#UN hair salon

[fresa-lu]

屏東染髮【UN hair salon】近觀光夜市商圈.霧棕色挑染橘紅系.打造女孩潮流品味│屏東燙髮│屏東火車站

屏東美髮推薦！近屏東觀光夜市商圈～ 鄰近屏東環球影城及屏東火車站. 藍色招牌UN hair salon相當顯眼. 清幽舒適美髮環境，設計師親切討論個人髮色. 給予不漂色，也能染出亮彩潮流個人品味建議. 藏在長髮內的橘紅色系，果然美到非常出色！ 霧棕色系展現柔美氣質，綁髮挑色時尚個性！

屏東染髮燙髮／屏東火車站「UN hair salon」近民族夜市商圈.霧棕色挑染橘紅系.打造女孩潮流個性風

UN hair salon│店面外觀

UN hair salon位於屏東市民生路上. 從屏東火車站步行過來大約十來分鐘. UN hair salon邊就是鮪魚家族飯店屏東館. 過個馬路就是屏東觀光夜市、中央市場. 開車過來可以停在～ CITY PARKING 城市車旅 屏東民生立體停車場. 走路過來只要一、二分鐘！ 或是汽車路邊車位，機車也有路邊車位.

騎樓擺放二張椅子，可以變美後來拍美照！

UN hair salon│室內環境

一樓有���組位置，還有沙發可以休憩. 建議提前預約設計師，安排座位～ 桌位中間有櫃子可以放包包飲料.

雖說一樓空間不大，但沖洗檯面依樣很舒適！ 從座位轉個身就可以沖洗頭髮也太迅速～

UN hair salon│二樓環境

走上樓梯，來到二樓美髮空間. 空見較為寬敞明亮，白色燈泡打造夢幻氛圍. 加上有面透明落地窗，整體氣氛舒適不擁擠.

走到最後面，擺放二個桌位，有點隱密感～ 和閨密一起來染髮、燙髮，聊天也不受打擾.

二樓擺設二座沖洗檯面，都滿舒適的哦！

距離上次染燙髮已經有一段時間. 變成布丁頭的髮色真的不太討喜. 而且天天洗頭吹髮，髮尾又開始毛躁又分叉. 加上夏日來了，是時候換個髮色，修剪髮流.

UN hair salon│修剪髮型

這次設計師由IVY和COCO二位一起操刀！ 首先先由IVY設計師幫我修剪髮長和髮流. 互相討論想要留長髮的長度，再來修剪髮型. 有鑑於髮量比較豐厚，夏日顯得輕盈柔美. 所以側邊髮量以類似羽毛剪形式修髮漸層感～ 果然是專業設計師，流暢快速在二側髮樣剪型. 可以讓正面雙側的髮量看起來輕盈優美的質感.

就這樣一刀又一刀的快速剪下去，毫不遲疑！

有鑑於自然捲，整個長髮不能太短. 又有一定長度及厚度，不然必定亂翹！

UN hair salon│燙髮（瀏海）

女孩們拍照最注重髮型門面. 常常為了整型瀏海，花費不少時間. 天氣一熱，安全帽戴上，瀏海更是瘋得慘狀. 所以這次沒有燙髮全頭，只有針對瀏海燙直. 這下不用擔心瀏海中心分流，又要像個瘋子啦. 燙個瀏海時間大約一小時，其實很快哦～ 燙完瀏海，才會進行染髮，所以要有耐心等待.

燙髮會幫忙在額頭黏上塑膠片. 避免燙髮劑滴落～ 使用藥水軟化頭髮，再用離子夾燙直固定. 你看看，光是這樣就能看出瀏海總算乖乖.

UN hair salon│染髮（橘紅系）

對於髮色我沒太大概念，交給設計師推薦！ 若是不漂色、漂髮尾，髮色不會太大變化. 但是透過挑染方式，還是可以創造新髮色樣貌. 運用多個顏色調合出適合髮色（橘紅色）. 染髮前製染膏及隔離劑，再來進行染髮流程.

染髮之前，使用隔離劑，均勻塗抹髮根部位. 這個動作相當重要，避免染膏對於頭皮刺激不適.

橘紅色系看起來有點重顏色，但其實還好哦. 因我自己髮色也偏深，不加重，就不太明顯. 設計師會按照每個人的髮色來做深淺調整～

在頭髮內側以橘紅色系做挑染！ 這樣上班時，頭髮放下不會看到過於搶眼色彩. 但是下班後，把頭髮綁上或是夾捲，那可就美啦！ 整個頭髮會有著漸層般的流線色調，超摩登時尚！ 橘紅色系，染髮之後，會停留一段時間～

再來進行第二次頭皮隔離作業. 準備染髮外層的霧棕色系！ 可見隔離作業真的做得詳細.

隔離劑上到頭髮之後，還會抓抓整個髮根. 讓藥劑可以均勻塗抹在頭皮，動作輕柔呢！

UN hair salon│染髮（霧棕色）

染膏看起來很像白色，居然染著有霧棕色！

接下來，進行染髮整個頭髮的霧棕色！ 二位設計師都相當俐落流順的塗抹染膏. 也會適時詢問有沒不適狀況，沒有過重異味. 染髮等待時間，頭皮也不會有發癢或是刺鼻味道. 可以��輕鬆的追劇、傳訊息，一切享受就對了啦.

分成好幾個區域，慢慢染膏均勻抹上. 一層一層的相當細心，而且動作很輕. 隨時觀察整個染霧棕色的藥膏上色情況. 還有哪邊需要加強塗抹，或是不太均勻.

染霧棕色時間大約預計半小時，等待上色狀況. 停留時間越長，顏色越深，所以需要隨時查看.

看著霧棕色都完全染上，就能沖洗吹整！

吹乾頭髮，再來修剪瀏海長度～ 最後，設計師做個直髮和捲髮造型. 讓女孩回家也能知道如何整理髮型. 有沒和我一樣都放長髮的懶人女孩！

UN hair salon│成品照（直髮）

真心覺得好美阿～ 藏在內層的橘紅色系，跳色得好摩登. 髮流塞在耳後，優雅又時尚！ 即使，不夾捲髮，外出時把側髮夾起就非常好看. 非常簡單的變髮造型，適合和我一樣的女孩呢！

UN hair salon│成品照（捲髮）

參加宴會或是約會，想要來個不一樣時髦品味. 那麼就把頭髮夾捲，隱約透出裡頭那橘紅色系！ 與白日優美氣質的女孩，呈現出前衛洋氣風格～

隨意的把髮流夾捲，輕飄空氣的流線感～ 讓人看起來多了幾分柔美質感！ 回家後，自己動手髮型變化，一點都不困難！

女孩們住在南台灣屏東，也有這樣交通方便. 而且專業貼心的設計師SALON可以預約哦！

UN hair salon就位在熱鬧屏東市區. 緊鄰屏東觀光夜市商圈、中央市場. 從火車站步行約十來分鐘！周邊方便好停車. 設計師相當尊重客人需求，並給予專業建議. 環境很清幽舒服，整個染燙髮過程非常享受！ 變得美美之後，可以到百貨約會拍美照囉～

【Un hair salon】 > 時間：11：00～19：00 > 公休：無 > 電話：（06）358-9129 > 粉絲團：Un salon > 官方網站：Un salon > 預約官方：Line > 地址：屏東市民生路269-1號 > （３１ＭＡＹ２３│本文純屬美食分享文│餐點口感及現場客源可能不同）

[galoogamelady]

@flor-de-un-salon-viejo replied to your post “hey was anyone gonna tell me Buttons is in a mod...”:

Buttons in the mod looks like someone trustworthy and who can do no wrong

​yeah when he's not giving me the stinkeye

SORRY I EXIST BUTTONS

[she-is-ovarit]

By EDITH M. LEDERER Updated 9:11 PM PST, March 8, 2024 UNITED NATIONS (AP) — Legal equality for women could take centuries as the fight for gender equality is becoming an uphill struggle against widespread discrimination and gross human human rights abuses, the United Nations chief said on International Women’s Day. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres told a packed U.N. commemoration Friday that “a global backlash against women’s rights is threatening, and in some cases reversing, progress in developing and developed countries alike.” The most egregious example is in Afghanistan, he said, where the ruling Taliban have barred girls from education beyond sixth grade, from employment outside the home, and from most public spaces, including parks and hair salons. At the current rate of change, legal equality for women could take 300 years to achieve and so could ending child marriage, he said. Guterres pointed to “a persistent epidemic of gender-based violence,” a gender pay gap of at least 20%, and the underrepresentation of women in politics. He cited September’s annual gathering of world leaders at the U.N. General Assembly, where just 12% of the speakers were women. “And the global crises we face are hitting women and girls hardest — from poverty and hunger to climate disasters, war and terror,” the secretary-general said. In the past year, Guterres said, there have been testimonies of rape and trafficking in Sudan, and in Gaza women women and children account for a majority of the more than 30,000 Palestinians reported killed in the Israeli-Hamas conflict, according to the Gaza Ministry of Health. He cited a report Monday by the U.N. envoy focusing on sexual violence in conflict that concluded there are “reasonable grounds” to believe Hamas committed rape, “sexualized torture” and other cruel and inhumane treatment of women during its surprise attack in southern Israel on Oct. 7. He also pointed to reports of sexual violence against Palestinians detained by Israel. International Women’s Day grew out of labor movements in North America and across Europe at the turn of the 20th century and was officially recognized by the United Nations in 1977. This year’s theme is investing in women and girls to accelerate progress toward equality. Roza Otunbayeva, the head of the U.N. political mission in Afghanistan, told the Security Council on Wednesday that what is happening in that country “is precisely the opposite” of investing in women and girls. There is “a deliberate disinvestment that is both harsh and unsustainable,” she said, saying the Taliban’s crackdown on women and girls has caused “immense harm to mental and physical health, and livelihoods.” Recent detentions of women and girls for alleged violations of the Islamic dress code “were a further violation of human rights, and carry enormous stigma for women and girls,” she said. It has had “a chilling effect among the wider female population, many of whom are now afraid to move in public,” she said. Otunbayeva again called on the Taliban to reverse the restrictions, warning that the longer they remain, “the more damage will be done.” Sima Bahous, the head of UN Women, the agency promoting gender equality and women’s rights, told the commemoration that International Women’s Day “sees a world hobbled by confrontation, fragmentation, fear and most of all inequality.” “Poverty has a female face,” she said. “One in every 10 women in the world lives in extreme poverty.” Men not only dominate the halls of power but they “own $105 trillion more wealth than women,” she said. Bahous said well-resourced and powerful opponents of gender equality are pushing back against progress. The opposition is being fueled by anti-gender movements, foes of democracy, restricted civic space and “a breakdown of trust between people and state, and regressive policies and legislation,” she said. [Click on the link to continue reading]

[moonchildstyles]

retrouvailles

élan part six: y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

wordcount: 15.5k+

—————

"Y'think I did alright?" 

(Y/N) swore her cheeks were going to ache for the rest of the day with the way her wide smile stretched over her lips. 

"I think you did really well," she told him, her voice laced with warm amusement though she was far from teasing. 

She was being honest, really. Hearing Harry speak in the small amount of conversational French he knew to her new nail tech as well as the receptionist of the salon she'd found today, was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. While his accent was improving, she cherished the flourish he still gave to his e's and the care he gave to his consonants. 

"'M getting better, huh," he pressed, sounding a little too proud. 

"Your accent definitely is," she mused, spotting the entrance to their building not too far ahead from where they were strolling down the pedestrian walk. 

"Good," Harry responded simply, the edge of a dimple pressed into his cheek, "I've been practicing." 

Somehow it was possible, but (Y/N)'s smile widened. "I've heard." 

He wasn't exactly the most quiet as he recited simple words she'd taught to him after he thought she fell asleep. He preferred to sneak out onto the balcony, and practice with the light of the Tower shimmering in the distance. She liked hearing his voice like that, just a hair muffled through the door and his improper French. 

It didn't take long before Harry was holding open the door for her to head inside their apartment building. No one other than the doorman was occupying the small space. (Y/N) offered a fleeting smile in his direction, her attention captured by the grandiose display on the desk counter. 

In a crystalline vase, cut expertly to allow waves of rainbow light to glimmer over the warm eggshell walls, was an oversized bouquet of roses. The petals were deep spirals of velveteen red, deep dark in the center before going crimson on the edges. They had unfurled perfectly, not a single speck of discoloration or wilting. The stems were a healthy forest green, strong with clipped thorns as they held the large blooms in place. Interspersed between the roses were glossy leaves of emerald greenery and stark white puffs of baby's breath. It was full and large, stuffed and heavy with more immaculate roses than (Y/N) thought could exist in the world. How the vase wasn't toppling over from the sheer size, she wasn't sure. 

They were gorgeous—pristine. (Y/N) even slowed her steps some to caress her eyes over the blooms for a moment longer. 

Nonetheless, their synced steps eventually landed her at the doors of the lift. Harry, at her side with his own attention pressing forward, entered the code for the lift to take them upwards. 

Just as she took her eyes away from the bouquet, the doorman suddenly shouted through the lobby in accented English, "Wait!" 

(Y/N)'s steps faltered, the elevator doors having parted open. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling his shout being directed to her though she couldn't imagine why. 

The doorman looked at her with wide eyes, his brows raised. "Mademoiselle?" 

"Oui? Comment puis-je t'aider?" she trilled, watching as he stepped closer with her to catch up. 

From the corner of her eye, Harry's security instincts kicked in, stepping closer to her as a form of barricade. 

Eyeing Harry, the doorman slowed feet away, keeping that space between as (Y/N) peered around the broad of Harry's shoulder. 

"Les roses," he started, gesturing towards the towering bouquet, "Elles sont pour vous, mademoiselle."

"Pour moi?" she pressed, her brows pinching. 

"Pour toi. Ils vous ont été déposés il y a une heure."

"Oh," she sounded, allowing her gaze to wander back to the glamorous roses behind him, "Merci."

Taking it upon himself, Harry took the flowers from the counter, keeping himself between (Y/N) and the doorman as he moved. Offering nothing more than a quiet thank you, (Y/N) helped him into the waiting elevator, Harry having held the doors open in case he had to usher her through. 

Once alone in the lift, (Y/N) couldn't help but to run a finger over the blooms. Harry watched intently, observing and cataloguing as if he had something to be suspicious over. Truthfully, she couldn't completely blame him. She couldn't think of anyone who would send flowers to this address for her, especially something this grandiose. 

In the back of her mind, a niggling panic arose. This wouldn't be that admirer of hers, right? 

Silence followed them into their apartment, (Y/N) speaking up as she held the door open for him to slip through with the tottering vase. "Is there a card or anything you can see?" 

"Yes." Harry's voice was clipped as he answered. Nothing more was offered. 

She waited for him to set the bouquet down before she searched through the stems, finding the small card amongst the greenery. The slip was heavy, made from embossed cardstock—definitely more than what a regular florist would offer. 

Flicking it open, the writing inside was a shimmering black, inky and definite. The writing was elegant, scrolling and scripting, handwritten with a lilting hand. 

       Even before meeting you in person, I know these roses pale in comparison to your beauty. See you soon. x

        Elliot 

Every beautiful thing about the note was cancelled out when she read that name. 

That was the man who was tasked to take her out for dinner in a few days, her father's friend. 

"Oh," she sounded. 

Harry was silent at her side. He must have been able to spot the details when she couldn't.

"They're so pretty," she said, folding the card away, almost pouting at the roses, "I'm sad he had to be the one to send them." 

A beat passed before Harry spoke again, "I don't trust them."

Canting her head, she tried to see what he saw in the flowers. "What do you mean? They're gorgeous." 

His arms coming cross around his chest, Harry stayed firm in his stance. "I don't like it. He shouldn't know your address before he's even met you. Taking the time to find a florist in Paris, finding something this extravagant, I don't know. I don't trust them." 

"I mean," she started, tipping her head in the other direction, "I'm sure they're fine though, right?" 

"I don't know," he answered shortly, "I'm going to have to think about it. We might have to get rid of them." 

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw the pinched expression marring his features. He almost seemed offended to be looking at the roses. 

Her features dropped some at the idea of throwing out the bouquet. "Oh. I like roses, though." 

Harry's face pinched further at her words. 

—————

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, (Y/N) forced herself out of her room, letting a shiver run up her spine at the cold floor under her feet. Through her bleary gaze, the first thing she saw was the streak of red that was the bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter. 

It took a couple of blinks before she realized that the flowers on the counter were very much not the same as the bouquet she received yesterday.

This bundle was significantly smaller, only a dozen compared to the fifty or so blooms from the day before, only small clusters of baby's breath added in. The same vase was being utilized for this bouquet, the white ribbon that tied the stems together still included and now dipped in the water filling the vase. The red was brighter, a couple of the flowers not quite as open as the ones she'd seen before, the greens on the lighter side. 

Propped against the vase was a slip of pink paper taken from a notepad (Y/N) usually wrote their grocery list on. 

She didn't lift her eyes from the bouquet as she approached, the morning light seemingly making the blooms glow. Reaching for the note, her features softened, rounding and curving into a quiet smile. 

      Good morning. I know these roses aren't as nice as the others, but I hope you think they're just as pretty.

        Harry

His letters were blocky and absolute, none of the flourish the other man had left on the note. She definitely liked these much more than the flowers she received before. 

Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she attempted to bite back the wide grin that threatened to take over her face. With the note in hand, she spun on her toes, searching for Harry as if she missed him in the space. 

Spotting him through the windows of the balcony doors, she didn't waste any time before she was crossing the living room to join him in the morning air. 

Knocking on the glass, she stepped onto the balcony as Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes glancing towards the note clutched in her hand. 

"Good morning," she chirped, shifting her weight on her feet with that fluttering feeling lingering in her tummy. 

"Y'alright?" he asked, noticing the way she couldn't seem to stay still.  

Looking at Harry now, all she saw was the man that picked out those flowers waiting for her inside. He picked her a bouquet that was worlds better than the grandiose arrangement she saw the day before, if only because it came from him. She liked his note much better, too. 

"I am," she said through her beaming smile, "Thank you for the flowers." 

Harry minutely perked up though his features stayed straight-laced. The grip on his mug tightened, his eyes brightening that much. "Yeah? Y'like them?" 

"I love them."

For the first time since she'd met him, (Y/N) watched as a small smile landed on Harry's lips. The glances of dimples she gained and the ghostly smiles that disappeared before she had a chance to truly take them in were all blown away with the way he allowed that small grin to mold his features. He gazed up at her with that smile on his lips for a moment before he cast his eyes out towards the Parisian cityscape. He brought his free hand up to knuckle at the tip of his nose, his smile partially hidden behind his hand. 

"Good." 

—————

(Y/N) read, and reread, and reread her father's coaching text at least five times before the message began to sink in. 

The first couple of messages were the usual host of guidelines, imploring her to not drink, to stay on her best behavior, to act lady-like (code for: don't try to sleep with him, because she was a whore, of course), ect. She rolled her eyes at first, reading those rules like they were supposed to be pasted to the fridge for a kindergartener to follow. It wasn't until the final message came through that her attention shifted to something serious. 

Dad

      And, Harry is to stay back tonight. He's already a distraction to the media, and shouldn't be there when you're meant to be on a date with someone who is able to handle you just fine. 

The plan all week had been for Harry to accompany her, be right at her side through the whole night no matter what. Not only because he didn't particularly trust her father's circle of friends after the 132 Gala, but also at (Y/N)'s request. That plan had been the only reason she hadn't fought tooth and nail to get out of this stupid date—the whole reason she hadn't done something equally as idiotic to get her father to cancel the plans in favor of punishing her. 

Just thirty minutes ago, sitting in front of her vanity to get ready to go out with another man, Harry had been on her mind. She wondered if he would like the red lipstick she slicked over her mouth, or if he would think it was too much. She wondered if he would like the bounce of her hair or if he would think it was too big. She wondered if he would think of those roses he bought for her when he saw the red of her dress. 

Now, none of that even mattered—if it had mattered at all in the first place, anyway. 

Harry was going to drop her off, and leave her to her date. 

The idea had (Y/N) deflating where she sat on her bed, her shoulders holding a defeated slope. 

She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face this night. Tempted, she half-typed out a text feigning food poisoning to her father, a quick fix to get out of this whole thing. 

But, she knew better. Delaying this would only cause her more grief. Her father might even follow through and fly out to Paris himself to keep an eye on her. 

Falling back against her mattress, bouncing against the springs without a care for her hair, she heaved a sigh. She was going to have to leave her room and paint her face with a famous smile, but afterwards, she could forget it all happened. It would be over and she could return to her Parisian bubble that consisted of pilates, nail appointments, the farmer's market, and Harry. 

She just needed to get through tonight. 

Steeling her resolve, (Y/N) reacted to her father's text with a thumbs up and shook him out of her head. With her heels strapped to her feet and phone thrown into the bag hanging off of her wrist, she pushed the double doors to her room open and stepped out into the living room. 

Sitting on the couch, waiting with phone in hand, was Harry. He glanced at her over the top of his screen only for his scrolling to pause, eyes widening through the frame of his lashes. (Y/N) saw the trail his gaze made over her form, skipping through the curves she fit into her rose-red dress, the minute slit on the side that allowed the fabric to flare around her thighs. Her accessories came in complementing hues, pearls in her ears with glimmering gold shining against the red. 

A beat passed before he seemed to become aware of himself once more, clearing his throat as he made a move to put his phone away. 

"Y'look... really good," he started, his voice strained as he stood to the full of his height, his gaze dropping down to his feet, "Are y'ready to go?" 

"Thank you," she answered, decidedly less chipper than she would have expected after hearing his compliment. Her father's text was taking up too much space in her head for anything sweet to slip inside. "My father texted me while I was getting ready." 

"Yeah?" he asked, beginning to inch towards the door though (Y/N) lagged behind. "What'd he say?"

Following him in minute steps, (Y/N) swallowed. "Has he talked to you today?" 

"No," he answered shortly, pressing open the door for her to meet him at the threshold, his gaze heavy on her as she obviously stalled. "Why?" 

"He—Harry—" she struggled to find the words, hoping it didn't come out as pathetically defeated as she felt, "He said you're not allowed to come with me tonight." 

Harry stopped. His steps halted, his expression going blank as he looked at her. 

"What do you mean?" 

"He thinks you're a distraction for the media. If you were in any more pictures with me, especially when I'm supposed to be on a date with someone else, that would only cause more drama." 

Slowly, Harry closed the door to her apartment, sealing them inside for a moment longer. His hand flexed around the doorknob. 

"He thinks that?" Harry pressed after a beat, his tone sharp. 

(Y/N) silently nodded her head for confirmation. 

It only took a moment longer of that silence before Harry was undoing the work of shutting the door. Determined as ever, he pulled it open, beckoning her to follow after him as he stepped into the hall.

"I don't care. 'M going with you." His words were absolute like cement, unwavering and unmoving. "'M not leaving you with some man who you've never met before, and couldn't even bother to call y'before tonight—yet, he got your address to send 'flowers'." 

"Harry," she called, following him out into the hall, "I—We can't." 

He didn't budge, standing beside the elevator, the down arrow lit up showing the lift had already been requested. "I don't care, (Y/N). 'M not leaving you alone—your dad can get fucked." 

Her steps stuttered as she moved to catch up with him. Never had she heard him be so explicitly mad at her father—or explicit, at all really. No one ever really became angry at her father the way she did, let alone express it so bluntly. No one had ever seen the things that she had when it came to him. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) still couldn't let him sabotage himself. 

It was just like he said earlier in the week. Her father's wrath wasn't worth wriggling out of a few hours of discomfort—for she or Harry. 

"Harry, no," she tried again, staying where she was when he tried to herd her into the requested lift. The sparkling panelling in the back of the elevator acted as a mirror, showcasing her and Harry in its reflection. "I can't let you do that. You'd lose your job, then you really would have to l-leave me here." 

She hadn't expected the way her tongue tripped over the word leave. She hoped Harry hadn't noticed. 

Harry's jaw squeezed, a hand coming up to knuckle at the tip of his nose as his gaze fell to the floor. "'S not fair," he murmured, "I can't leave y'there."

"I can't let you do anything else, though," she reasoned with him, dropping her voice to match the volume of his own, "My father would be so angry with us. He wouldn't let you stay here with me." 

While that explanation was the truth, she had a feeling Harry would never be the one that was in proper trouble with her father. It would somehow make its way around to be her fault; that she had poisoned Harry's mind. That could be the only reasoning as to why he would comply with (Y/N)'s wishes over her father's. But, he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to stay put, that was all she asked. 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking up in a glance at her. "(Y/N)," he murmured, the syllables of her name cradled in his voice. 

"I know, but I promise I'll be fine. And, if I'm not, I'll call you right away. After this is all over, you can take me home, and we can try to watch a Julia Child episode again." A careful smile touched at the corners of her mouth then, hoping that lighthearted act would rub off on him. "I'll try not to fall asleep this time, either." 

While his mood didn't seem to be particularly lifted at her plan, it was enough to get the hinges in his jaw moving again and the stark set of his shoulders loosening. Only after a lingering pause did she hear the grumble of his voice once more. 

"Okay." Picking up his chin, he matched her eye contact head-on. "You promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable?" 

She knew what he was asking her, the night of the Gala flashing through her head, too. 

"I promise." 

With a single nod of his head, he flattened his hand between her shoulder blades and herded her into the lift.  

—————

Harry maneuvered the car through the now familiar streets of Paris, taking her to the expensive location her date had requested. 

Elliot, she thought with an internal cringe. She was going to have to actually call him by his name, instead of referring to him as some guy. 

With the Eiffel Tower glimmering only a few miles away, (Y/N) wasn't surprised to see the restaurant that had been chosen for the night. (It was a terrible tourist trap, nothing particularly special that could justify the price other than the view of the Tower from the patio). It was just the kind of expensive nonsense her father loved to partake in when he visited, the same seemed to go for his friend. 

The car was still running as Harry did nothing more than step on the breaks as a means for parking. All he needed was to hear her word and they could be out of there in a split second. 

"I'll be back at nine to get you. No later," he cemented, his lips a thin line as he laid his sharp gaze on the eatery. 

"Yes, no later," she parroted, pitching her voice into something lighter in hopes of tricking him into a better mood the same way she'd done for herself. "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Okay." 

With her hand on the door, (Y/N) hesitated. She didn't want to leave him now, especially not when he was so obviously on edge. She didn't know how to ease him other than promising again and again that she would get into contact if she needed him. 

She just wanted him to know that she was far away from this date, too. That if it were up to her, this wouldn't be going at all, that she was miles away in their apartment. 

Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open with the most prominent thought in her head slipping through her lips: "I wish I was doing this with you, tonight." 

(Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her as she climbed out of the car, leaving before he had much of a chance to offer any response. 

—————

This man—Elliot—is her father. 

He is almost an exact replica of her father inside and out, this man just has a better hairline and faker teeth. 

The similarities started the second it appeared he didn't know how to stop talking, going on and on about himself. He didn't know how to pair wine, despite boasting about the vineyard he supposedly owned here in the French countryside. ((Y/N) had to keep herself from wincing when he suggested starting the night off with foie gras and a deep red wine). He loved France, and wine, and charity, he'd said. 

So, he was a liar, too. Just like her father. 

No wonder he thought this would work out—that she would like him. Her father loved himself so much he couldn't imagine this date not being perfect with the similarities he shared with Elliot. 

(Y/N) hid her frown behind her wine glass, listening as he made a fool of himself and the foundations he ran. (Supposedly, of course. With the way he spoke of them, they sounded more like cash grabs than anything real, a set of others running the operation while he was nothing more than the figurehead and beneficiary). He didn't even notice just how disconnected she was from this conversation, though she couldn't be surprised. To notice anything at all would require him to stop thinking about himself for longer than a breath.

"See! I knew you'd like that wine," Elliot boasted, looking pleased with himself as he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Your father said you were a drinker, so I had a feeling you'd enjoy this." 

A part of her bubbled close to overflowing, wanting to spit at him that she actually hated the wine—it was too prickly and bitter, and overall just shit—but she tamped it down. It was enough to get her father red in the face if he found she was drinking against his rules, she didn't need to add on the fact that she blew up in this man's face over it. Nothing quite like a drunken rage to get her on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow. 

Instead, she offered a sickly sweet smile after taking in a large gulp of the horrendous wine. "Yep," she falsely beamed, "That's me!" 

He didn't even blink at the bitter tone to her voice, the scathing sticky sweetness that laid underneath her words. 

Her savior came in the form of a scattered waiter approaching the table, his footsteps echoing a bit too loud in the otherwise empty restaurant. (Another small flex on Elliot's part—he'd bought out the entire eatery for the night, leaving them alone with nothing but the limited waitstaff and kitchen workers in the back). 

Their waiter—whose name she wished she caught before Elliot had rudely cut him off in favor of ordering terrible wine—offered a painted smile, a bit too perfect to be authentic as he all but tripped over himself for a flawless service. In accented English, as her date didn't know any kind of real French, he asked, "Are you ready to order your mains this evening?" 

Before (Y/N) could do anything but smile, Elliot was chomping at the bit, speaking in broken French as if to impress her. 

He boasted that he would be ordering for the both of him, that he knew what she wanted. The waiter looked on with wide eyes, taking down the order in his little notepad. (Y/N) looked on unimpressed, listening as Elliot ordered himself a steak, commanding it to be cooked way too much, with a sauce that was much too rich for the white wine he was supposedly planning on pairing it with. She dreaded to hear what he thought she would like, especially with the way he flitted his dark eyes to her with bouncing brows, as if she could be anything other than enticed through this interaction.

In another move that was so terribly like her father, Elliot ordered her a chopped salad. Dressing on the side, as well. 

(Y/N) had to rein herself in, keeping a bubbling peal of laughter from leaking out. If not for the fact this was really happening to her in this moment, she would have loved to hear a story like this in a comedy routine. 

"That will be right up, sir. Thank you," the waiter praised, giving a small bow of his head before he turned to scurry away once more. (Y/N) envied him for his ability to eke out of the room. 

Though, before he could make it too far away, (Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She extended backwards in her seat, catching his attention. 

"Miss?" he murmured, "Did I miss something?" 

"Oui désolé. Il n'a pas commandé correctement pour moi," she answered, noting the way his eyes widened at hearing the fluent French slip from her mouth. 

Pulling out his leather notepad, he nodded his head, "Oh, mes excuses. Que puis-je mettre à la place?" 

"Pas de soucis, merci," (Y/N) smiled, hoping to ease some of his nerves and make it abundantly clear that she knew she was too good for the man sitting across from her, "J'aurai le penne au salmon à la crème Parmesan, s'il te plaît." 

The waiter nodded, looking a touch more comfortable as he spoke to only her, writing down the new order after putting a definitive strike through the previous. With a promise to return to check on them shortly, he disappeared into the reprieve that was the kitchen, leaving (Y/N) to suffer on her own. 

"I didn't know you knew French," Elliot said from across the table, forcing her attention back to him. There was a pinch to his brow, tightening his already Botoxed features. "What did you say to him?"

"Hm? Oh," (Y/N) sounded, feigning confusion as if she had no idea what she'd just done, "I ordered for myself. I think he thought the side salad you got was for me." 

Clueless to the fact that she was amusing herself at his expense, his furrow deepened. "It was for you." 

"No, thank you," she said, sticky sweet and unbearably kind, "I actually really love the pasta from here. A salad isn't enough for me." 

Elliot tripped his eyes down her form, glazing over the red dress she picked with Harry in mind. "You couldn't listen to me for tonight?" 

"Oh," she canted her head, blinking her eyes owlishly, "I didn't know the salad meant something to you. Just a misunderstanding then, I guess." 

It was eerie the way he looked exactly like her father as he took in a deep sigh, as if he had reason to be disappointed in her. Freud would be too happy seeing as how her father set her up with a man just like himself. 

"It's alright, sweetie. Keep that in mind for next time, though. I've got you now—you don't need to worry about reading the menu and ordering for yourself anymore." 

In an attempt to keep herself rooted to her spot and not stomping outside the door, (Y/N) tightened her grip on her wine glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stem broke under her palm. 

"I definitely will," she laughed, feeling a hair away from delirious at this point. 

Pleased with himself, Elliot sat back. "I feel like I've been talking about myself all night," he laughed, shaking his head as if his arrogance was a silly oversight, "I've been meaning to ask about something I read." 

(Y/N) had to keep her eye from twitching. "Really? What was it?"

"That boy you've been pictured with," he started, his voice much too loud for the quiet space. (Y/N) had to consciously make an effort to keep her jaw from clenching as he referred to Harry as a boy. "Your dad said he was your security, but I wanted to ask about him myself." 

Buying herself some time with a calculated sip of her wine, she swallowed down the acrid taste before asking, "What do you want to know?" 

"Is he your boyfriend? Or whatever you kids call it now," Elliot bluntly pressed, "I read you cheated on Mr. Moore's son with him. Is there any truth to that?"

"No," was her immediate answer, "He's just my security guard." 

In the back of her mind she knew those words didn't fit correctly in her mouth. 

Elliot raised a challenging brow. "That's the truth?" 

Forcing herself to do nothing more than grow stoic at his idiotic pressing, (Y/N) met his eyes directly without wavering. "I know the stories can be convincing, but this is what I'm telling you. It's the truth." 

This was her version of biting back, dropping that tabloid bunny facade with placating smiles and the willingness to accommodate to be whatever person the one in front of her wanted. She couldn't outright slap him, so she'd have to settle for not being the naive butterfly he wanted. 

Giving a slow nod, (Y/N) watched as her date ran through what she'd told him. He didn't seem to even understand that she was pushing back on him, his ego too large to see much else. "Okay," he settled, "Well, if this continues between us, I want to make it clear that I would prefer him to leave Paris." 

(Y/N) sat dumbfounded for a beat. 

Elliot continued on, "He's not needed if I'm here with you. I also believe he's taking advantage of his position in getting to touch and 'protect' you. You don't need him around." 

Through gritted teeth, (Y/N) asked, "You think so?" 

"Mhm," Elliot hummed, a bit too proud, "He's taking advantage of you as far as I can see. He takes from you since you can't overpower him—it's a hard thing to notice when you're the woman being taken, but it's obvious to others." 

Swallowing, (Y/N) forced her jaw to unclench and a deep breath down her lungs. 

She was livid. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what this man thought of her in any way—another way he was similar to his father—or if he chose to demean her for the rest of the night. But, when it came to Harry, the only innocent person in this whole stupid mess who'd done nothing but protect her to the best of his ability, that was where she was going to draw the line. 

This night was over. 

"Right," she answered stiffly, forcing her features into something kind and unwitting, "Do you mind if I run to the ladies room really quickly?" 

Already pushing out her chair before he had a chance to say a word, (Y/N) only half listened when he told her to hurry back, he didn't mind waiting for her. 

With her bag on her wrist and phone in hand, she typed out a message in quick strokes. 

      please come get me

Firing it off to Harry took all but a second, long enough for her to reach the kitchen, 

While it felt impossibly rude to step inside, she had to put her plan into place before Elliot realized she hadn't headed towards the bathroom at all. 

A member of the kitchen staff stopped in their tracks when they saw her, a bright streak of red in the middle of the otherwise stainless steel and clean white of the kitchen. 

"Mademoiselle? Vous cherchez les toilettes?" 

"Non, j'avais en fait une demande, s'il vous plaît." she started, keeping herself on the fringes of the space as to not touch something she wasn't meant to.

The staff member cast his gaze around for a moment, the rest of the kitchen slowing to a standstill when they noticed her. Only the sizzling of a pair of pans remained, the space hot from the running ovens and foaming butter. 

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" he asked after a moment, no one objecting to the idea of her newly timed request.

"Y a-t-il un moyen pour que tu emmènes mes pâtes avec moi ? En plus d'ajouter pavé de saumon à la plancha pour que je le prenne également ? Je sais que c'est la dernière minute, mais j'ai changé de plan." 

"To-go?" he answered in accented English. 

"Oui," she cemented, time ticking the longer she had to explain herself, "Je dois aller aux toilettes, mais je peux les récupérer en sortant par l'arrière, si ça te va."

It was then that—what she assumed was—the kitchen manager spoke up, her hair tied up under a pristine white hat. "Oui. Nous pouvons préparer cela pour vous en dix minutes, mademoiselle." 

"Merci," (Y/N) chirped, backing out of the kitchen before she could become any more of a distraction. 

Next order of business came in the form of tracking down her waiter, who was tucked in an alcove around the bar, the single ticket for their table hanging from the processing computer. After the shock of spotting her in the backroom wore off, (Y/N) settled the tab—including the fish entree she just added—with a swipe of her father's credit card. A hefty tip was left for the staff, in hopes of making up for the absolute waste of time everyone involved had gone through for the night. 

Checking the time on her phone as she scurried to the staff restroom (with permission from the waiter), (Y/N) didn't doubt that Elliot was either too absorbed in himself to notice she was still missing or he was beginning to realize she was taking too long for this to be an innocent trip to the ladies room. Nonetheless, she only had a handful of minutes left before her order would be ready, and Harry had to be on his way by now. 

As if he was living inside her head, the second she closed the door behind her, a call came through her phone with Harry's contact written boldly up top. 

"Hello?" 

"Are you okay?" he fired off, ignoring her greeting, "Did something happen?" 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she eased, leaning against the bathroom door, "I'm a little annoyed and was almost bored to death, but I'm okay. I knew this was going to be a bad night, H, but it's been terrible, honestly." 

"I'm outside, okay? I parked out back, but you'll see me," he rushed off, his voice a low rumble through the speaker. 

(Y/N) reared back. "You're already here?" 

"Yes." 

A beat passed in the quiet of the bathroom. "Did you come from the apartment?" 

"No." She could hear a sigh come from the other line. "I didn't go back—I stayed here." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, having no right to feel a small smile bloom on her features at his admission. "I'll be out in a second. I need to grab something really quick." 

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute." 

Hanging up first, (Y/N) doubted he would unwind until she was sitting in that car with him, away from the annoying bug that was Elliot. 

Scurrying through the restaurant in hopes of staying unnoticed by her date, she thanked the kitchen staff once more for the impromptu request she made before grabbing her orders and pushing through the back entrance.

The night was dark, only bits of warm light coming from the Eiffel Tower in the distance, tourists roaming the streets with roses in the wind. Searching for Harry's car, it only took (Y/N) a couple of steps around the building to spot the black sedan with its lights on bright. 

Her steps quickened, heels clacking over the concrete as she eagerly met him. The doors were unlocked and ready for her to climb in. 

"Look what I got for us!" she bubbled, fitting herself in the passenger seat with the boxed meals in her lap. 

With his features only lit up by the dash lights and whatever was able to seep through the tinted windows, a furrow darkened Harry's brow. His gaze lingered on her face before dropping to her lap as she buckled up. 

"Is... Is that your dinner?" 

"It's our dinner!" she chirped, "I got you something while I was there." Finally cataloguing what exactly she had run out with, her grin only widened. "I think they gave me his too, actually." 

At that, a huff of laughter left Harry's lips, the tension in the car melting as he shifted into drive. (Y/N) watched as his features softened in the low light, dimples present and eyes softening. 

"He doesn't know you left, does he?" 

"Nope," she trilled, "He'll figure it out soon though, I'm sure." 

Harry only laughed again, eyes trained on the road though she didn't miss the way he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

"That bad?" 

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) heaved, shaking her head. "My father is going to be so mad, but I don't even care anymore." 

(Y/N) could feel her muscles unwinding the farther they made it from the restaurant, dropping her head back to lean on the stiff rest. She genuinely didn't care if her father woke her up with degrading messages or a promise to visit her penthouse. She wasn’t going to sit by while Elliot degraded Harry for the sake of looking like an alpha. 

The familiar route back to the apartment whizzed outside the windows until a bright idea blinked in (Y/N)'s head.

"Wait," she chattered, sitting up straight in her spot, "Turn around. I have an idea." 

—————

The Eiffel Tower shimmered in front of them, warm dinner in their laps with a sturdy bench under. 

The lights of the attraction were reflected back on Harry's wondrous eyes, his food left to cool in his lap as he was too distracted with the sight in front of him. (Y/N) was the same though her gaze was on him.

"Worth it, right?" 

Harry didn't hesitate to pull his eyes from the Tower, casting his gaze to her with a lingering trace over her features. He paused on her lips for a heartbeat before he matched her eyes once more, the familiar beginnings of a lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth. 

"Definitely." 

—————

(Y/N) barely bat an eyelash when she saw the heavy envelope as the only piece of mail in her box. She politely thanked the doorman before taking it back up to her apartment, already dismissing its contents despite the curiosity bubbling in her fingertips. She wondered what kind of photos would be inside. 

The media apparently hadn't caught a hold of any kind of story about her date. It'd been three days and there was nothing being posted online other than a random blog post claiming to have seen her dressed in red climbing into a black car. Nothing mentioned a romantic candlelit night, or a scorned billionaire cursing her name for embarrassing him. The only reason she knew her father was aware any of what transpired that night was because of a text he'd shuttled off to Harry, cementing that (Y/N) wasn't to go anywhere without him. (Quite the punishment, she'd joked). 

Otherwise, there was nothing out there about the incident, nowhere for this person to collect photos and scratch out a narrative. She also would have remembered seeing someone with a heavy camera in the empty restaurant, but she couldn’t recall a single moment a lens had been pointed in her direction, including the meal she and Harry indulged in by the Tower. 

Safely inside her apartment, the water running as Harry took his morning shower, (Y/N) took a risk and opened the flap to quell her curiosity. Inside glossy photos awaited.

While she never particularly enjoyed seeing photos of herself in this context, usually fluctuating between fear and indifference, she'd never been so unnerved as this moment. Given, she didn't typically open the letters sent to her, so she didn't have much to compare it to, but she had a feeling this was the worst that had even been sent her way.

Shining in the morning light, were photos of her from the moment she stepped out of her apartment to the time Harry took her home. She was a gleaming scarlet streak in every photo, some shots having been zoomed in on her body, on her legs, on her lips. This person caught her entering the restaurant, Harry conveniently cut out before the view shifted. Through the window, she had been caught with her glass of wine, blankly looking ahead at Elliot as he spoke of himself. This person had even caught her devising and executing her plan, the camera having craned and peered around every corner and every fixture to get even a small sliver of her form. This person followed her to the spot Harry picked her up, to where they sat at the Eiffel Tower with their dinner. Those shots were decidedly blurrier, taken from a larger distance, but it was still clearly the pair of them gazing at each other before gazing towards the Tower. 

Harry's face had been scribbled on in one shot, the same way Marc's had been in the package previous. 

She didn't dare to look at the words written on the back, already collecting what kind of narrative this person would force this time around. They seemingly were turning on Harry now, instead of just ignoring him. 

Leaving that single photo where it laid, with both she and Harry gazing skyward towards the point of the Tower, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to leaf through the rest of the stack. 

Suddenly, having missed the sound of the water cutting and the silence that followed, she heard Harry's bedroom door open, the swoosh of the air as he entered the common space. She scrambled to pack the photos back into the envelope, trying her best to not sprint towards her bedroom. Her hands shook as she gathered everything to her chest, the photos a messy pile she hid with her back facing the hallway Harry was emerging from. 

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice that low grumble it always was in the morning. 

"Good morning," she chirped out, her steps hastening that much more as she slipped inside her bedroom, the door open just a crack. 

"Did y'still want to go to the farmer's market today?" Harry called, his voice carrying as she lingered in the living room.

"Sure!" she trilled, wrenching open her vanity drawer, "Or—um—I was thinking we could finally visit the Lourve today, or whatever. I'm fine with anything!" 

Harry didn't respond then, (Y/N) only hearing her bubbling heartbeat pounding against her chest. Why did she think it would be easy to hide the letters under a pile of palettes? 

It took a handful more seconds before she had everything safely tucked away, the drawer being pushed shut before she sat back on her heels and breathed. That was a little too close, she decided. 

No more opening the letters if she could help it—especially while Harry lived with her. 

Peeking out of her bedroom decidedly more relaxed than when she went in, she swept a hand through her hair. "Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, though?" 

Harry stood with his back to her, his shoulders tensed and head bowed as he looked towards his feet. He didn't lift his head as she spoke, keeping her behind him.

A beat passed, still no acknowledgement. 

"Harry?" she called, stepping out from her bedroom entirely. 

Harry turned slowly then, revealing he was looking at a slip of paper in his hand, his brows in a furrow and lips set thin. 

Sunlight coming through the windows glinted off of the glossy coating of the page in his hand. Her heart dropped. 

"What is this?" 

Swallowing around her tongue, she tried her best to slip into a role she hoped would fool him. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice light despite the heavy pit in her stomach. 

Chancing a look at her for the first time since she left her room, Harry's eyes were sharp, a warning expression she hadn't seen since he pulled her from the pilates studio in New York. 

He held the photo up for her to see, showcasing a shot of her escaping through the back of the restaurant with a giddy smile and stolen dinner. 

"Who took this?" 

Her facade crumbled that much, sinking and sinking like her heart in her chest. 

"Um—I—I don't..." 

"(Y/N)," he warned, his voice low and lethal. He wasn't Harry at the moment, this was the man tasked with her safety who'd just found a secret that changed everything. 

"I don't know," she rushed out, deflating as she kept her eyes low so as to not match his own, "I don't know who took it." 

"Then, why do you have it?" 

"Someone sent it to me." 

A tick hugged the hinge of Harry's jaw, his grip on the page tightening. "What do you mean?" 

(Y/N) floundered then. Her mouth gaped with words she knew she wasn't going to say, the air sucked out of her lungs. Nothing wanted to roll off of her tongue—nothing would.

"(Y/N)," Harry sternly interrupted her swimming thoughts. His sharp tone matched his eyes. 

A shallow breath prickled in her lungs. 

She'd never had to speak on this before. There was only one other time she had gained the courage to confront the fact that someone was stalking her, sending photos and letters and expressing devout affection and depraved ideals about her. There was only once she had voiced these fears before, and it had been shot down immediately by her father. She was told to let it go and be grateful; she was meant to be happy that she had a fan, someone to admire her. 

She didn't want to be called crazy again. 

Because she wasn't, right? This was something anyone would be scared over, right? 

Taking her shaky hands into a bundle at her middle, (Y/N) tried to find the words. 

"I don't know who sent it to me, but it came with a letter and other pictures."

Harry stowed over her words for a lingering moment, (Y/N)'s shuttered gaze keeping her from gauging his reaction. For the first time ever, she didn't want to know what he was thinking. 

"Someone sent you pictures of you we don't remember being taken, and a letter," he reiterated, his voice a deadpan rumble as the story came together. 

She'd never heard these events spaced in someone else's voice. 

"Yes." When he didn't immediately say anything (Y/N) felt her blood pressure spike. "Harry," she tried, his name heavy on her tongue, "I-I wanted to tell you, I promise. I was going to, but my father—he... I thought you wouldn't..." 

Harry paced the room silently. He took his time before settling heavily on the middle cushion of the couch, the discreet photo of her being clutched in his grip. 

"Tell me now, then," he commanded, gaze fixed on the photograph, "I don't care what your dad said or what you thought before, this is something I need to know about." 

Her fingers were a fiddling mess as she stood still in the middle of the room. "I don't know where to start," she whispered. 

Fracturing his line of sight from the picture, Harry cast his gaze out the windows, taking in the skyline they'd called home for the better part of two months. His free hand landed heavily in his hair, nails grazing his scalp. 

"Start wherever—anywhere. I don't care, I jus' need to know." 

(Y/N) sucked in a shaky breath. She'd never felt so lost before. 

How was she supposed to wrap up years worth of ominous letters and unwanted photographs? How was she supposed to put it all in a story that didn't require them sitting here for hours and for (Y/N) to dissolve into tears more than a handful of times? 

"Is this the first one you've gotten?" Harry pressed, taking her silence for the need of guidance. 

"No." 

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He finally craned his neck back to the living room with her, though he picked only a spot in the room to focus on. He didn't dare catch her eye, yet.

"When did they start?" 

Prattling around the timeline, (Y/N) tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "A couple of years ago, I think?" 

Though his features stayed completely stoic, she knew there was something in her answer that had his shoulders tensing and nose flaring. 

"This person has been taking photos of you and sending them for two years?" 

"Kind of," (Y/N) reasoned, deigning herself to sink into one of the arm chairs beside the couch, her back stiff despite the inviting cushions, "I think sometimes they take pictures they find online since a lot of them match up, but sometimes it's like this one. I used to think they were selling stories and pictures to publications and posting them, but some of the stuff they sent started getting really weird a year ago." She took in a breath, thinking about the one piece of information that she hadn't the courage to read since the first time. "They send letters, too. About me." 

"Do you have them? The letters." 

"Only the couple that have been sent here." 

Harry's voice was low, seething, as he spoke, "Let me see them." 

Hesitating where she sat, (Y/N) stayed stiff in her position. She didn't want to grab the letters, honestly. She didn't want anyone to see them if she didn't even have the courage to fold them open. 

A niggling thought in the back of her head had her staying put: What if she was overreacting? What if Harry read these letters and saw what her father saw? That she was nothing but a paranoid, ungrateful girl. She wasn't sure if she could survive something like that. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice bringing her back to the surface of her swimming thoughts, "I'm asking as someone who's supposed to keep you safe. Please let me see these things." 

Her voice was quiet as she agreed with an okay. Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard as she padded over the floor, going to her bedroom with the burning drawer being her destination. Rifling through the pile of palettes and trio envelopes hiding underneath. She collected them as if they were burning, her fingers gingerly grasping them. 

She blindly handed over the envelopes, sinking back into her seat as she felt her heart in her throat. As much as she didn't want to watch, she couldn't tear her eyes off of Harry as he paged through the photos. She barely registered the slideshow of photos as he leafed through them, already having seen the blurry shots and odd angles, the lengths this person went to just to capture a sliver of her body. 

"Have you read the letters before?" Harry asked, his voice low and calculating. 

"I did once," she explained, "But, after that, I never did again." 

Harry didn't waste a moment before he pulled out the letters, the blurry photographs now nothing more than a kaleidoscope of her face across the coffee table. She made a point to shift her eyes to him then, unwilling to really see the breadth of this person's admiration for her. 

(Y/N) looked on as he reached for the most recent letter first, his gaze quickly scanning over the page before he forced himself to grab for this next. The whole time, she watched as Harry reacted to whatever was typed on the page, the way his muscles bunched and his features flattened into something severe and angular. The way he pinched the paper became more aggressive, something tight flexing into his fingers. 

She chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity peaking. "Wh-What do they say?"

It took a moment before he tore his glazed eyes from the page, flicking to meet hers through the fan of his lashes. "Do you really want to know?" 

Weighing her options, (Y/N) wasn't sure, really. "Maybe?" 

Harry shook his head, folding up the page before dropping it atop the others. "They... pay attention to you a lot. There's a version of you they like, and really care about. It's all they talk about." 

"What do you mean?" She worried her fingers in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull. 

Swallowing, Harry tried to keep a straight face as he looked over the evidence sitting in front of him.

"They really like you, and have decided they know who you are because of that," he tipped his head, taking in a sigh with his hands clenching and unclenching. "They're... This person isn’t right, (Y/N)." 

Her heart sunk at his words. The rising sun outside lighting the city while she felt the darkest she had in a long time. 

"It's that bad?" 

He didn't offer an answer, the pages in front of him now feeling like poison permeating through the room. 

The silence that sat between them felt like a third roommate, heavy and unforgiving. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, quiet compared to the silence, "What do we do?" 

A heavy hand was passed through Harry's curls, nails catching his scalp with his fingers messing the swirls. "I don't—," he breathed, shaking his head, "Fuck—I don't know." 

(Y/N) finally saw something cracking in him—that stoic facade that veiled whatever was bubbling on the inside beginning to slip. The uncomfortable feeling of having no definite way to get out of this situation rained down on him. She saw the way he peered out the windows of the apartment as if he would catch someone right then. She wouldn't put it past him to scour the whole place, hoping to ferret out anyone who could have slipped under their noses for so long. 

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath, the curse heavy on his tongue. His knee began to bounce where he sat. 

Swallowing around her dry throat, she didn't know what to say, what to tell him. While there was a part of her that felt vindicated knowing that he wouldn't react like this over nothing. This threat was real and not just something she made up in her head and used as a reason to be dramatic. 

The other part of her felt guilt over keeping this secret from him. He wouldn't have been blindsided if she had just followed her gut and told him from day one everything that was going on behind closed doors. Maybe he wouldn't have taken the job then (the idea stabbed at the soft parts of (Y/N)'s heart), but he wouldn't have been struggling as he was now. 

"Harry, I—I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she tried, unsure of what she was saying or feeling but wanting to give him something. 

He waved her off, shaking his head with his unfocused gaze on the floor. "Why didn’t your dad want me to know?" 

"He said it was a waste of your time to worry about it," she explained, feeling embarrassed despite the fact she had nothing to do with her father's decisions, "W-When I told him about it, he said I needed to be grateful, that I needed to be happy that someone admired me enough to follow me and everything. He told me I needed fans like that since I wasn't very popular anyway." 

(Y/N) couldn't look away as Harry curled in on himself the longer she spoke. The knuckles of his clenched hands were a burning white, his shoulders heavy and broad. 

"I fucking hate your dad," he mumbled after a beat, his voice a seething breath, "So much." 

She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then, she couldn't help the huff of laughter that pushed between her lips. 

She'd never heard anyone say that before—at least anyone that wasn't herself. It was relieving in a delirious kind of way. 

Because she fucking hated him, too. 

Harry looked up at her, something quizzical in his gaze. 

"Sorry, sorry," she got out in-between giggles, "I've just never heard anyone say that before about him—usually I'm the only one that sees him this way. It's—I don't know why I'm laughing, but." 

There was no room to continue with the way laughter began to pour out of her, eyes tearing at the feeling in her chest. The feeling that there was more than just herself on her side. 

A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips as he watched her. "I've seen enough to know I hate him, don't worry." He shook his head, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I only keep this job for you." 

Despite the delirium fueled amusement coating the room, (Y/N) almost melted at the genuine way he spoke to her—spoke about her. He meant what he was telling her, without a doubt. 

"I really didn't mean to keep this from you," she told him once she settled down, a deep breathing inflating her lungs, "Before everything, I thought you were on his side, so I didn't want to waste our time. I don't think my father even wanted you to really be my security guard at first, so." 

"That's why y'said what y'said the first time I went to your place," Harry pieced together, gaze warm on her skin. When she only nodded her head, his gaze dropped down the column of her throat. "At first, I can't lie, I believed the things he told me and what I'd read about you," he acted ashamed to admit as much, "But, that was because I didn't know you. It didn't take very long to realize that you are very different from what everyone said.

"I hope you know that. If more people took the time to know you and used more than a fraction of their brain" he continued, conviction running under his words, "no one would believe those stories. The people who do know you, know that you're worth more than any of it." 

Maybe now wasn't the time, with a coffee table full of deranged letters and creepy photos of herself, but (Y/N) couldn't help the flutter of her heart in her chest. Harry, even if he was giving her a hard truth, was never anything less than genuine. He believed every word he was saying to her, and that made her want to believe it, too.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, the curl of her lips small and shy. 

Harry allowed his gaze to linger on her for a few moments more before he must have remembered the gravity of the situation as she did. He forced his eyes to land back on the matter at hand: the letters and photos dedicated to her. 

"'M going to take care of this, okay?" he murmured, all amusement draining from his tone, "'M going to do everything I can to figure this out and make this person stop, (Y/N). 'M going to keep y'safe." 

"I know you will," she answered in a heartbeat. There was no question in her mind about his ambition. 

(Y/N) allowed her gaze to wash over him as he focused on the photographs. She doubted Harry knew, but he was becoming her safe place. She trusted him more than she trusted almost anyone—more than Francesca even. A pressure in her chest developed the longer she sat with the realization. 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Suddenly her posture was stiff once more, bottom lip chewed swollen between her teeth. "Could—Or, I guess, would you mind—Can I hug you?" 

The mossy green of Harry's eyes, flecks of sunflower yellow, blinked up at her. She saw every minute expression on his features before they softened and curved into a gentle smile. 

"C'mere," he told her, leaning back against the cushion with his arms open. 

It was on instinct the way she moved, bundling herself into his arms with her legs curled up underneath herself. She was a ball against Harry's chest, his arms a forgiving loop around her body. His palms spanned the planes of her back, one between her shoulder blade and the other lower as he warmed her skin through the sleep shirt she was still wearing. With her head tucked into his neck, she felt him relax around her with his nose grazing the top of her head. 

She felt safe in his arms—forgiven, and trusted. He believed her more than anyone she'd ever known before. 

"I've got you, okay?" 

(Y/N) squeezed herself tighter to him.

—————

Taking her hand out of the UV lamp, (Y/N) settled a gentle palm on Harry's arm. 

"It's okay, H," she murmured, "You can relax." 

He was startled at her touch, his mechanical scanning of the nail parlour ceasing for a moment. 

"Sorry?" he muttered in response.

He'd been like this every time they stepped out of the house since he was clued in on the letters and photos. At the farmer's market, he was suddenly suspicious of anyone who dared to bump into her, any vendor who haggled with her for a moment too long, anyone who so much as looked at her with interest in their gaze. He had mistaken small black bags for high quality cameras, his eye constantly peering out for a lens pointed in her direction. Her pilates class was just a level below that intensity given that she wouldn't allow him to follow her into the studio, forcing him to wait outside with bated breath for her return. 

(When she had joked that she would keep an eye out for someone with a movie camera and a shirt with a photo on her face, he hadn't exactly laughed, but she thought it was funny).

It seemed the nail parlour was no different. The familiar techs and other staff who had begun greeting her after her second regular visit were now suspects in Harry's mind. No one was to grow too close to her, only her given tech when it was time for her appointment. Everyone else had to pass the wall that was her bodyguard before they had any hopes of even breathing in her direction.

"I was just saying that I'm okay, you can relax," she reiterated, squeezing his arm with her fresh set of nails glimmering in the light. 

"I know," he deadpanned, going back to surveilling the scene, "'M jus' doing my job." 

She tried to be gentle as she spoke to him, remembering the way she felt the first time she saw those envelopes of her photos. She had grown paranoid as well, double checking every street, every blurry face, every lingering interaction. She was nowhere near as comfortable with the information as she was now, and that paranoia was where Harry was currently living. 

"If you hadn't noticed them before," she reasoned, voice forgiving as her nail tech made the final touches on the set of cherries painted on her fingertip, "I don't think that's going to change now, and that's okay." 

Harry shook his head, a stray curl grazing his forehead. "I wasn't looking before. I am now." His words were definitive, the same way he spoke to her at her apartment with the photos strewn across the coffee table. "'M not going to let this keep happening, (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say. 

It was still an odd feeling to have someone worry over her—someone who cared to the degree Harry was declaring. She didn't know what to do, how to act, under these conditions. It had always been her and her alone that carried these kinds of burdens. 

Reaching under the table, Harry settled his hand on her knee, the warm skin of his palm felt through the rips in her jeans. He gave a squeeze. "Let me take care of this. I've got it." 

Her nail tech tapped her hand too soon to inspect the paint before going under the light, forcing her gaze to stray from Harry's and the way his eyes glimmered over her features. Just before she looked away, she swore she saw his pupils dilate, honing in on the shape of her lips. 

—————

It took close to two weeks for the photos of her on her date with Elliot to surface, the angles and shots already familiar to her eyes. They were exact matches to that of the ones that were now carefully stowed in Harry's room. 

(Y/N) didn't exactly care about this specific leak, having expected it two weeks prior, anyway. Her father had to have known about all of the details of the ditch anyway, and if he hadn't said something already, he wasn't going to. She had nothing to worry about when it came to this story making its way to the press. 

Except for the string of international paparazzi that now seemed to make it their mission to follow her everywhere she went. 

She couldn't blame them, really. There was nothing that made ad revenue or sold magazines more than a tumultuous love life, so the hope of catching her on a date—a high profile one at that—was too enticing for many photographers to let go of. Whatever paid the bills, she guessed. 

That was why she wasn't particularly surprised to look over her shoulder and see a string of loitering paparazzi waiting outside the restaurant she had Harry had escaped to for dinner. She even recognized one from back home. 

She didn't try to cover her tracks too often while in Paris, just for the fact she was more unknown here than in New York, but that didn't always mean she went unnoticed. The idea of working through the small string brought her back to her drunken stumbling from the club. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like that. 

(Y/N) hadn't realized how long she'd been distracted by the peering cameras until she felt Harry's hand land on her own. Whipping her head around she found he had abandoned his crostini topped with melty brie to focus his attention on her. His eye contact was unwavering. 

"'S gonna okay, alright?" he soothed her, "'S only a few. Nothing we can't handle." 

"I know," she answered, curling her hand under his, "I just... Now that I've actually looked at some of the pictures being sent to me, I don't like seeing so many cameras on me like this. I don't like that they're taking pictures of you, either." 

Harry sat patiently listening to her, only pulling his hand away from hers to prop his chin up on a white-knuckled fist. Something always ignited in him when she mentioned the gifts from her admirer. His gaze skittered outside the eatery, silently taking in the faces of those smoking and loitering on the sidewalk. 

"You think it could be any of them?" 

The thought hadn't really crossed her mind. She figured it would be a good disguise, to blend in with people who would of course be carrying around cameras and would be looking for her on nights like these, but that didn't explain why she'd never seen a paparazzo-esque person trailing her when no one else was. 

"I don't know," she answered honestly, a small shrug lifting her shoulders, "The picture quality is always pretty good, so I guess it could be someone like that, but I guess I always kind of figured it's easier to follow me unnoticed if they were using their phone camera." 

Humming his acknowledgment, Harry didn't pull his eyes from her awaiting fans. While she didn't know everything about what his expressions meant or what was going on in his head, she recognized this moment. The gears were turning the longer he stayed quiet, a plan being laced together. 

"Do y'want to see if we can go out the back?" 

Considering the option for a moment, she ultimately turned it down with a shake of her head. "We'd still have to pop through the front to get to the car, anyway." 

"I can go alone and bring the car around for you?" Harry offered, trying to meander a way around the inevitable. 

"They know your face now, you know," she looked at him sullenly across the table. That was something she felt the most guilty over, taking away his privacy and splashing his face across the internet and whatever magazines chose to print him. While he wasn't always the target of the shots, he was a person of interest now. 

A beat passed, Harry returning his eyes to her with something softening behind the moss. "You really want to go through them?" 

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she laughed, the sound lacking humor. 

Harry looked at her with his features melting and curving into something soft—understanding. "We'll make it out jus' fine, alright?" 

The smile that tugged the corners of her lips was genuine. She didn't doubt him for a heartbeat. "I know." 

—————

After settling the tab with discarded plates full of the crumbs of brie-heavy crostinis, their dinner of appetizers being left behind, (Y/N) braced herself for the trek outside. 

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking to her intently as she cinched her jacket around her waist. 

"I think so," she nodded. It was now or never, no point in hiding out and sipping wine until they became bored around midnight. 

"I'll be with you," he murmured, just as he attached himself to her side, the waitstaff eyeing them. 

(Y/N) offered a quiet smile of thanks, feeling a bit exposed knowing they were watching so intently. She couldn't blame them—they had garnered quite a bit of attention tonight, it was practically a given.

Approaching the door together, she didn't think twice before she fisted her hand in Harry's coat, ensuring he stayed close to her as she dropped her chin to face the ground. Harry took that as his cue to wrap an arm around her waist, protectively leashing her to him. 

Pushing open the door with a stiff hand, Harry led them to the handful of waiting photographers. It was when she saw the pulsing lights bleaching the corners of her vision did she begin to regret her choice of putting her head down. This position could easily be spun into one of annoyance, and rudeness. That she thought she was too good to even look at these people. 

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" a pair of the photographers began to shout as they followed she and Harry toward their car. 

(Y/N) kept her head down, ignoring the calls to her attention. She didn't need to give them anything, all she needed to do was follow Harry's guiding steps to get her out as safely as possible. 

"Okay?" Harry murmured, bending down to press his lips to her ear, drowning out the noise of her name and shuttering of cameras. The flashes went on faster at his intimate touch though he didn't let it stop him from soothing. 

Nodding her head, she could feel a small smile touch Harry's lips against her skin. 

"Almost there," he informed in a gentle tone, "Jus' gotta go slow so they don't try to chase us or get too close." 

"Thank you," she mumbled, fist in his coat unfurling until she pressed her palm against the line of his waist. 

"I've got you," was his simple answer back. 

She didn't have a moment to find comfort in Harry's words before an accented voice was shouting once more, unsatisfied with her ignorance. 

"(Y/N), are you a cheater?! Does your boyfriend know you went on a date with that old man?!" the photographer provoked, spewing out any word he could think of that might draw a reaction from her. 

(Truly, the one reaction he may garner is one of (Y/N) bursting into laughter after the declaration of Elliot being that old man. She couldn't have said it better herself).

While she detested the running rumor of the summer that she was a cheating, wicked woman, she wasn't going to let it get under her skin. She'd proven time and time again that Harry was her security official and nothing more, and there was no way this person would accept another dismissal of the theory. It was better to keep quiet and allow them to print about her deafening silence over the accusations. 

"(Y/N), we want to know the truth! Did you have another affair?!" The photographer pushed after only silence was offered, his camera now being shoved into her space as he gravitated a little too close. 

The rest of the string—including the familiar New York paparazzo—had seemingly taken a step back, photographing the new show that was emerging with their aggressive colleague. 

Harry pressed forward, quickening their pace in hopes of breaking away from them faster. He was stopped only when the man jostled (Y/N) at his side, his camera being shoved under her face as if he could catch a shot despite her evasiveness. That had her stumbling backwards, Harry steadying her as best he could before he was stepping up. 

"Give her some space, man. Back up," he sternly commanded, his arm a tightrope around her waist. Flashbulbs were going crazy over the interaction, catching (Y/N)'s blunder and the standoff that was appearing between the two men. 

Seemingly disregarding Harry's warning, the paparazzo tried again, sidestepping the wall that was Harry's blocking form. Maybe, he didn't understand, (Y/N) reasoned. English wasn't always the easiest language to understand even if you could speak it, especially given Harry's accent. 

"S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi un peu d'espace," she piped up, hoping the translation would blot out the grey area. Sometimes these people needed to be told before they remembered basic personal space standards and manners. 

This time, when he pushed through, once again asking (Y/N) if it was true that she's slept with all of her father's friends, that it was clear there was no language barrier pushing him to be disrespectful.

They were this close to the car, just steps away from allowing (Y/N) into safety and speeding away. Of course it could never be that easy.

Harry let go of her only for him to step in front of her completely, blocking the photographer from achieving any kind of shot. 

"Step back," he ordered, his voice a deep grumble as he enunciated every syllable, "Give her some space." 

The way the paparazzo reacted seemed less about getting pictures of (Y/N) and more about standing up to Harry. He scrambled around, reaching his camera over the breadth of Harry's shoulders as if to prove he could get what he wanted despite any kind of intervention. 

Inching slowly towards their car, Harry did his best to pave the way for (Y/N) to follow and slip away. Nothing seemed to deter the other man, however. 

"Step back," Harry ordered again, placing the palm of his hand flat against the other man's chest. 

While it wasn't necessarily a push, the force Harry gave behind his palm was enough to get the other man stumbling back. French profanities left the paparazzo's mouth as he tripped over his own feet.

This was Harry's opportunity as he reached around and grabbed (Y/N). She was quickly steered towards the unlocked car, Harry pushing her inside the second the door was opened wide enough to head in. 

Everything moved quickly then, the other paparazzi seemingly focusing on Harry and the way he conducted himself against the other man. He rounded the front of the vehicle and threw himself inside, the flash of cameras and a distant angry voice following his moves. 

Harry didn't waste a second before he peeled away from the curb, setting them away from the chaos. (Y/N) barely had the capacity to buckle herself in with shaky hands. 

That was worse than she expected, honestly. Never had the Parisian photographers been so blatantly disrespectful, shoving cameras in her face and asking ridiculous questions. 

This was the most physical Harry's ever been forced to be in front of her, most people heeding his size and station in favor of actually challenging him. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, the world whizzing past them with Harry's foot pressed deeply against the gas pedal. 

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. 

"He wasn't listening." 

(Y/N) swallowed, spying the cutting angle of his jaw and the blaze in his dark eyes. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of bringing the car around for her. She could have avoided this whole thing if she wasn't so stubborn. 

"I wasn't sure if he could understand you at first," she shakily recounted, "but I told him to back off in French, too. I don't know why he didn't listen. He didn't hurt you or anything, right?" 

"'M alright," he answered, shaking his head with his lips rolling between his teeth, "I jus'... I don't like how people talk to you, (Y/N)." 

He flexed his hands around the wheel, the leather squeezing under his grip. She didn't know how to soothe him, what advice she could give. "You just can't listen," she told him, sharing the only thing she'd learned on her own through the years. 

A beat passed, nothing more than the feel of the tires grazing over the asphalt sounding through the cab. Harry twisted and turned, moving like an expert through the streets.

"I don't know how you do it," he told her, voice quiet and losing that edge he'd had gained outside the restaurant, "'S like there's a new lie every day—it makes me so angry. These people don't even know you and all they do is call y'names and think the worst of y'every chance they have. Why don't y'say anything?" 

It wasn't accusatory the way he asked her, even if he was frustrated. He was just one of those people who couldn't imagine what it was like to allow abuse from others without biting back. She wished she could be like that. 

"I guess I'm used to it," (Y/N) shrugged, feeling the backs of her eyes beginning to burn, "People have been taking pictures of me and saying things since I was in high school, so I don't think it bothers me like it's supposed to. I've learned it's a lot easier to let people think what they want because no matter what kind of apology or correction I make, it's never going to be seen or believed as much as whatever was said about me in the first place. I just have to be okay with it, and let what people say go." 

By the time she finished, she felt those tears well up in her eyes, stinging and hot. Every blink she gave trying to hold them back only jostled the pool, blurring her vision. 

"I don't like that you're used to this, (Y/N)," Harry answered, his voice feeling a level of mourning she understood. 

A joyless smile molded her lips into something uneven. She shrugged. "Me neither, but what can you do, right?" 

Tonight would spur something new in the media, photos no doubt being caught of Harry's altercation with the paparazzo and (Y/N) fully expected someone to have been able to secure a photo of her with these tears in her eyes. She could already imagine the kinds of narratives that would be built around these moments, the kind of things people would believe about them both now. 

But, what could she do, right? 

Silently, Harry unhooked a hand from around the steering wheel and gently laid his palm on her knee. The split in her long skirt allowed his skin to press against her own, fingers curling around the cuff of her knee in a comforting squeeze. He didn't have to say anything to let her know that he was there, he was here for her and he trusted and believed her more than anyone she'd ever met before. 

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he really did care for her, even outside of what his job called for. 

Wiggling her fingers under his palm, (Y/N) hugged her hand to his. Her fingers filled in the gaps between his own, painted fingernails glinting in the city lights. 

Harry held her hand the whole drive home.

—————

As expected, two days after the altercation in front of the restaurant, a fat envelope full of photos and a letter she wouldn't read, arrived at the Paris penthouse. 

The media had already spread their own photos about, including shots of her tearing up on the car ride home, leaving her curious as to what the admirer was going to show her that she hadn't already seen. 

It was an odd feeling to not immediately go and ferret away the letter, to hide any evidence of the fact that his life wasn't completely normal. 

But, Harry needed to see this. If he was so willing to give her such trust and believe her without question, she was going to have to give him something back. 

"Is that another letter?" Harry asked from where he had emerged from his bedroom, the entrance to the hallway now full of his broad shoulders and scowling face. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, chest heavy. 

Moving towards her, Harry asked her carefully, "Can I see it?" 

She wordlessly handed it over. She didn't want to see the content anyway, especially seeing as the other was beginning to turn on Harry. She didn't want to see what kind of marking they left on the photos of him. 

It was a quiet ordeal, watching Harry pluck apart the envelope and peer inside. He scanned the photographs, seemingly the most upset when he reached shots of her crying in the car beside him. It was when he reached the letter that something shifted in his demeanor. 

He was always calm and collected, calculating each step and each reaction. But, she saw cracks then as he read the contents of the folded page. His cheeks were red, bottom lip cuffed between his teeth with nose flaring. He looked moments away from shredding the page apart himself. 

She was sure he would have if he hadn't instead indelicately folded it before slamming it on the kitchen counter. 

"We're not doing this anymore," he cemented, voice sharp and unforgiving, "You are not doing this anymore—putting up with this shit anymore." 

Leaning over the pile in front of him, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers creating angry trails in his hair. 

"Harry," she started, her voice cushioning the sharp blow of his own tone, "I know it's hard, but I don't know if there's anything we can do about this. We don't know anything about who's doing this." 

"I don't know what to do," he grumbled, his hands tightening against his scalp, "But, I'm not letting this person take advantage of you and say these awful things about you any more. 'S not okay." 

She didn't know how to tell him that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her, honestly. That there was no way she could conceivably stop this person until they messed up and gave her some kind of information to get a restraining order filed. Until then, there wasn't anything that could stop them. 

"I know it's a lot," she tried, downplaying the same thing that used to give her nightmares when it first began, "But nothing really serious has happened, yet, at least. It's just another person taking photos of me, really." 

 "I don't like it!" Harry suddenly burst, whipping his head up to match her eyes with his own fiery gaze, "You shouldn't have to go through this! I don't understand why everyone thinks it's okay to degrade you, and mock you, and invade your privacy all because your shitty dad lets them! I don't fucking like it, (Y/N)!" 

In a final standoff with the rage bubbling inside, Harry swept his hand heavily over the counter, collecting every piece of evidence and splaying it across the floor. She was sure he wanted to do more, do anything to let off the steam billowing inside him, but there wasn't anything he could do without leaving damage on their home. 

Everything stilled then, the mess on the floor and Harry's breathing heavy in his chest. (Y/N) stood in the stark calm of the kitchen, watching with wide eyes and her hands a fumbling nest. She watched as he looked down at the mess of photographs and the despicable letter that set him off. 

"I don't know how to fix it." His voice was gentle like a whisper, matching the breeze that filtered through the city outside the window. 

Carefully creeping over the floor, bare feet padding over the tiled kitchen, she met Harry around the cooked counter. He didn't look up at her, even when she collected him into her arms and nestled him into a hug. 

"You don't have to fix it, H," she told him, mumbling against his skin as he slowly unfroze around her, "I don't know if this is something that can be fixed. It's just a part of my life at this point, and I don't want you to be upset over it." 

"I want you to be safe," he told her, voice thin when he succumbed to her hold and buried his nose into her hair and wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely. 

She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her own soft curves, Harry fitting himself around her. Every breath he took was matched by her, his nose skimming the top of her head in a soothing pattern as if the motion were for himself only. He was furled like a tight rose, keeping a bumblebee safe from whatever was lurking outside the petals. 

"With you, I am." 

That had Harry pulling away from her then, his eyes matching hers with dilated pulls and a slack jaw. 

"You feel safe with me?" he asked, keeping his hold on her tight so as to not let her stray too far away. 

"Of course, I do," she smiled at him, her hands pressing into his back, "You're the only person that's ever actually been there for me. Like, you actually care." 

While her tone was lighthearted, encouraging, Harry was erring on the serious side. He didn't match her smile, his features left in softened curves and slacked muscles.

Every detail, every expression, every fine point of her was catalogued with his eyes. (Y/N) wasn't even sure if he was really breathing as he did this, the world having stood still the longer he gazed at her. 

When he finally met her eyes once more, the slightly pinch marred his brow, his eyes down turning into something gentle. 

"I do care about you." He swallowed, raspberry lips wet by his tongue. "I don't know when, but I don't think anything I've been doing has been because of my job for a while now." 

Heart hammering in her chest, she felt breathless looking up at him. She still saw that same beauty she spotted in her father's office all that time ago; the mole by his mouth, the sandy stubble on his cheeks, the spotting of freckles on his nose, the cut set of his jaw, the whirlwind of green in his eyes. There was something softer lingering now, something she never could have imagined landing on the face of her security guard. 

She found similarities in this moment to the way he had gazed so wondrously at the Eiffel Tower glimmering at night. He looked at her like she was one of the greatest creations in the world, deserving of romance and praise and commemoration.

"Really?" she breathed.

The way he nodded at her started out small, his gaze dipping to her lips before something frantic kicked in. "Really," he asserted, his hand on her back traveling up her spine and over the base of her neck, "Can I—Can I kiss you?" 

(Y/N)'s answer came in the form of her nose bumping his, mouth placed just off center, hands clutching at the soft fabric of his top. Harry seemed taken aback for a moment, stunned into stillness before he came to life under her kiss. 

The hand that had been traced up her back to the base of her neck turned into a steadying hold, allowing him to support her as he towered above. She tipped her head back as he slotted his lips between her own, kissing her top lip delicately despite the ravenous way he held her. The soft sound of sighs, lips parting and meeting again, filled the room. The very tip of Harry's nose grazed the apple of her cheek as he tipped his head, deepening their kiss with a taste of his tongue over hers. If not for the fact her eyes were already closed, she could imagine the kind of blissed expression she would show off for him. 

Pressing her back towards the kitchen counter, (Y/N) followed Harry's guidance, never pulling her lips away from his own. It wasn't rough the way he grabbed her, placing her on the ledge, only eager excitement flooding his movement. (Y/N) understood completely, immediately reaching for him once more after she was steadied and safe on the counter. 

Her thighs parted to let him stand between, his hands pressing against the round of her hips as he took advantage of his spot. It was (Y/N)'s turn then to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, feeling the baby hairs and heat of his skin. She sighed into his kiss.

She hadn't kissed anyone sober in so long, let alone someone she deeply cared about and who she knew cared about her as well. This put everything she'd experienced to shame. 

Harry put everyone else to shame. 

Happiness flooded her system. 

(Y/N) smiled against his lips, her hands going rogue in his hair as she slipped her fingers between the curls. Harry matched her with a clinging hold on her hips, a grin blooming on his features. He pulled away only when their mouths couldn't actually press together through the breadth of their smiles. 

"Happy?" he asked her, grinning lips just a breath away from her own with his nose nudging delicate against hers.

"Uh-huh," she sighed, chancing her eyes open just a sliver, just enough to see what he looked like when he'd just been kissed by her. Her hands in his hair roamed until they settled a warm hug around his neck. "You make me so happy." 

Harry drew away from her before she was enveloped in his hug once more. His face was in her neck, his arms a cushioned cage around her middle. She swore she could feel his heart beating in time with her own, both racing. 

The kind of silence that only fit when you'd just been kissed in the middle of Paris descended over the flat. This silence full of mushy feelings, lip prints, and synced breathing. 

"Even if I can't fix everything, 'm going to take care of you." His words melted across the column of her neck, the brush of his lips feeling more intimate than when he had helped her undress after the Gala. "I want to make you happy, sweet girl." 

Her eyes fluttered closed as he tucked her chin against her shoulder, cheeks stretched wide from her grin. "I know you will." 

Harry hugged her tighter. 

—————

retrouvailles is an untranslatable French word that describes the feeling of re-meeting someone, the joy of seeing someone you missed even if you didn't know you missed them before

eeeeek!!!!! thank you all so much for reading this part was def fun! sorry for any mistakes and please let me know if you have anything fun to share about the story!

[steveharringtonat3am]

Nails

wc: 883

warnings: some adorable bf eddie

“Your room is so cute.” Eddie sighs happily, cuddling into your pillows. You watch him from your seat at your desk, smiling at his antics.

“It’s pretty normal babe.” You grab your nail polish remover, beginning to take off the two week old polish from your nails. He slides off your bed and grabs his bag and starts taking out all of his things.

“What are you doing?” You ask, turning to watch him as you rub the acetone-coated cotton on your nails.

“Painting dnd miniatures.” He smiles, setting up and tying his hair back into a bun. The sight always makes your heart flutter. His bangs have been getting in his eyes recently and you make a mental note to trim them for him.

“I didn’t know you do that.” You grab your nail polish materials and sit across from him on the floor.

“I like to touch them up so they look extra nice!” They look even tinier in his hands, using a tiny paintbrush to gently paint the little statues.

“Which one are you painting now?” You can’t help but be curious. Even though dnd was a big part of Eddie’s life, you could never get into it. You knew he didn’t mind but you know he likes being able to talk about it with you.

“This is the female wizard. I actually based her character off you. She’s so beautiful that it causes the characters to get distracted during battle.” Leave it to Eddie Munson to be incredibly romantic while talking about dungeons and dragons.

“That one looks really pretty.” With the polish off your nails, you let yourself focus on Eddie’s skillful hands painting with a tiny brush.

“I’m glad you think so.” He kisses your forehead quickly before going back to painting. His tongue sticks out as he focuses. You lay on your stomach next to him, propped up on your hand.

“Do you paint all of these?” You hold up another one and he takes it, cleaning off his brush and starts to paint it.

“Pretty much yeah. It’s actually really relaxing.” It’s so precise that it almost makes you nervous, but he does seen happy.

“That makes sense!” You stay quiet for a while after that. It’s honestly nice to just sit and be with Eddie in silence. He always liked to be talking while doing something with his hands, which was always. But he was so focused that he was quiet, and it was nice to just watch and admire how pretty he is.

“There! Done!” He finally sets the last one down, jolting you awake.

“Th-that’s great babe!” You yawn, curling up in his lap. He smiles and runs a hand over your hair.

“You can’t fall asleep on the floor babe.”

“I can’t fall asleep. Have to paint my nails.” You pout, not nearly in the mood for an activity requiring that much effort.

“I could paint them for you?” He offers, ever the gentleman.

“You don’t know how to paint nails babe.” You peak an eye at him to see him look at you with a funny look on his face.

“I just painted like 20 tiny statues. I think I can handle your nails.” He grins as you sit up against the side of your bed.

“That makes sense…let me file them first yeah?” He nods, handing you the metal file and watching as you shape your nails, blowing them off when you’re done.

“Can I paint them now?” He’s very eager, already opening up your bottle of red polish.

“Sure babe just make sure not to put too much.” He wipes off some of the excess paint, taking your hand and precisely painting your nail. His first try is practically perfect, the coat of paint looking as good as they do in the salon.

“Wow baby you’re really good at this.” He only hums in response. When it came to you, Eddie never left things half-finished. Honestly, you had expected him to get bored halfway through but he painted every nail with incredible precision.

“Is that good?” He asks once the first coat is on. Sure enough, it looks better than ever.

“It’s perfect babe. Now we just let it dry!” You smile, finally able to squirm into his lap. He grins as he pulls you close.

“How long does that usually take?”

“Well it isn’t too thick so shouldn’t take longer than 20 minutes. But until then I can’t touch them, or the polish will smudge.” You keep your hands extended as you relax against his chest.

“Okay baby. Hey did I tell you about what happened today at work? This dude came in-” He launches into an animated story but the warmth of his arms has already begun to lull you to sleep.

An hour later and Eddie’s back is really starting to ache from sitting on the floor. But wow you look adorable when you sleep. He reaches out to inspect your nails, touching them gently to check if they’re dry. Sure enough they are and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

Maybe painting all those miniatures paid off.

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 63] || 100 Jours de Productivité [Jour: 63]

sometimes the meaning of life is to have so many words that you have none. to discover just how many ways one can say that you love. love yourself, love them, love what you do & how you do it, love that living is a thing that takes each day to build & break down again. smelling mint in the morning & lavender in the living room. it’s tremendous to be here.

course work finished

freelance work caught up

important phone calls made

hair trimmed [the horror!]

contract offer accepted

currently listening // Moments by Spacyboi

parfois le sens de la vie est d'avoir tellement de mots qu'on n'en a plus. découvrir combien de façons on peut dire qu'on aime. s'aimer, les aimer, aimer ce qu'on fait et comment on le fait, aimer que la vie est une chose qui prend chaque jour à se construire et à se reconstruire. sentir la menthe le matin et la lavande dans le salon. c'est formidable d'être ici.

travaux de cours terminés

travail indépendant rattrapé

appels téléphoniques importants

coupe de cheveux [l'horreur !]

offre de contrat acceptée

chanson // Moments par Spacyboi

[lacesconfidences]

Il faut souffrir pour être une fille !

Ma sœur était plus attirée par les filles que par les garçons. Sa première chérie s'appelait Christine, c'était une rousse mignonne et très féminine. Elle avait 16 ans et était la fille d'une esthéticienne divorcée. Elle logeait au dessus de l'institut de sa mère. Nous formions Christine, ma sœur et moi un drôle de trio de gourmandes de plaisirs. Cela a duré un peu plus de deux ans, jusqu'à mon entrée à l'Université. Tous les samedis après-midi et quelquefois en semaine, nous nous retrouvions dans la chambre de Christine qui était devenue notre salle de jeux. Christine n'était pas en reste et le fait qu'elle vive seule avec sa mère lui a donné beaucoup d'avance côté sexe. Après mes premiers essayages de fille chez Christine, et avant de découvrir le plaisir féminin de me faire prendre par un tampon puis un merveilleux vibro, mes deux complices ont voulu me débarrasser de mes poils disgracieux… Ma sœur y était déjà passée, sauf son minou et c'était très simple car Christine empruntait le matériel de sa mère à l'Institut et s'exerçait sur elle. Un après-midi, ma sœur et sa chérie ne se sont pas caressées comme à leur habitude. Elles ont comploté en messes bases… Elisabeth m'a demandé de me mettre en culotte pendant que Christine descendait à l'Institut. Elle est remontée avec un truc à cire chaude, des bandes et un rasoir électrique. Elle m'a dit : C'est pas beau une fille avec des poils, on va s'occuper de toi ! Elles ont mis une serviette éponge sur le lit et m'ont demandé de m'allonger sur le dos. Christine a appliqué de la cire sur mes jambes, c'était chaud et agréable. Elisabeth a pressé des bandes sur la cire… Et ensuite, je ne sais plus laquelle des deux a arraché la première bande 🤐🥴😭 Tout ce que je sais c'est que j'ai poussé un cri tel que la mère de Christine a demandé du bas ce qu'elles me faisaient pour me faire crier ainsi ! Et elles ont continué ainsi devant et derrière puis sur la poitrine où heureusement j'avais peu de poils car j'ai souffert … Ha les garces 🥴 Pour finir, Christine m'a dit : "Baisse ta culotte, on va te dessiner le maillot pour que tu aies un joli minou comme nous." Je me suis exécuté en lui disant de faire gaffe à ne pas me blesser avec sa tondeuse. Je n'ai pas été blessée mais à force de me manipuler le clito et les couilles, je leur ai offert une belle queue bien raide. Elisabeth a dit : on ne peut pas le laisser comme ça, il ne peut même plus remettre sa culotte 🍆🍆🍆. Et Christine d'ajouter qu'après tout ce travail elles avaient droit a une récompense. Elles m'ont branlé et j'ai déchargé dans la main de Christine qui s'est empressée de lécher ma liqueur. Elisabeth était frustrée car elle n'a eu que les dernières gouttes en essorant mon clito qui dégonflait…

***********************************************

You have to suffer to be a girl!

My sister was more attracted to girls than boys. Her first sweetheart was called Christine, she was a cute and very feminine redhead. She was 16 years old and the daughter of a divorced beautician. She lived above her mother's salon. Christine, my sister and I formed a strange trio of pleasure seekers. This lasted a little over two years, until I entered university. Every Saturday afternoon and sometimes during the week, we met in Christine's room which had become our playroom. Christine was not left out and the fact that she lived alone with her mother gave her a big head start on the sex side. After my first girl fittings at Christine's, and before discovering the feminine pleasure of being taken by a tampon then a wonderful vibrator, my two accomplices wanted to get rid of my unsightly hairs… My sister had already been there, except for her pussy and it was very simple because Christine borrowed her mother's equipment at the Institute and practiced on her. One afternoon, my sister and her sweetheart did not caress each other as usual. They plotted in my basics… Elisabeth asked me to put on my panties while Christine went down to the Institute. She came back up with a hot wax thing, strips and an electric razor. She told me: It's not beautiful a girl with hairs, we'll take care of you! They put a terry towel on the bed and asked me to lie on my back. Christine applied wax to my legs, it was hot and pleasant. Elisabeth pressed strips on the wax… And then, I don't remember which of the two tore off the first strip 🤐🥴😭 All I know is that I screamed so much that Christine's mother asked from below what they were doing to me to make me scream like that! And they continued like this in front and behind then on my chest where fortunately I had little hair because I suffered… Oh the bitches 🥴 To finish, Christine told me: "Pull down your panties, we're going to draw your swimsuit so that you have a pretty pussy like us." I complied, telling her to be careful not to hurt me with her clippers. I wasn't hurt but by dint of manipulating my clit and balls, I gave them a nice stiff cock. Elisabeth said: we can't leave him like this, he can't even put his panties back on 🍆🍆🍆. And Christine added that after all this work they were entitled to a reward. They jerked me off and I unloaded in Christine's hand who quickly licked my juice. Elisabeth was frustrated because she only got the last drops by wringing out my deflating clit…

[itsguysnightitsironic]

Some human skin and bone

The yassification button glitched, so sorry for your loss.

Did this take years of my life? Yes.

Did it take making at less three before realising I used their identifying colours to render them? Also yes.

Drawings without the dramatic light under the cut with some very long ramblings.

(I'm pretty sleep-deprived right now, excuse my weird grammar and ramblings.)

They are in order of making.

HOOTSIE

-She was the first I drew of the bunch, and I based her mostly on a baby I saw in a hair salon. She had these big un-blink-able eyes and these adorable chubby cheeks that just made sense that Hootsie had.

-To try to union the owl and bear parts of an owlbear, I gave her this very puffy ENORMOUS fur coat with a feather jacket under it. To define where in her original design the fur and feather separate.

-Also the claws, since Hootsie has claws, it's your decision to decide if they are REAL or if Gricko made them for her in wood.

-Her makeup it's designed to scream "OWL" and her original markings, from the big eyes, and eyebrows as owls horns, to the line to symbolise her beak.

She was very fun to draw, brain empty, just owlbear.

GIDEON

-You know the whole "re-inventing the wheel"? Well, this was a "drawing Mace by accident over and over again"

-Credits to Beth Mello for inspiration for the splash blood makeup, which it's just so pretty

-I don't know where the metallic horns came from, I know it's inspired by something but it is so locked in my mind and I can't pull the strings to know where it comes from.

I showed this one to one of my old art teachers and he said "It looks like me when I was younger" and now I can't unsee it.

Your genishi is my retired art teacher now, so sorry for your loss.

GRICKO

-Did I ask my father to pose to draw his old hands? Yes. Yes, I did. And I had to make them more rough and hairy because he has "selling wristwatches on tv" hands? Absolutely.

-I based his hair on a member of Metalica, Kirk Hammett. Now that he's older, he has this very pretty long curly greyish hair that just felt very Gricko.

-I cut his fingers. Well, only the right hand, he has the other one but it didn't grow correctly so it's more like little little finger without nail. So he has four fingers, in his original goblin design he has four fingers and so does the human version now, we don't know what happened, Gricko probably doesn't know either.

-The makeup had to have the most eccentric in-your-face eyeliner ever. With some green highlighter to remain of goblin skin, blue and white dots for his magic and to link him with Hootsie's little blue gems, and body paint inspired by Britons war paint. (Which are drawn after two of his totems.)

Lighting for this one was weirdly easy... The ocarina wasn't.

FROST

-As someone who is pretty young and it's starting to grow white hair already, I can say, that whatever it's happening to him it's more from stress than genes. What ghost scared you, sir?

-I fought with his face so much, I had his body ready for days but not the face. I wanted to keep the expression that Frost has in the original, mostly the smug smile he has.

-Credits to Freja Bermann for inspiration for his makeup which it's inspired by multiple of her looks inspired by the solar system.

-I just realised that by giving him "horns" and two dots to symbolize his tiger ears it looks like the froggy chair of Animal Crossing.

I'm not changing it. This is our little secret.

KREMY

-How do you draw an alligator as a human? How??? DRAW??

-You know what, drawing hands it's only fun if it's old people's hands. They have more texture and can be a bit rougher. They can define a character's life so well... For example, here Kremy has four fingers, you can decide if he got it cut off by fucking around, bitten off, or if he gifted it as a sign of faith to his patron, you decide.

-You hear about "Give Gideon a cowboy hat" get ready for "Give Kremy opera binoculars"

-His makeup was inspired by cabaret, just dramatic eyeshadow and eyeliner. There are markings as gator skin around his eyes and nose. And a fake beauty mark because why not?

Drawing Kremy it's always fun, even if I get tortured first by trying to structure his face.

I can't bring myself to do Torbek, Twig and Petunia, sorry, I'm very tired.

AHHHHHHHHHH.... Have a cupcake 🧁.

[newhector]

THE WIFE

1st Part

I opened the door and there they were both, he introduced himself and with a simple, "Here you have my wife as I promised you"; She was a brunette with curly black hair that beautified her pretty face; She was wearing high black suede shoes and a beautiful gray trench coat tied with a belt around her thin waist.

The shot of the end of the belt and the trench coat opened, showing a beautiful woman with white flesh that contrasted with her pretty black lingerie, she was not wearing panties and my eyes went to a small bush of delicate brown hair, she was wearing black stockings over her her knees held together with a matching black garter belt, the bodice had small holes that showed off her beautiful and delicate breasts, crowned by round and erect nipples; He put his left hand on her back and pushed her towards me. I took her left hand with my right hand and I noticed it was excessively hot. As I guided her into my home, I could see how her husband turned around without saying anything. more towards the elevator

I closed the door behind me and as I was behind her back I grabbed her raincoat, she helped me take it off, while I looked at the end of her beautiful back, she had nice round buttocks that quickly made me react, she hung the raincoat from the hanger , took her hand and guided her to the living room, she let herself be guided without saying a single word; In front of the minibar I told him that if I wanted to have something, shaking my head while I looked a little nervous at all the decoration, I put a finger of whiskey without ice and in one gulp he drank it, I stood aside and pointed to the stairs with my hand invited her to go up, I observed the oscillating and provocative movement of her buttocks as she moved with excessive and elegant swaying of her hips, she placed her hands on the first steps, showing me and showing a shiny and beautiful merchandise that she moved slowly as she raised a of his legs when going up a step, I couldn't help it and took my finger along his hole, making a journey from top to bottom, impregnating it with bright and sticky flow. I brought it closer to my face and I could appreciate its aromatic and penetrating smell, I put it inside my mouth and savored it, as if it were an old reserve wine...

---_---_---_---_---_---_

LA ESPOSA

1ra Parte

Abrí la puerta y allí estaban ambos, se presentó y con un simple "aquí tienes a mi esposa como te prometí"; Ella era una morena con cabello negro rizado que embellecía su lindo rostro; Llevaba zapatos altos de abuja negro y una hermosa gabardina gris atada con un cinturón alrededor de su delgada cintura.

Tiro del extremo del cinturón y la gabardina se abrió, mostrando a una hermosa mujer de carnes blancas que contrastaban con su linda lencería negra, no llevaba bragas y mis ojos se dirigieron a un pequeño matorral de delicado cabello castaño, ella vestía medias negras sobre sus rodillas sujetas con un liguero negro a juego, el corpiño tenía pequeños agujeros que dejaban ver sus hermosos y delicados senos, coronados por pezones redondos y erectos; Le puso la mano izquierda a su espalda y la empujó hacia mí. Tomé su mano izquierda con mi derecha y noté que estaba excesivamente caliente. Mientras la guiaba hacia el interior de mi casa, pude ver cómo su esposo se daba la vuelta sin decir nada hacia el ascensor y se marchaba.

Cerré la puerta detrás de mí y como estaba a sus espaldas agarré su gabardina, ella me ayudó a quitársela, mientras yo miraba el final de su hermosa espalda, tenía lindas nalgas redondas que rápidamente me hicieron reaccionar, colgué la gabardina de la percha, tome su mano y la guie hasta la salon, ella se dejó guiar sin decir una sola palabra; Frente al minibar le dije que si quería tomar algo, sacudiendo la cabeza en una negativa mientras miraba un poco nerviosa toda la decoración, me puse un dedo de whisky sin hielo y de un trago me lo bebi, me hice a un lado y Señalé las escaleras con mi mano la invité a subir, observé el movimiento oscilante y provocativo de sus nalgas mientras se movía con un excesivo y elegante balanceo de sus caderas, colocó sus manos en los primeros escalones mostrándome y mostrando una brillante y hermosa mercancía que ella movía lentamente mientras levantaba una de sus piernas al subir un escalón, no pude evitarlo y llevé mi dedo por su agujero, haciendo un recorrido de arriba a abajo, impregnándolo de un flujo brillante y pegajoso. Lo acerqué a mi rostro y pude apreciar su olor aromático y penetrante, lo metí en mi boca y lo saboreé, como si fuera un vino añejo, un gran reserva…

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Could I please get a HC for Felix from Last legacy for an MC who when they first woke up there had unnaturally colored hair (blue if I'm being self-indulgent or basic F/C if non descriptive.)

How Felix would react to MC's hair color fading and maybe him helping them dye it again.

Of course! Sorry it's a little short, but I hope you enjoy this - it feels so very good to write again, and I hadn't realized how much I missed Felix!

Fandom: Last Legacy

Character(s): Felix

Warnings: None

For starters, I'm going to take a slightly unique angle on this and assume that hair color changing is not that unusual in Astraea. Sure, one could argue that Rime's strawberry pink hair is as natural as his antlers, but what about Anisa? Her mother's hair appears to be solid, yet she's got those lovely streaks in her hair. So it's possible, however... I'm going to say that it isn't dye, but magic.

Imagine salons employing mages who can color your hair instantly, along with other feats, such as causing it to grow out instantly when you've tired of a short haircut. Or salons with a host of magical potions in stock that can be applied to your hair similarly to our dye and instantly causes the color to change! I imagine this is a bit more expensive than just getting a haircut, though, which might be a good way to explain the lack of such vibrant colors in Astraea - most people cannot afford it, or maybe can't access any salons with such options. Or mayhaps it's simply more common than we were led to believe!

For funsies, I'm going to say that Felix's hair is naturally a much duller shade of brown, but during his early teenage years he experimented with spells and potions to color it a bright purple to scandalize Escell, but it didn't quite work, so now it's just... got this purpleish hue to it.

It might So when you turn up with colored hair, it's the least of anyone's concerns. Forget your hair, they want to know where you came from, how you ended up here, and how to get you home!

But the thing about magically colored hair is that it doesn't quite suffer the same phases as our dye. It's either fully permanent, if one could pay enough or find a talented enough mage, or it simply fades away like magic and leaves your natural color behind. But this... this is different. The color fades, and your roots begin to show through as your hair grows out, and no one's ever seen anything quite like it before.

Once Felix finally notices, oblivious little dork that he is, his first instinct is that something is wrong - he skips straight over the possibility that you might be sick, as Sage would surely suggest, and instantly fears corruption. If magic is the thing that colors hair, then surely it must be the cause of strangely un-coloring hair as well. Think of it as an allergic reaction, of sorts; right as you start learning how to perform magic and becoming more and more proficient with it, your vibrant hair seems to wither and become dull.

It's Felix, so... he probably doesn't bring it up immediately. Instead, this loveable idiot decides to fix the problem himself, and tries dissuading you from using magic. The sudden 180 from encouraging you to study the heaviest tomes and practice until you're utterly exhausted to trying to talk you out of doing those exact things is... concerning, to say the least, and you're not that easily convinced.

One way or another, it comes out, whether it's you confronting him, Felix spilling his concerns on his own, or some knightly intervention from Anisa. You explain that your hair is dyed, and Felix freezes, assuming you meant, you know... died. Hopefully you'll explain the difference to him before he launches into a tangent of apologies.

Once he understands, however, he's on a quest to renew your hair for you. He either attempts it himself - which, as mentioned, might not have the best outcome - or he takes you to the best salon in Porrima to have your hair professionally done by a proper mage who can ensure the color will never fade again, unless of course you want a different color.

Writing Masterlist 🐝 Requests Open!  Tag List 🐝

[ask-lock-shock-and-barrel]

Can we see some of Shock's visit to her mom, like how she got her haircut?

((So I don't quite have the time or spoons right now to do a whole comic/story about it right now, but here's a brief lil write up below the cut:

So for context, Bronagh is living in what is essentially a mock human-world set up for ghosts and spirits in the Halloween realm who need help adjusting to their new afterlife in this realm. So picture apartments, townhomes, cafes, parks, various recreational things that you might see in an average human city without much Halloween influence. Some residents are temporary, others might be long term, or even lifelong with very few trips outside the community.

And when Shock first gets there, she's surprised to see her mother is genuinely more at ease, happy, and put-together (she can't remember the last time she ever saw Bronagh wearing makeup or having her hair styled). It's a happy surprise for sure, but then Shock discovers several things from the human world that she has little to no experience with (like automatic sliding doors, electric elevators with buttons, the beds that fold up into the wall, electric appliances that dont run on lemons). She then also witnesses her mother socializing easily with her apartment neighbors, something she herself is not that great with, so when Bronagh tries to introduce her daughter to the nice neighbor ladies who she swaps recipes with every week, Shock is more than a little out of her element.

Bronagh takes Shock around town for sightseeing and mother-daughter fun but eventually notices her daughter's anxiety in an environment that is just so different and un-Halloween. When Shock admits insecurity over feeling like she doesn't fit in a place that feels so normal, Bronagh reveals that she herself was a nervous wreck when she first got there, and she doesn't blame Shock for feeling out of her element here, it's just a lot to get adjusted to. And Shock also realized that this is probably how Bronagh felt when she woke up in Halloween Town, and struggled to get used to the macabre everyday setup of the realm, making the experience more relatable for both of them. So with the air cleared, and knowing her mother is happy and healing, Shock decides to open herself up to this new adventure.

Shock also made the choice to cut her hair at a hair salon during the trip because it was Bronagh's treat, and Shock realized she actually did sort of like having short hair. Even if it first came from her hacking it off in a blind bout of grief. So choosing to cut it again in a positive light, with her mother's support, makes her happy. And she was long overdue for a trip to an actual hair salon stylist who wasn't using sewing scissors.

She also probably brought home souvenirs for her bros, the kind that would be considered boring or average by humans, but for little ghoulish halloween kids, they'd be fascinated. ))

[oceansssblue]

[THE BAD BATCH] — Soulmate AU

HUNTER/OFC

WARNINGS: STALKING, FLUFF AND A BIT OF SMUTTIE SEXY STUFF 💖❤️‍🔥

Hunter had just stepped outside of Cid's salon when he saw her for the first time. She was a pretty thing, long legs and light blue hair shining under the stars. The two rows of dark blue scales running down both sides of her neck –til who knew where– pin-pointed she wasn't fully human; one of those species that had been stuck in between. It made Hunter curious, as he hadn't seen one of hers before; so he just started being aware of her presence from there on.

Her name was Aaliyah. Hunter's heightened senses had captured it all the way across the street, once; a obviously well-known client laughing with her about some fancy party the man was going to throw that weekend. Her smile had been wide and almost sparkly. Hunter had smiled himself unconsciously from Cid's front door as well.

It was after a week of acknowdleging her presence when he saw her lashing out for the first time. She was closing the liquor shop where she worked that night, a tired expression on her usually smiling face, when two drunk guys aproached her with greedy hands. Painfully embriagated, they tried to banter with her, one of them sneaking his hand through the closing blinds and knacking a bottle of expensive correlian whisky for himself. Hunter could read her tensing muscles from where he was trying to breathe and un-saturate himself from Cid's salon constant noise and gambling. He readied himself in case he needed to interfere.

His help was obviously very much not needed. Aaliyah snatched the bottle right back, returning it to its safe place inside the shop, and when the same drunk guy turned to lewd comments and tried to touch her, her reaction was efective and fast. She grabbed the offending hand, twisted it and pushed down at his elbow with her other hand; drawing a pained shout out of the man and forcing him to lower himself on the ground. It was a basic deffense move; but Hunter felt impressed with her precision and controlled attitude all through it. She didn't seem scared, or worried. She shot the guys an irritated glance and send them off with a hiss.

"That would teach you to keep your hands to yourself. Now get the fuck out of here" she spat, and the two of them staggered away.

It was, to put it plainly, hot. Hunter's own muscles relaxed with Aaliyah's when the girl sighed and turned to finish her job; locking the metal blinds before putting her small backpack on her shoulder and starting her way home.

A weird feeling overpowered Hunter's mind. Ord Mantell wasn't the safest planet around, and this girl was clearly walking on foot back home after such altercation. What if those two men where waiting for her in some dark corner to get their revenge? Hunter had seen her protecting herself, so he knew she was capable; but in an unexpected situation... He wasn't sure, and he would feel horrible if something of the sort happened to her.

So he followed. And without making a noise or being seen, he made sure she made her way back home; safe.

(•••)

It somehow became a rutine. At the beginning it was truly just to ensure her safety; though it quickly turned to something else. There was something pulling him towards her, and it wasn't just mere attraction for a strong pretty woman in a tough galaxy. Hunter had always been able to percibe things people couldn't; to detect unusual stuff. And he knew, he just knew there was something about her that brought him in like bees to honey.

He had her way home memorised by now. Her little rutine. She first checked the shop to make sure lights were off and every liquor in its place; she then closed the blinds, locked them in place, and pulled her small backpack up her shoulder. She started walking her way home; mostly a straight line through the streets with the exception of two twists right towards the end. He knew this; which was why Hunter frowned in confussion when Aaliyah turned the next corner to the left unexpectedly. Hunter, as always, followed; and he didn't see it coming.

The clone was suddenly and roughly pushed against the wall; a forearm pressing against his chest and the shiny blade of a dagger carefully positioned against the side of his throat. She had a fierce expression on her face and fire and anger on her eyes; her voice threatening and without a hint of pannick or hesitance.

"Okay, you fucking creep" she hissed, tightening her grip on him "You've been doing this for a week now. I think we've had enough, haven't we?"

Hunter's eyes slightly widened in surprise. His eyebrows shot up at the same time.

"How did you..." he started, but she didn't seem to have that much patience left.

"Notice that? You might be more sneaky than the rest, but I'm not the rest either. I'm a Tar-sa" she answered, adding a small explanation as his eyes were clearly not showing any recognition at the name - We've got good hearing and reflexes.

The clone couldn't do anything other than nod. He took in the differences in the humanoid again; her bright blue hair and eyes, almost liquid cian, and the myriad of dark scales tracing the contours of her neck. They had a small shine to them as well, now that he stood close enough to her.

She growed tired with his silence.

"So?" She huffed "Want to explain yourself or should I just slid your throat?"

Hunter's eyes were called to hers again. He tried to regain his composture and plaid his case.

"It's really not what it looks like" he started with, making Aaliyah rise an eyebrow, and continued explaining himself. "I saw you that night when you had to fend off those drunk guys that tried to mess with you. I thought they might be waiting for you in a corner somewhere, so i decided to follow you and make sure you got home safe. The days after that one... I guess I wanted to keep making sure of that. I know it's weird and yeah, probably creepy as you've said, but I'm not looking to hurt you, I swear. I just want to make sure you're alright, and for some reason I'm intrigued about you. Like yourself, i have heightened senses, and there's something else there, though i don't know what yet".

She stared at him for a handful of long seconds, searching for a lie in his words; finally releasing him with a tired sigh and hiding her dagger on the small belt at her thigh again. Hunter straightened his spine and akwardly tugged at his hair.

"I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt" she conceeded, her posture lest threatening now but still firm, her eyes analysing him inch by inch "You're a hot guy, you know. Next time, just ask to walk me home and forget about the whole silent tracking creepy stuff".

The clone nodded in shock, surprised by her bold words –and even compliment– and her quick forgiveness. He hadn't thought she'd want to ever see him again. Aaliyah nodded towards him one last time before turning around and walking away.

Though he felt hesitant about it, not wanting to intrude and offend her again, the next night he slowly hovered around her shop, waiting for her to finish her routine of closing up. She didn't feign he hadn't heard him arrive, this time; her bright blue eyes quickly moving towards him and the recognition washing over her face.

"Ah, hey, Aaliyah" he shuffled in his feet, only slightly feeling out of place. "Can I walk you home?"

Luckily, she shrugged and grabbed her backpack.

"Sure, creepy guy" was her nochalant answer.

Hunter tensed, uncomfortable with the ofending nickname –he really didn't want her to see him that way, oh well–; but he catched the amused smirk on her face and chuckled in relief, walking besides her.

Half way through their destiny, Aaliyah glanced at him with interest.

"Are you aware you haven't told me your name yet?"

(•••)

He grew on her faster than she had expected to. There was a whole week of "creepy guy" greetings after their new agreement; but after seven night conversations and actually getting to know him, she accepted that he was what he claimed to be to her the day she confronted him. Not a bad guy, and not looking to harm her. She started to find him endearing.

Hunter was a firm commanding man. She could hear it in the tone of his voice and his posture; soldier-like. With that armour of his, she had the vage intuition that he was a clone even if different than clones themselves. She had a good eye for things like that, and there was some resemblance definitively there. And yet he almost looked a bit reserved around her, a small shyness and awkwardness showing here and there at times. Aaliyah pondered if he just wasn't used to talking to girls; though she doubted that, looking like that.

Once the hesitance had been put aside, there were no restraints for her growing physical attraction to him. He was fucking hot indeed, one could even argue close to god-like. There was just something so sexy with the contrast between his tattoed face and his long soft hair; with his fucking red bandana and the way his dark eyes seemed to scan everything everywhere. His strong jaw line, broad shoulders, and surprisingly thin waist. And so the greetings were upgraded from "creepy guy" to "hot guy". The first time hearing that he seemed surprised; but she could clearly read the pride and amusement in his expression and eyes.

At week two after their confrontation, Aaliyah had met the man's family. They were a curious batch; they all held the same soldier-like disposition, and kinda look like each other and not at all at the same time. Wrecker was huge and loud, and Aaliyah inmediately took a liking to his bubbly almost innocent disposition and the way he seemed to brighten up with the smallest things. Echo was the most reserved, though very polite; while Tech used to chat with his head casted downwards towards his datapad. Omega seemed like a mini mix of all of them; innocent and excitable like Wrecker, impossibly curious like Tech, and determined like the other two. She had welcomed Aaliyah with openned arms and a bright smile, happy to have another girl with her.

Aaliyah's growing fondness on Hunter only solidified when she saw him interacting with omega. He had only known Hunter's quiet firm side for now; but with the small blonde girl he was so sweet and protective it was to die for. For some reason, seing him take the responsible concerned dad role with Omega lightened up the fire inside of her.

It was at week three when things finally reached to an end. Hunter and Aaliyah had just left the boys and Omega behind, still having a drink and chatting at Cid's salon, and both of them were making their usual way back to her place.

They were unusually silent that night; no need to make irrelevant conversation after so much noise and smells, both of their heightened senses relieved with the cold air and the quietness of the streets of Ord Mantel. They were comfortable like that.

What they did do, however, was a ridiculous competition of stealing glances. He looked at her when she was staring straight ahead; and when she turned to look back at him, he hold her gaze for a brief second before paying attention to some other thing in the street. That's how they finally arrived to her home; and when Aaliyah decided she had had enough.

"So" she started, nochalantly, twisting around and tilting her head to the side. "Are you planning on making a move some day, or you're just gonna make eyes at me for the rest of our lives?"

Hunter's shock was short-lived; inmediately replaced by an amused chuckle and excitement running through his veins.

He cupped his chin in his right hand, a firm but gentle gesture, and Aaliyah grinned in his hold.

"If you so desperately wanted a kiss, you could have just asked for one, mesh'la" he murmured with his deep voice, and she tilted her chin up towards him with a chuckle, eyes bright.

"Just fucking kiss me already, hot guy" she ordered, and Hunter didn't think it twice.

He stepped closer to her and gently hold her chin where he wanted before bending down towards her and joining their lips in what would only be their first kiss; both inmediately melting at just how right it felt. She clinged to his shoulders, a soft content sound escaping her throat; Hunter only deepening the kiss and giving her a taste of the passion that was contained inside of him. She kissed him back with the same fervor; wanting to unleash that passion, to unleash him. She fucking wanted him. She wanted to control his mouth, his moans, his sighs of pleasure and every one of his shudders. Hunter must have noticed her reacting to him, too; because he devoured her mouth and carefully pushed her against her front door, his rough hand slowly finding hold on her neck. Not squeezing, just keeping it there; a reminder of what he could do, a reminder that she was his, now. He swallowed her moans and allowed her to roam her impatient hands over his clothes.

Hunter gave a playfull bite to her bottom lip –reminding himself to breathe in the mean time– before resuming the kiss; Aaliyah letting out another small happy sound and allowing Hunter's pressing body between her legs. He hummed in satisfaction and pushed himself against her; his cock twitching inside his clothes with the small pull the woman gave to his hair.

Aaliyah smiled at him –okay, maybe hair-pulling was one of the things that made Hunter tick– and dragged her free hand down his back towards his ass; squeezing it softly with no embarassment at all, making him chuckle and pull back to look at her, eyes dark and lips red.

"Getting awfully curious now, mesh'la" he whispered in front of her lips, a hint of an amused smile perched in his.

"Can't help it when looking like that, Hunt" she teased, licking her lips and offering to continue with sparkling eyes. "Wanna come inside?"

Hunter couldn't resist himself.

"Oh, of course I wanna come" he retorted, smirk growing wider and almost predatory.

Aaliyah laughed and turned around, bending down towards her long abandoned backpack in order to take her keys out. Hunter couldn't help it; her ass looked great right then and there, he was so hard it was turning painful, and he wanted her so bad. He grabbed her waist with both hands and plastered himself against her ass; gently rutting against her over both of their clothes once or twice.

"M-maker, Hunter" she whimpered, taking her keys out and trying hard to concentrate in getting the door opened "We're not gonna get far if you keep doing that".

He hummed and kissed her neck from the side, Aaliyah's hand shaking slightly while she finally completed her task. She threw the front door opened, turned to hunter and dragged him inside. Their lips inmediately found their way to each other once more.

They both felt like burning up. Hunter's firm body pressed against her while he blindly pushed her to what he supposed was her bedroom made her incredibly needy; she wanted to rip his clothes off and have her way with him. He abandoned the softness and carefullness he had been treating her with and turned impatient too, hands pulling and pushing, lips demanding, hard cock pressing insistently against her warmth.

He watched with a dark stare how she stripped her pants off; he groaned at her smell. She took her own panties off; and Hunter could see the evidence of her arousal in the soft pretty fabric. He ordered her to jump to bed. She chuckled and obeyed.

"Get this off" she mumbled, after another kiss, tugging impatiently at his shirt, once all of his armour had been piled up on the floor. "Wanna see you naked, too".

Hunter threw his shirt off, not really caring if it landed on the ground, and Aaliyah's mouth watered with the sight of his chest. Hunter's skeleton design didn't stop at his face; it continued with a replica of his collarbone and a half rib-cage marked with ink. The black stripes looked beautiful in Hunter's tanned skin; and so she said.

"Fucking hell. You look gorgeous in ink".

She couldn't wait and dived in. Hunter moaned and exposed his neck to her, letting out a pleased sigh with the bite she left on his neck. Her lips slowly kissed down his chest, tongue playfully tracing his abs bedore reaching his waistband. He fidgeted while she hovered over him, and another pleased sound escaped his throat when she ghoasted her lips over his clothed cock.

She chuckled and kissed the same trace back up towards his mouth; Hunter quickly dragging her for a passionate kiss and rough hands travelling down to graze his thighs teasingly and grab her ass.

She continued her exploration of him; diverting her attention to examine his tattoed arm. He had a figure of his humerus there, too; black ink tracing strong lines and... Aaliyah stared in shock at the small vibroblade design marked right by its side; momentarily recovering and breaking the moment with a loud laugh.

"Well, that definitively gives your former creepy status a solid excuse" she commented, grinning, stopping her movements and resting her hips on top of Hunter's strong ones.

He looked at her in confussion and want.

"What?"

Aaliyah laughed, taking her own shirt off right then and showing him the mark that was etched onto her skin right under her collarbone; the same vibroblade –Hunter's, probably, if he had one– in red and black.

His eyes inmedietly widened in understanding; looking up at the woman perched in his lap with utter shock and debating if he should confess how much he hand longed for that moment or devour her lips and slip inside her like he was desperate to do.

She fell a rush of affection and warmth towards him; bending down and whispering with a smile over his parted lips.

"I bet fucking your soulmate is an outer world experience" she tempted him, grinning, and Hunter groaned and demanded her attention with a rough kiss.

He turned them both around and trapped her under his body, pushing his hard cock impatiently against her and mumbling over her face "Gonna make you cum all night long, mesh'la".

She smiled, just pure happiness this time, and kissed him back til he traced his mouth down towards her core. She moaned and squirmed; Hunter's hands quickly stopping her moves and purposefully widening the space between her legs. She looked down at him, breathless; his dark eyes and confident smile shot straight back at her.

Hunter thought about their curious story, about the truth in what the Jedi used to say, the Force working in mysterious ways. He slowly licked a teasing trace over her clit, at first; and then, after his soulmate moaned and her hand flew to his long hair, he chuckled and dived his tongue in her cunt.

"You're gonna cum for me, mesh'la".

THE END.

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

AND THAT'S OUR BOY HUNTER! AND OUR FOURTH SOULMATE AU AT THAT :)

I WANTED TO MAKE THIS ONE A LITTLE SEXY, THOUGH THE SMUTT WASN'T MY MAIN PLAN. DON'T WORRY, I'LL WRITE FULLY SMUTT ONES IN THE FUTURE!

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT. IF YOU DID, LET ME KNOW! IT'S MY THIRD? DAY PUBLISHING FICS IN TUMBLR AND IM EXCITED. ALSO, IF YOU COULD REBLOG SO OTHERS CAN FIND ME, I APPRECIATE IT.

WE'VE ONLY GOT OUR BOY CROSSHAIR LEFT FOR THIS SOULMATE SERIES. SUGGESTIONS ON WHAT I SHOULD WRITE NEXT?

REMEMBER I'M TAKING PROMPTS OR REQUESTS. AND THAT ENGLISH IS NOT MY MAIN LANGUAGE, SO OOPSIES!

TIL NEXT TIME!

Xx,

Sky.

[logogreffe]

un rdv -> un rendez-vous = an appointment prendre un rendez-vous chez le coiffeur : to make an appointment with the hairdresser (even if your hairdresser is a woman, we still say "chez le coiffeur" it's like saying "at the hair salon", but you could say "j'ai pris rdv avec ma coiffeuse" approximativement = approximately  une coiffure = a hairstyle

[Chez le coiffeur , French vocab]

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue July 1957

Anne St. Marie poses in a hairstyle by Guillaume at Salon Marcel. She wears a black velvet hair bow by Mr. John. Faux pearl and rhinestone dangle earrings, from Lord & Taylor.

Anne St. Marie pose dans une coiffure par Guillaume au Salon Marcel. Elle porte un noeud dans les cheveux en velours noir par Mr. John. Boucles d'oreilles pendantes en fausses perles et strass, chez Lord & Taylor.

Photo Richard Rutledge vogue archive

[gogmstuff]

Images of Geneviève Lantelme -

According to Wikipedia "Geneviève Lantelme (born Mathilde Hortense Claire Fossey, 20 May 1883[1] – 24/25 July 1911) was a French stage actress, socialite, fashion icon, and courtesan. Considered by her contemporaries to be one of the most beautiful women of the Belle Epoque and bearing a resemblance to American actress Ethel Barrymore, she is remembered for the mysterious circumstances of her death: on the night of 24/25 July 1911, she fell from the yacht of her husband, Alfred Edwards."

1902 (May issue) Lantelme in Paquin, Les Modes May issue. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/8/ 2106X3000.

1902 Geneviève Lantelme, Théâtre du Gymnase, photo by Reutlinger, Les Modes July 1902. From les-modes.tumblr.com/image/51225719455; fixed spots w Pshop 1280X1779.

Genevieve Lantelme in Doucet by Reutlinger. From tumblr.com/beautifulcentury859X1600.

ca. 1905 Geneviève Lantelme by Henri Manuel. From Wikimedia 2283X2883.

1907 Mademoiselle Lantelme by Giovanni Boldini (Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna e Contemporanea - Roma, Italy). From Wikimedia 1474X2776.

1907 April Mlle. Lantelme of the Theatre Rejane with lace-trimmed celadon day dress, with pink roses and feathers in her red hair, wearing rings of white and black pearls, photographed by Paul Boyer, on cover of French periodical les Modes 853X1280.

Lantelme in Paquin day dress by Félix. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 1266X2806.

ca. 1908/1909 Lantelme in Vionnet gown by ?. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/3/; fixed larger spots w Pshop 1280X1707.

1910 (June) Genviève Lantelme in Maison Drion-Régnier sheath evening dress, Les Modes - photo by Félix. From les-modes.tumblr.com/page/28 1280X1784.

1910 Geneviève Lantelme in Le Costaud des Epinettes by Abel Faivre (location ?). From Wikimedia 1190X1620.

Lantelme in Paquin afternoon dress by Félix. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 1789X2395.

1910 Lantelme in Paquin photo Reutlinger. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 2048X3060.

1911 Elegante et son chien (Lantelme with blue hortensias) by Antoon van Welie (location ?). From verbinina.wordpress.com/2015/03/06/an-unknown-portrait-of-lantelme/; doubled size 1600X1032.

1911 Lantelme photo in 2 August 1911 issue of The Bystander. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/2/; fixed spots w Pshop 815X1186.

1911 Un Vendredi au Salon des Artistes français by Jules-Alexandre Grün (Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen - Rouen, Normandie, France). From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/7/; fixed spots & abrasion flaws w Pshop 4800X2800. Lantelme is at the visual center of this work.

Lantelme and dogs by Reutlinger. From verbinina.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/lantelme-cabinet-photo-with-2-dogs; adjusted borders & fixed flaws w Pshop 1094X1594.

Lantelme in La Gamime wearing Paquin by Reutlinger. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 1230X1636.

Lantelme in Paquin by Manue. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 2197X3360.

Lantelme in Paquin. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/6/ 1401X2000.

[cowherderess]

a little snippet that came to my mind while watching The Notebook musical:

With the dishwasher humming behind him, Ted turns off the kitchen lights and heads upstairs. Rebecca went up a little while ago, and he yawns, now, feeling very ready to tuck himself in beside her. 

But he finds her still dressed, seated at her vanity and delicately applying lipstick. It looks like she’s put on mascara too, and blush.

For a moment, he watches her from the doorway– cast back in time to all their previous evenings that started this way.

“Don’t you look pretty,” he says gently. 

“I hope so. My husband will be home soon.” She sets down her lipstick, and turns to face him. Her expression is taut, her posture stiff, like when they first met. 

“Will he, now.” 

He’s not supposed to correct her on these things, but gosh if it isn’t painful. Both figuratively, and literally– his fingernails press into his palms. 

“He’s been away on business for two weeks. He’ll be missing a woman’s touch, I’m sure...” She trails off, and her brow furrows. 

He knows she would spend those days alone, that Rupert didn’t always answer her messages. Whether she’s thinking of that coached insecurity as to her role in his life, or the later revelations that Rupert had never been missing a woman’s touch, he hates this disease for making her live any of it again. 

“Who wouldn’t miss you?” His voice catches. If she hears it, she gives no sign.

“He can be very particular.” She turns to the mirror, running a hand through her silver hair. “I just wish I’d done something about these greys. The salon had to cancel my appointment. A gas leak– can you imagine, in this day and age.”

“I can’t!” He shakes his head, chuckling to disguise the pang in his heart. The gas leak is still some part of her world, at least. 

He comes to stand behind her, and with some hesitation, places his hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t object, and so he trails them over her shoulder blades, down her arms. She melts into his touch, leans back against him and sighs. 

And then, her brow un-knits and her eyes brighten. The mists recede, at least for a little while. “Are the dishes all done?”

“Yep, uh-huh.” 

“Thank you for that. I was so tired all of a sudden.” She shakes her head, frustrated. “I thought I’d be ready by the time you came up. This stuff is a bear to take off.” She reaches for the pads.

“Give those here, honey, I’ll help you.”