them having an actual heart to heart during Ending B and wish that in another life, they could have stayed true to themselves back then... causing them to be transported to another reality, where they became girlfriend/boyfriend.

Meanwhile, in Ending C, Vivian would acknowledge she's still in love with Hayate but would no longer desire a romantic relationship with him due to trauma... and since wishing for a different reality would be the same as running away from the sins they committed, they decide to live out the rest of their lives in the Cage together. Honestly, I wanna say that since Hayate is immortal, the only reason Vivian would be able to kill him in Ending A is because she has the power of the Sol Fragments on her side.

But anyways, I definitely think one of Vivian's stories would revolve around her ex-girlfriend, Esmé, but I'll never add a proper NiER: Reincarnation AU to her verses page (despite having self-indulgently designed Companions for her and Hayate) because I doubt people have actually played the gacha let alone heard of it (especially after it was announced the game will be ending it's service) and as far as I could tell, nobody on tumblr roleplays characters from NiER: Reincarnation... so it shall forever remain a brainrot AU of mine.

[giantkillerjack]

Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.

And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.

I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.

But do you know what I found?

I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,

I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.

Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:

I was worth talking to when I was quiet.

I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.

So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.

You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.

(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)

[innitmarvellous]

I'm currently reading a book about asexuality, and while it's really interesting it also made me think about how difficult things are for others and how easy it was for me. My pipeline was basically just: 'oh no, I'm too ugly for sex, what should I do' -> 'wait I don't even mind that too much, I don't feel like I'm missing anything, that's great' -> 'oh no, someone wants a (sexual) relationship with me and I hate the thought' -> 'wait I'm probably ace then'

Yeah, and that was pretty much it. (Well, to be fair, this happened over a period of like 13 years, so not exactly quick, but...) Though it doesn't really matter to me anyway...I haven't really given the whole matter much thought for years. Things are just like they are, as far as I'm concerned, but it's still helpful if there's a term I can use to make others understand my situation. Well, more or less. Alright, my family doesn't really know, but they probably think I'm just too much of a loser to be in a relationship, lol.

[a-dragons-journal]

"Otherlink, choicekin, and choicelink are all false therian terms"

...they're not therian terms though. like - they're explicitly "I don't identify as a therian, I identify as [x] instead because it was voluntarily and consciously formed". that's like saying that, idk, asexual is a "false bisexual term". you can't be a "fake therian" if you're... not calling yourself a therian to begin with??? I mean I get that they're probably trying to say they just don't think you can choose to be nonhuman at all, but

this kind of saddens me. otherlinks are absoLUTELY valid, they just use a different term instead of therian, otherkin, etc.

dont invalidate them, just correct them if they happen to use the wrong term.

[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!

[yanderefarm]

Currently caught up on your posts and saw what 🪐 anon said so to make this better lets break some more yanderes!!

We already got some Nephy content so let's step it up a notch..

How about making some of the yanderes totally codependent on us in order to even live?? Like we go really extreme and remove one of their limbs sort of things because if they're willing to do anything to keep us then we should return the favor to them

I have an issue...

-🐝

cw;; cannibalism, gore, amputation, violence, abuse, ableism (kind of?? this isn't meant to be realistic depictions to begin with so take it with a grain of salt), amputation kink, dehumanization, dumbification, pet play, dead dove don't eat

ohhhh the amputation ask was about us doing it. still. its an amputation kind of night so we're doing it.

i can only see this with a few of them so im just gonna write about them. tbh i could probably also do something with ajax but i don't know what.

silvan;; he can't hurt himself anymore if he doesn't have arms. after being particularly bad and hurting himself enough to leave an ugly scar you decided to go through the process of having his limbs removed. it's usually reserved for cruel pet owners but in your case it's necessary for his own well being. well removing his legs wasn't necessary but you thought it would be better that way. he's completely dependent on you, he has no choice but to spend his days being carried by you or his maid because you refuse to give him any mobility aids. the only time he gets a taste of freedom again is during parties where you outfit him in beautiful but barely functional porcelain prosthetics. he can't move his hands and he can just barely walk so he still has to rely on you.

imagine him cutely waking you up by crawling over top of you. you open your eyes and look up to see his cheeks red and tears in his eyes. poor thing needs you to carry him to the bathroom, you give him a little kiss before you put him on the bed. you watch him squirm and try to sit up before you finally pick him up like a child. his tears soak your nightshirt as you carry him to the bathroom. he's so pathetic.

achilles;; the ultimate punishment. one of your regulars in your streams and as a customer asked you one night how much for a leg, normal question for you. except he meant achilles leg. and he was willing to pay millions for it. achilles and you spend a long time talking it over. it's not that you don't love the idea of taking away his life and making him solely dependent on you but you're worried about him waking up one day hating you for doing this to him. he assures you that's impossible and even if he did wake up one day hating you he would want you to break him back into place. he asserts over and over that his life, his body, his mind are all yours to break as you will. so he loses a leg. and then an arm. and soon enough your cute toy is just a sweet little thing that needs you for everything.

imagine him crawling as best he can over to you whining the whole way. you take pity on him and pick him up, sitting him in your lap while you play games. everyone in the stream says hi to him so excited to see him and his face that was once the picture of stoicism lights up with glee. he waves a nubby arm at them and almost falls off your lap. you give him a gentle kiss as you fix him between your legs. you have to remind him again to use his words and he struggles to think like he has every day since he became a happy little toy. "fhank you!!" so cute.

noemie;; he's premium meat and you've always found it a waste not to eat him no matter how much you like him. so when he gets on your last nerve you decide you've had enough. he screams and cries like a proper pig but you can tell even through his tears he's so happy. you only take his limbs and let him keep the rest because that's how much you like him. he is so grateful when he watches you eating one of his legs and you're kind enough to feed him some as well!! and now, you take your four legged piggy and you put him in your bedroom, metal on his nubs, hook in his nose, a little fake pig tail in his ass. he's a reward for you after a long day of work. sometimes you take him out and carry him around for some fresh air and to see everything you've been working on.

imagine opening the door to your bedroom to see your little piggy sitting in his bed on the floor looking excited to see you and immediately oinking. you pick him up and carefully remove his nose hook before you start to head to the bath. you're covered in blood and grime from work and he smells sweaty. he'll cuddle against your chest while he talks about what he thought about all day and how much he missed you. in the bath he'll splash and blow bubbles and be all excited you have to take him out and wrap him tightly in his towel so you can actually clean yourself. but he'll never stop talking and praising and smiling at you.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

tbh i don't think it's a "tar pit" thing to get upset seeing posts talking about how crucial and important it is for your wellbeing to go out to community events and participate in community all the time when covid's still one of the leading causes of death in your country and there aren't indoor air filtration upgrades nor masking happening.

like YES it is CRUCIAL for people to be able to leave the house and participate in social events. that's WHY people are upset and depressed and hopeless when we see those posts and they're not talking about upgrading filtration and wearing masks to make those things possible. because they're talking about how crucial it is to do a necessary thing that's literally impossible for us to access. like we're literally suffering and dying because we can't do these things, so yes, it does hurt to see people talking about how these things are necessary and you'll struggle and wither away without them, because we're the people struggling and withering away and the only way it'll stop is if OTHER people make changes to ALLOW us to do those things.

it doesn't make you a "tar pit" to say "yes, you are right, these things are crucial to access, and a LOT of society now can't access them anymore, we have to change things so we CAN access them." that is the opposite of being a tar pit.

it's actually a tar pit move to respond to that with "that's negative, shut the fuck up, make a different post, wallow in your misery alone, we're actually trying to get better," etc. SO ARE WE! we can't unless YOU change things FOR us! we can't start coming to your social events until you run air filters at them, move them outside, and encourage masking at indoor ones. we can't start participating in community events until they have air filtration, or are outside, and masking is encouraged.

i frankly do not think you have the right to criticize people for bringing up COVID community access issues in response to you talking about the necessity of community access, unless all of the community events you attend are either HEPA-filtered or outdoors. if that is not the case, you can't talk shit about people trapped in our houses because nobody wants to run a fucking air filter. yeesh!!!

[officialdaydreamer00]

Flowers of a summer day

in which your significant other finally agreed to go outside with you for an impromptu picnic.

pairing: idia shroud x yuu/reader

contents: short oneshot, this is just angst with a happy ending tbh, idia might be ooc pls don't shoot me (^-^; ), reader is referred to as yuu, gender neutral reader and narrated with you/yours, reader has powers to manipulate plants (mainly flowers) to a certain extent

★ the daydreamer speaks — my entry for @cloudcountry's sweet shroud summer 2024!! this is literally an excuse to stimulate the brainworms hehe. also i was braiding my hair and my brain went "gasp. idea!! :D" and there you have it ^-^

do i tag? yes, i do. my main idia liker: @edith-is-a-cat, others: @identity-theft-101 @ferris-the-wheel @xen-blank @twistwonderlanddevotee @loser-jpg @lemonchuu

remember to reblog if you enjoy my work!!

"Is all of this really necessary?"

A chuckle.

"Well, yes, it is."

Summer was just around the corner.

The sun was shining brightly, accompanied by clouds bracketed to the clear blue sky. Flowers glimmered, blooming under the sunlight like jewels. The summer's breezes picked up their faint yet comforting scents, carrying them to distant lands. It was hot out in the flower field, indeed, but the forest surrounding it and a pond nearby helped cooled the air down. Birds took places hidden in the trees, singing a special harmony only they could do, tying every pieces of details together for a lovely summer day.

... It was also how Idia found himself sitting under a tree looking towards his beloved's flower field, having his hair braided and played with.

"You're killing me with the sun, Yuu-shi..."

You only chuckled at his incessant mutterings under his breath as your hands skilfully wove through his fiery long hair, braiding in flowers you grew with love and magic every now and then as you saw fit.

"But how can I refuse Ortho when he personally asked for my help?"

"That's—... Fair enough..."

He grew quiet as you continued on with your little mission.

If it was several years ago, someone told him that he'd have someone who loved and cared for him for his entirety, he'd malfunction and dismiss it as a cruel joke one would say to him. Until you came into his life, what with the ruckus in the opening ceremony.

He still didn't exactly get why you chose him. Him, of all people.

Every time he looked at you, you always shined, as bright as the sun, and as serene as the moon. Even in the drkest times, after every trouble you faced during your time on campus, you would still shined, as if nothing could diminish the light of your aura.

And he envied you for that.

Compared to you, he was no one special, a strange individual even, and not in a good way. Seven, he would agree if you outright said that to his face. He hope you didn't think of him so low like that, however, since it's not like you befriended him if you thought so, right?

... Right?

Oh, who was he kidding? Would you still be with him if you saw how weird he actually was? Would you get tired of him? Would you leave him one day? He would understand if you do leave him behind one day, but by Seven, would it hurt so much and he would never leave his room again if you—

—The sound of you humming tore through his suffocating thoughts, saving him from sinking even deeper down that rabbit hole.

'Right... No point in dweling into that anymore...' He thought, focusing on the soft hands threading through his hair.

You chose him. You stayed by his side, willingly. And even after everything he did, you forgave him. And you loved him for who he was.

"And... Done! There we go."

He looked so different in the mirror that you carried along, with his fiery hair cascading down his back, and the peonies and violets woven in the intricate braids. A lovely product of your creative mind.

Perhaps going outside once in a while wasn't as bad as he thought it was.

He felt himself smiling, his hair glowing a soft pink shade. It was a comforting thought, knowing he could live with moments like this. For eternity, if you would agree.

[didnt-hear-idsb-live-again]

hm. I don't know how to say this but like. I reblogged a post earlier today about least favorite album, and after reading that more than half the tags said Midnights and TTPD, I've just been thinking. I'm glad for Taylor that she doesn't have to do promo or interviews, and she doesn't have to do full-fledged eras anymore, and I get and appreciate that she's the biggest she's ever been, right now, in this moment, when she's not employing that stuff. but it's interesting to me also that her size currently is largely in part to re-records, celebrating past eras, and to the Eras Tour.... neither of which would be capable of existing if not for the effort she had previously put in to eras, appearances, interviews, etc, and having branding for each album that actually gets seen through; creating worlds and universes out of each album (as opposed to TTPD and a lesser extent Midnights, which, to me and I think a lot of others, are just 2 collections of music. and the worlds that they "create", which seemed promising in the beginning, didn't really... carry through for an extended period of time). Like a part of being an albums artist is not just recording albums, but it's also... making those albums entire universes? Carrying the aesthetic of the album wherever you're seen / etc, doing appearances and exciting things for fans and releasing content that fits in the world of the album. It honestly made sense for that to be minimal with folklore and evermore because, as pandemic albums, that kind of... fit?

But content-wise, TTPD literally may as well be a pandemic album. I loved the world the Fortnight video created. But that's.... it. I miss hearing her talk about her work, I miss her on socials embodying that work in various ways, I miss fan-oriented cool things. and like again I get that that's not necessary for her now, but it's weird that that's literally how she got where she is, and why she's beloved in this moment. But I wonder.... will that continue if she never has a proper era again? Like I don't think anyone's going to look back and be nostalgic about TTPD or Midnights even (they will think back on this time because of Eras, but it's not about the album whatsoever) in the way look back on 1989 / rep / speak now / Lover etc. And it sucks because tbh sonically TTPD is my favorite record of hers, but I'm such an album person and this album being like, one (pretty non-cohesive except it's in black and white) photoshoot and one video and legit nothing else, it's really... hard to love it the way I've loved her other albums. Even single covers just being random tour photos or already-used shots from the album booklet! It feels like gearing up for something and then slamming the breaks the second it gets going.

[saiintvalentiine]

WAIT im back bc i remembered most of your followers are UUers :3c a bit of seavbo, if it pleases thee? can be requiescat verse but doesnt have to be!

ok well I'm not even gonna defend myself. in fact I don't even think I can defend myself. here's some requiescat flavored seavbo. tho tbh I don't think you need to know anything about requiescat to enjoy it.

Word count: 697

The gardens on the roofs of the Master level houses are always a pleasure to sit in. Seawatts misses them a little, but never enough to abandon his library. But Evbo keeps a house up here, somewhat separate from the cluster of the main city, and Seawatt has every permission to be here whenever he'd like to be.

He sits under an azalea tree, book in hand. His personal library of hand-transcribed books grows as he works on them between his other duties. Many are translations, Galactic to English or Parkour to English, unfit for adding to the library that he simply can't just throw out. He collects them in his little sandstone house, but he's begun to store some of them here instead.

He's probably read this version of this book a hundred times. It's smudged and covered in reworked translations. Nuance is hard, but translation is an act of love, for better or worse, and if there's anything left in this world that he loves, it is this.

Well.

He hears the clattering before he sees anything. Evbo lands on the moss and grass with a 360 flair, windmilling his arms so he doesn't directly topple onto Seawatt. He half succeeds, instead tumbling onto his knees next to where Seawatt's sprawled in the shade.

“Hi,�� Evbo says with a grin, eyes glittering in the afternoon sun. “You're here.”

“I let someone else take care of the library today,” Seawatt says. It was terrifying, but necessary. Seawatt won't be around forever to take care of it. Others need to learn. “I've been here all morning.”

“You didn't say anything!”

“You're supposed to be helping the Champion right now.”

Seawatt pushes his glasses up his nose, gold rims reflecting light into his eyes. He shifts them until it doesn't bother him anymore.

“EMF is fine,” Evbo says, shuffling closer, still on his knees. “He said I was being annoying.”

Evbo hasn't realized it yet, or maybe chooses to not acknowledge it, but annoying in EMF speak means that he's been moping. Obnoxious means Evbo's been talking too much about Seawatt. Overbearing means he's stressed. They've developed a whole language around not rubbing Evbo's face into his emotional problems.

Seawatt closes his book and places it on the grass next to him, reaching over and running his fingers through Evbo's hair. Evbo follows the flow, lets Seawatt pull him in until their foreheads bump together.

“Hi,” Evbo says again, quieter, scrambling to take Seawatt's glasses off and store them away safely. “Hi, you're in my house, Seawatt.”

Seawatt's affections aren't easily won, even between them. Evbo knows that. Evbo likes it, even. So Seawatt waits. He doesn't pull him closer, doesn't push him away, just waits.

Evbo knows how Seawatt likes to be kissed. He presses close, presses their mouths together, lets Seawatt revel in the feeling before jolting into motion. He bites until Seawatt's lips are tingling, then soothes the sting with his tongue. He waits until Seawatt's a little lightheaded before pulling away. He lets Seawatt catch his breath, kisses a flight of moles across Seawatt's jaw, and Seawatt digs his fingers nice and well into the back of his head.

“The whole day,” Evbo says. “You've been here the whole day!”

“Mhm,” Seawatt responds lazily, head lulling back into the trunk of the azalea tree. “Since sunrise.”

“Since sunrise!” Evbo repeats, threatens Seawatt's throat with the blade of his teeth for a moment.

“Until sunset,” Seawatt tugs Evbo's head up so that they're eye to eye.

Evbo's always had expressive eyes, and now they spark. He flips them over, part skill and part godliness, so Seawatt is straddling his lap instead.

“Until sunset,” he repeats. “I bet you can finish reading me that book from last week.”

“You'll have to let me,” Seawatt pulls his hair again, this time as punishment.

“Get better at reading.”

Evbo grins, fierce in his demand.

“Bastard.”

Evbo just sticks his tongue out, arms wrapping around Seawatt and hugging him close, pillowing his chin on Seawatt's chest. Such a childish God. But a challenge is a challenge, and Evbo's always known how to bait Seawatt into rising to the occasion.

[bamboozledbird]

HOWLING: TST Rewrite // Prev. / Chapter 2 / Next

Characters: Thomas, fem!reader, Newt, Teresa Agnes (bg), Minho (bg), Aris (bg) Pairing(s): Thomas x Reader (the slowest of burns as is my brand) Word Count: 3.4k Tags: Mix of book and movie canon, newt!sister!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, sad times are ahead my friends

A/N: V fun new game, drink every time you see a trope. Also thank you for the nice comments and messages tbh inspired me to keep going because I don't see a lot of Thomas content out there in the Tumblr great beyond. Taglist: @m30wk1ttycat, @mxltifxnd0m

You stay far away from Newt now that you know. It feels wrong, unnatural. You can’t eat or sleep—constantly fighting every single one of your instincts makes you feel sick, like your organs are rejecting your body in protest—but it’s necessary. It’s only a matter of time before he disappears, or you disappear, or cranks break through the compound walls and drag you all to an early grave. 

You can’t remember losing Newt the first time; you don’t want to ever have to.

Newt notices. He watches you from afar with a furious little divot in his brow and his lip between his teeth, but he doesn’t press. He’s busy, after all. You don’t know what Newt’s friends are planning, but you can see the itching under Thomas’s skin. The constant tapping, the darting eyes. He never rests in one place for long. It’s conspicuous amongst the complacent. Not many people see this place for what it truly is, but Thomas does. 

So do you. 

As naïve as you find them, you can’t blame the others. Hope is an addictive thing. After so many years of nothing, a glimpse of happiness is so incredibly tempting. Who’s to say what’s better anyway: waiting to die in numb anticipation or being blissfully unaware. It all ends the same.

Thomas doesn’t fit into either category. It seems to be a trend for him, you’re gathering, along with his friends following his lead. You’re both impressed and irritated by the way people get caught up in his current. It’s like they can’t fight it, like he’s a black hole of a person. The more you watch him, however, the more you realize that isn’t quite right. Thomas doesn’t steal light; he burns with it. The realization leaves a bittersweet film on your tongue, and you do your best not to look at him anymore.

You force yourself to be content this way: alone, numb, head buried in your pillow and denial. You ignore them all and suffocate on the cold, hard truth: You don’t know your own brother, and you never will—and then he spills out of a vent and into your room. 

The vent creaks under Newt’s weight. It’s a small sound, but it’s so loud in the silence of night. You reach for your fork before you recognize his mop of downy hair and wide eyes.

“Christ, Newt,” the strength of your relief sends you reeling back onto your cot, “thought you were a crank.”

“In the air shaft?” You see the flash of Newt’s grin, white teeth gleaming in the dark. You can also see the tension creased in corners of his mouth.

You push yourself onto your elbow and hum, “Seems like exactly the kind of place a crank would lurk.”

He snorts, “Fair enough.”

Your eyes finally adjust to the dark, and you can see Thomas now. Aris pokes his head out of the vent behind him. You’re struck dumb for a moment. The past and the present clashing together in the dark of your temporary prison makes your head hurt.

You swing your legs over the side of your bed, scrubbing your knuckles over your eyelids. “Aris?”

Aris gives you a little smile. It’s more emotion than you’ve seen from him since you arrived at the facility.

Newt wraps his spindly fingers around your ankle and tugs your foot into a sturdy boot. “Com'n, bug, we’re getting out of here.” 

You’re frozen as he ties the laces into neat bows with shaking hands. The endearment wrenches you into another world, dragging you heart-first into a muddled memory with a white-knuckled grip. Your cracked lips part, and you can only think of one word at a time, “Out?”

“Yeah, as in not in here,” Thomas finally speaks from the shadows. He’s on edge, like always, but tonight you can almost see the feverish energy radiating through his skin. He crouches down and nods towards the vent, “Let’s go.”

“Into the Scorch?” You scoff and shake your head, “You’re insane.”

Newt grins: a little frantic, a lot familiar. He holds his hand out for you to take and says, “Only slightly.” 

You stare at his palm for a long moment, and then a loud groan rattles through your chest. You wrap your fingers around Newt’s and glower at him, “When we all end up dying a horrific death, I’ll never let you live it down.”

Newt pulls you to your feet and laughs. You aren’t sure if he’s more amused by the scrunch of your nose or Thomas’s surly huff. You’d like to think it’s the latter. “Try to think positively,” Newt chirps. He’s quieter than normal, so that the sound doesn’t echo off the vent’s aluminum walls, and you finally realize that this is real. You’re on a covert mission to escape WCKD and venture into the unknown—and Newt wants you to think positively. 

You scoff. The Scorch. A barren desert. Crawling with cranks. What a positive venue to vacation in. Your shoulder twitches with a piddling shrug, “At least we’ll probably die quickly.”

The boy with spiky hair—free of blood this time—snickers behind you, “That’s the spirit.”

You grin and then immediately scowl when Thomas shushes everyone. No one disobeys him, not even you, and that just makes you scowl harder. Your mouth strains with the effort, but you keep it closed and imagine all the things you could say to make Thomas hit his head against the low ceiling.

Newt guides you through the tight corridor, taking great effort to keep your head and injured thumb away from the sharp corners and steely walls. It’s all a bit of a blur from there.

The Maze, as horrific as it was, at least prepared you for running away from the guards and dodging the hail of taser shells sparking over your head. The shots are blinding, bright lightning-flashes that shatter glass and heat your skin with frenzied static. You almost stop, lost in the glare sticking to your eyelids, but Newt doesn’t let you.

Newt drags you behind him and doesn’t let go of your hand, not even when the guards close in on your ragtag group of panicked children. Newt pulls you behind him, firm against his back, and you can’t see anything over his lofty frame. He squeezes your hand, and it occurs to you with startling clarity that he would take a bullet for you. The thought sits heavily in your stomach like a rotten peach pit; you choke on it while you wait for the end.

When the final door won’t open, you think that you’re going to die before you even see the Scorch, but Thomas surprises you again. 

He gets you out. All of you. Alive.

For how long, you aren’t sure. 

Outside the compound, the world is big—empty of anything good and filled with imminent peril. The wind is fittingly sinister. It howls like a caged dog that’s been kicked one too many times, but the chilling echoes can’t drown out the shrieking in the distance. The tortured cries frost your blood and nip at your skin. They’re coming from the lost souls just beyond the dunes, and you know that they’re out there somewhere, prowling in the shadows of an unwelcoming indigo night. Barely human. Begging for death. 

It’s a place you aren’t supposed to be, a night that banishes you—but you have no choice but to run into the thick of it. 

Thomas is fast—faster than you, you note with a bitter bite—even on sand. Everyone struggles to keep up with him, especially Newt. He has a limp. How could you forget that he has a limp? Guilt burns your throat as badly as the sand in your eyes; you can’t shake it, no matter how hard you try. 

The wind kicks up the further you venture into the Scorch. The gusts turn almost silver with the grains caught in their path. Lightning strikes the ground, too close for comfort, and the dusty haze lights with electricity. The glow looks toxic, like a suffocating smog—a cancerous ray trying to eat away at your flesh. It's a strange thing to be grateful for, but the shroud of sand gives you just enough time for Newt’s hand to slip back into yours. 

A collapsing building is another strange thing to be grateful for, but the decomposing shopping center hides you from the searchlights and the storm outside. As you look around at the crumbling walls and shattered windows, you wonder what’s worse: WCKD’s soldiers or a horde of cranks. 

For a moment, the only sound in the remnants of a world long-gone is heavy breathing. There are a few coughs here and there, lungs trying to expel all the inhaled sand, and then silence. Thomas barely gives the group a moment to catch their breath, and then he’s urging everyone forward. Panicked. Breathless. This time, you think it’s justified. 

The girl they arrived with stops Thomas, demanding an explanation that you probably should’ve wondered about before now. It was so simple for you at the time. Newt held out his hand, and you took it. You’d follow him anywhere, you realize, just to make sure he was okay. 

You aren’t really surprised by Thomas’s revelation or his complete and utter lack of a plan. Maybe you should be, but stringing kids up and bleeding them dry seems exactly like the kind of thing WCKD would do in the pursuit of a cure that doesn’t exist. At least, you finally know where all those kids disappeared to, even though the knowledge doesn’t actually provide you any relief. 

“C’mon, let’s find you some warmer clothes,” Newt’s voice is soft so that he doesn’t startle you, but you jump anyway, “you’re more goose-pimple than girl.” 

Your mouth dries as you look at him, and all you can see is a bullet ripping through his chest, frying his bleeding heart with 3,000 volts of lethal electricity—all because someone aimed a gun in your direction.

“I can look by myself. We should split up…cover more ground.” You pull your hand out of his and step back, stumbling over a rotted plank of wood. Large hands wrap around your waist, righting you before you can fall to the floor and break another bone. 

Newt squints at you and eventually lets out a little sigh, “At least take Tommy with you. What good would you be with two bum hands.” 

You tip your chin up and see the sharp line of Thomas’s jaw. He doesn’t look down at you. If you had to hedge your bets, you’d say he’s glaring at Newt. You scowl at the ground and mutter, “I don’t think—”

Thomas interrupts you, “Newt’s right. No one should go anywhere alone.” He lets go of your sides, and the chill left in their absence tingles through your hips to your toes. Thomas doesn’t move from his spot, just slants his head to stare at you until your shoulders sink and you turn to follow him. 

Neither of you speak for a long time. You poke around empty rooms, examining the belongings of a society you’ve only heard stories about. It would be fascinating if you weren't aware that they belonged to the dead and the damned. Thomas wanders towards a string of broken lights, and you walk towards a pile of water jugs coated in a thick layer of grime and dirt. 

Thomas breaks the silence, “You can’t avoid him forever.”

You frown at an empty water bottle, “I'm not.” 

Infuriatingly, Thomas doesn’t look at you. He traces the wiring of a lamp with lithe fingers and says, “I understand why you want to.”

You stand up and brush the debris off of your sweatpants, rolling your eyes, “Oh, you do, do you?”

Thomas doesn’t move for a moment, and then he curls and uncurls his fingers, “You think it’s easier.” You watch the muscles in his back ripple as he rolls out an invisible ache in his shoulders. “It might be.”

Your lips purse. You’ve never liked being seen, especially by someone you don’t know. How dare he, you think, how dare he see past the scowls and stone. You kick at a small piece of rubble and fold your arms over your chest, “You’re a great comfort, Thomas.” 

“He would say it’s worth it if he knew.” Thomas turns around and mirrors your position. You aren’t sure if he’s mocking you, but when he crosses his arms you can see the shape of his biceps through his thin jacket. Your eyes jerk to his face when he starts talking again, “It might not even matter. He cares, not just about you—he cares about people. You can’t do anything to change that.”

“I…I can’t—”

A loud clanging in the background interrupts your reply. You hear one of the boys curse under their breaths, and Thomas’s gaze follows the sound. His eyes get stuck on a glimpse of the girl—Teresa, you remind yourself. You can just barely make out her dark curls through a broken window and a collapsing archway. 

“You care about her.” You chew on your lip and look at Thomas through your lashes, “Aren’t you scared?”

He looks down at you, and his throat bobs with his swallow. “All the time,” Thomas’s voice is a soft wind, a gentle breeze that almost gets lost in the empty corridors, “but scared is better than nothing.”

You wonder if he’s ever admitted that before—that even the great Saint Thomas is afraid sometimes. It feels like a secret. He whispers it into the small space between you like it's something he wants you to keep. For some reason, you intend to. 

“What about grief?” you whisper, because the room is calling for softness, and shiver. “Is grief better than nothing?” 

Thomas’s dark eyes trail over your face, “I haven’t decided yet.”

You both step back at the same time, too raw and too exposed to stay in the light for another second. 

You drift towards a large pile of clothes and brush your fingers over it. It’s a disorienting mix of scratchy denim and soft cotton, all riddled with dust and moth holes. You stop when you feel something fuzzy. Thankfully, it isn’t a dead animal—or even worse a live, rabid animal—it’s a stuffed bear. You clutch the teddy bear close to your chest and inhale deeply. You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe something sweet like baby powder or something musty like spilled juice, but it just smells like…nothing. Just dust and earth, not even a note of something human. 

Your heart gets stuck in your throat as you blink rapidly, fighting the ache in your eyes. Thomas rests his hand on your shoulder and bows his head a little to look at you. His face is more worried than questioning, and it softens your resentment. 

Swallowing hard, you fiddle with the teddy bear’s fraying bowtie, “It’s just…it’s so…little, and…they wouldn’t leave this behind.” Unless. You both know what comes after unless. 

Thomas gently pulls the bear from your hands and sets it on top of the pile; he does it all so gently it makes you ache. He takes your empty hand and nods towards the string lights, “Think you can help me find out where these wires lead to?”

You nod, grateful for a task, and wipe the dust and damning wetness from your face with the back of your good hand. Thomas pauses and glances at your other hand, frowning at the swelling, “They didn’t splint that?” 

The corner of your mouth tugs into a dry smirk, despite the constant ache of your shifting thumb, “Blood bags don’t need bones.”

You expect a smile, but Thomas’s mouth is an unmoving, severe line. He looks around the wreckage until he finds a dirty sneaker, ripped at the toes. Your brows furrow until he pulls the laces from it and holds out his hand, “Can I?”

You hesitate and then nod, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Thomas is heartbreakingly gentle. His lamblike touch startles you—you didn’t know until now that a warrior could be so delicate. It still hurts when he wraps the laces around your thumb and palm, but his tenderness distracts you from most of it. It’s the strangeness of it, you think. It's disorienting how confoundingly tender he is with the thumb that gave him his black eye. 

Thomas finishes the make-shift splint with a tight knot, and his attention shifts to your face, “Feel okay?” 

You nod again and gnaw on a sore spot in your cheek, “Why are you being so nice to me?” You look towards his bruised eye and then look down at your shoes, digging your toes into the concrete. “I kind of punched you in the face, in case you forgot.”

The corner of Thomas’s mouth twitches, “Didn’t forget. You’ve got a pretty unforgettable right hook.”

You stare at your shoe-lace splint and murmur, “I’m sorry.” You’re a little surprised when you realize just how much you mean it. 

“I had it coming.” Thomas shrugs and rubs his palms over his biceps, “I don’t feel like him…I don’t even know him—but that guy, the one who sent you into the Maze, he’s still me. We have the same face.”

Pausing, your voice becomes little more than a breath, “I knew him...I don’t know you.” You tentatively reach up and brush your thumb just below the bruises mottled under his eye. 

His eye has gotten worse since you last saw him. The welt is darker now, more plum skin than pink flesh, and it’s seeped around his entire eye socket, pooling in the shadows of his face. Frowning, you brush your fingertip lightly over his cheekbone; it doesn’t alleviate much of your guilt. It all feels a little like a red wine stain you can’t scrub clean. 

Thomas freezes for a moment, and your heart lurches into your ribs. He probably doesn’t get a lot of skin-to-skin contact, you realize, and you have to strangle the thought before it swells into something painful. Thomas slowly relaxes and turns his face into your hand slightly, “Do you want to?”

You lick your bottom lip, and a slow nod rolls up your neck to your head, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.” 

His smile is a timid little thing, and you want to keep it in your pocket for the dark days ahead. 

“You two need another minute? Perhaps a room.”

Your chin whips towards Newt, and your face burns. Thomas grumbles something decidedly unfriendly under his breath as he bumps Newt’s shoulder on his way towards the wall of dials and switches. 

You can feel Newt’s gaze on you, and you ignore the warmth creeping up your ears. “Shut up.”

Newt holds up his hands and grins, “I didn’t say anything!”

You’re just pouty enough to forget you’re supposed to be avoiding him, “You’re going to regret teasing me when I become a crank chew toy.”

“Please don’t croak just to spite me,” Newt throws his arm over your shoulder and squeezes you to his side, “I’d be awfully upset about it.”

You remember again. You can almost picture Newt’s face if you told him what you know, but it's the image of Newt's face watching you die that truly haunts you. You slip out from under his arm and mumble unconvincingly, “I’m gonna see if Thomas needs help.”

The smirk on Newt’s face tells you that he’s severely misinterpreted your intentions, but that’s okay. It’s better if he doesn’t know—even if the alternative is utterly humiliating. 

You crouch down next to Thomas, and he gives you a small smile that’s drenched in melancholy. There's some understanding in there too, but you try to ignore it.

“We’ll get out of this," Thomas says softly as he fiddles with the generator's cobwebbed dials. He catches your eye and doesn’t look away, “I’m going to get us all out of this, and then there won’t be anything to be afraid of. I promise.”

“Well,” your smile wobbles, “there’ll still be spiders.” 

Thomas smiles back at you, soft and little, “I’ll squish ‘em.”

Your lips twitch, “And snakes.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkles, “Can’t help you there.”

It surprises a laugh out of you, and Thomas smiles again. It’s the first time you’ve seen him truly smile, and the stretch of his mouth lights up his face, even in the gloom of darkness and desolation. You’re blinded by him for a moment. Somehow, he outshines the lights that wash the building in a golden haze when he flips the generator’s final switch.

No one is smiling, however, when the screaming starts.

[sunbowo-o]

⚠️ HoO Spoilers ⚠️

ok, so i just finished the last book from HoO and i need to say that, even though i LOVED this saga, i am kinda disappointed with the ending... and here is why:

(tbh, i don't know if these are controversial or general agreement topics, but pls be nice!)

i felt like a lot of things were missing, like, for example, WHY the hell didn't have a scene with Percy and his mother??? not even a LETTER?? 😭 my boy went missing for so long, his mum must be dying from worries and we don't even get a chapter with them both talking?? after everything Sally has done on the first saga?

another character that i felt was forgotten is Grover. tbf, i didn't expect like a whole scene with a long dialogue with him, but, how much it would cost just to say that, for example, Nico saw him, Percy and Annabeth talking together? the og trio. he deserved so much better 💔

ok, so we miss all these, but what do we get?? JASON AND PIPER KISSING! like, i understand the importance of the scene (a new begining and shit) but is not like we haven't seen it happening before, they say it was their first kiss but that part didn't had any impact on me like???? and they're just a OK couple, doesn't even gets close to that Percabeth kiss scene in the end of the last PJO book. so, yeah, was this REALLY necessary??

Leo's "death" was a really weak angst. don't get me wrong, leo is one of my favourite characters of all time, and i know some of the readers got really sad, but i didn't, because i knew he wouldn't die (ok, this was my fault maybe, but i saw that he was the one who narrates the last chapter) and we kinda of knew his plan, i knew he had the cure with him yk?

and, complementing topic 4, the last chapter being about him and Calipso was just 😐😐 like, everyone thinks he is dead, but we know he is not, so it doesn't have this weight anymore, and, then, he goes to Calipso... i know he is obsessed with her, and talk about her throughout all the book, but, why this was the last chapter??? A WHOLE SAGA SAYING ABOUT MONSTERS AND GAIA AND IT JUST END WITH TWO "TEENS" TALKING ABOUT OH YEAH WE DONT KNOW WHERE WE ARE GOING BY THE WAY

And, in the topic of monster and battle, the Gaia battle was SO DAMN BORING!!! Ok, so Rick passed 5 whole books saying to readers "hey, pay attention! they can't let Gaia wake up or else will be THE END OF THE WORLD" and we are like "ok lol" and then she wakes up and i was like "OH SHIT WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY GOING TO DO?? IS THE END!!! NOOOO!!!" ... she appears... they drag her to the sky... one explosion (and an unnecessary Octavian death) and BOOM! its over. "simple" like that. AND without any relevant deaths.

i am just angry because the end of PJO was wonderful. they had to do hard sacrifices, (Charlie), it had betrayal plot (Silena) and redemption (Silena and Luke). they had to use ALL the forces they could think of and still was a difficult battle. and the main villain was a TITAN!!!!! Gaia was supposed to be SO MUCH DIFFICULT, and yet, it was not. the giants were harder to fight.

and talking about fight. the way that the amazons and the hunters didn't appear back was so 😐😐 too. like, it seemed they were forgotten like Grover and Sally. not even a change of letters? just to guarantee they were ok...

my verdict: pjo CRUSHES hoo

anyway, i know that there's "more" but i also know that The Seven™ will not be all together again, so its just kinda of disappointment to know that was the end... feel free to also give your opinion (but try to avoid future spoilers please!)

(also, srr for my English! 🫶)

[jjmorelikeotp]

Okay so I am watching BTVS for the first time in my life & I'm currently on season 6 E 14, and one thing I really really love is how Spike is just so...comitted.

With Angel, I personally had the feeling he was grieving the person he could be, all sad and sappy in his misery that kinda clung around him all the time (ik we're calling spike a drama queen but. THAT MAN? Depressed himbo vibes. No offense.) Even though he had a soul, there was this feeling of self pity in him - and it makes sense considering the fact he probably knew that one true moment of happiness would turn him back into a monster, and that is rly depressing tbh.

Does not change the fact that Buffy being underage when being with him is totally absurd and predatory, there, I said it.

He is kind of the big scary monster guy and sometimes she does seem like a normal 16 year old, and by that, naive or simply, young.

It made me feel like she was prey, not gonna lie.

It is what stopped him from truly comitting to Buffy. I mean yeah, their love was pure and they definetely are soulmates in some way. They truly affected each other's fate.

But this is where Spike is different than Angel as well. He is truly COMITTED to what he's doing, he is all in for buffy. Like, the way he offers to make money for her when she needs it? That offer is NOT a deal-kind-of-offer. He truly wants to help her and it is so casually because he already is in full partner mode, in whatever way she needs. Offering comfort when she has to work a double shift (yeah by fucking outside, mkay, just the spuffy way ig) like that because he is actually afraid she will lose her sanity? Even though they drive each other insane? Yeah these scenes are not talked about enough.

In that same scenario, Angel never even would have showed up. He would have waited in front of the building after Buffy ended her shift, maybe. He never even offered to be in her life like that, while both of them found a million excuses for it. But Spike does not. He just simply does stuff that COULD be the solution if he ever even thought of them being a problem.

And I think that is also why he's so pissed about Buffy going on and off about him - to Angel, she seemed so comitted, but to him, he just does not seem to be able to.

And again, it make sense, but I also think we don't talk enough about the fact that Buffy did indeed kill Angel, when it wasn't even necessary as in "he was soulless and a monster" anymore. Even though she loved him. But only when she had a really really good reason/purpose.

So one thing that might be also pushing her away from spike is the thought of having to do that again, and desperately trying to find the purpose without being able to.

He makes her choose wether she wants to be the prey or the hunter in this. On purpose. To show her her options and her power because she never really got to experience both sides / perspectives with Angel OR Riley.

So while she tries to figure out 1. Her reason why she should kill him (which should be a very very valid one so she can bring up the power to do so) 2. Her life's purpose in general, he just ... delivers purpose, not to her, but as in, her being the purpose. That's what he acts like and That's what she can't handle. Yes, she is the reason he is trying to change, but also, he puts her in the Position of being the purpose of him doing that.

Showing her the self responsibility and ability to be her own purpose and make her own decisions. (After her friends all kind of screwed up that kind of SELF responsibility.) He really does man up in this show, and like I said, these are just my thoughts watching it for the first time (did not see angel the series yet).

He is also holding her accountable even though he has a soft spot for her, and she is not used to that. She treats him like a man, yes, but he treats her like an equal as well and always has. She is used being looked down upon by adults or the council, enemies, blablablah, also her friends who "saved" her earlier this season, or being the superslayer hero and leader who has to do everything. She is always in positions. Even with angel, she was, it kind of stopped when they broke up but even then, he treats her like she does not know SHIT. Something is standing between them and always has been, and while Angel kind of used that as an excuse to keep distant and keep their walls up, Spike uses these exact walls as a reason or challenge to tear them down. Spike never acts like things are not his fault even if they are horrible, he just simply accepts his dark side while still having a normal one, with passions on tv and card games and whatever. He *subconciously* takes responsibility even before having a soul, for stuff he did, he doesn't blame his vampire side or whatever for it.

I think in subtext, Buffy always had a slight commitment to angel, as in "maybe, one day, it can still happen" while angel cut off all those hopes for himself (not his desires, maybe. But his ... solution oriented search or smth) as we can see when he visits her at her mom's funeral.

And one other reason why Buffy is so terrified of that whole Spike thing is because it makes her stop that hope for angel or resolve that feeling of being owned by (her feelings for) him.

And don't get me wrong, Spike is kinda possessive too, but as I see it he is trying to commit to a relationship where she can own herself and that is what terrifies her truly.

(That's what we see him do with drusilla from the beginning)

You understand what I mean? If you got thoughts on it let me know!

[dinosaursatemymom]

Okay little rant about shipping culture

Like why have ships become about like canon ability like ykwim like shipping can just be for fun😭 like just cause I think a ship is cool doesn't mean I think it's canon or should be canon. Like what happened to rarepairs and shipping from other fandoms😭 like y'all are always arguing about which ship is better because of how canon it is like it's really not that serious 😭 like I understand not wanting to ship something that has no canon basis or whatever but why go out of your way to shit on other ships and make like shipping wars because you don't like a ship😭 is it really ever that serious 💀💀

Okay this was supposed to be like a short rant but wtvwtv. I just wanted to give some examples

For one Bkdk, like I personally ship it but I also think that izuocha is cute(and like a bunch of other ships with them) and idgaf about canon tbh in the context of shipping 😭. But anyway y'all always arguing about which is more canon and which one is more important like it really doesn't matter what's canon you can like a ship even if it's ridiculous and be a multishipper.

And ik I'm not in the fandom anymore but mleven and bylr, dude the amount of arguing and like harassing over those ships was ridiculous like leave each other be someone can like a ship without it needing to be canon.

AND BEFORE ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING ik I used to be the same way about byler IK😭 I've realized the fandom is low-key toxic and we all just need to chill🥰.

And um I don't feel like thinking of other examples rn but like I just feel like everyone needs to stop worrying sm about what's canon and what's not, like yes it's really nice to see canon moments between your ship. But it's not that necessary and we need to stop placing canon ships on such a high pedestal. Like shipping is for FUN 😭. Anyway this has been my rant if a ship is legal leave it be 🥰

[mulderscully]

been thinking about some peoples complaints about how the movie handled alex's coming out as opposed to the book.

part of me understands because the movie did sort of neuter this as well as the depth of henry's mental illness, but at the same time i understand why. the movie is already two hours long and tbh if they wanted to do a fully faithful adaptation (which imo is not necessary) it maybe should've been a mini series.

and aside from taking out liam, tbh i still think that all happened just wasn't shown, and the fact that this is why alex has always known he's "lowkey into dudes" i feel like people don't fully grasp what alex goes through in that time after new years in the movie.

not every bisexual person has the same experience, but i can relate to alex pretty well both in the book and in the movie in terms of his sexuality cause they actually are pretty similar.

a lot of times when you're bisexual you just feel like everyone feels this way. you sort of feel like being straight is what being bisexual is, because the idea that others do not experience attraction to the same and different genders sounds... fake. like. i'm not even joking when i say i have a hard time believing straight people exist. i fully, of course, believe gay people exist, but people being straight and not queer at all makes me ??? sometimes, even now that i have identified as bi for over ten years.

then, there is a pretty big difference between knowing you experience same gender attraction from time to time and actively identifying as a bisexual person, as a queer person, a member of the lgbtq community.

bisexuals, to this day, are made to feel like we do not belong by both heterosexual people and our own community (which is why ellen telling alex the b in lgbtq is not a silent letter realllly matters) so sometimes you really do just shut out that part of yourself and choose to see yourself as straight because it's not worth fighting all the biphobia that you face, but it's still a part of you that you are shutting out and repressing, which is what alex was doing with henry the entire time and where his alleged dislike of him comes from in the first place. henry hates how much he loves alex so he's mean to him, alex doesn't understand why henry is mean to him because he wants henry to like him because he ALSO has feelings for him and those things clash.

during the time that henry ghosts him alex has time to evaluate himself, his feelings and his identity. he has the time to say "this is not something that i am going to ignore about myself anymore" and it may not be as magnified as it is for henry because they're in different positions in terms of support systems, it's still powerful.

when he comes out to henry, you can tell he is getting used to thinking of himself as bisexual but you can also tell that he is nervous to say the word, because telling someone you're bi is ALWAYS terrifying because you don't know what they might say to it. on top of that, you can feel that it is important to him to say it, to tell henry who he is now that he understands it.

being bisexual and identifying that way, and that being part of who you are and carrying it in your heart is a different thing than being like "yeah, whatever i'll make out with someone at a party" even if the latter is still a valid way to be queer. and sometimes you just look back and realize that [x] experience was NEVER straight.

and the best part of the movie to me is henry's complete acceptance of this. henry never ever questions alex's attraction to him, he never questions if alex will be able to stay committed to him, if he will leave him for a woman, if he's confused, or any of the things that STILL happen in media with bisexual characters as leads and as a bisexual person that has been one of the most freeing things to watch.

so yes, alex's bisexuality is still very important and handled as such in the film, in my personal bisexual opinion.