#aftermath of July City

[kamikazemorgen]

| ⚠ | Brother. Morgen held in his sigh and frowned a little deeper. The sounds of feet and guns had him turning his light on the line military personnel. Their weapons were pointed at the blond--which at least it wasn't him they were looking for, but with all that happened, why would they...

Civilian. Morgen would have snorted in derision, except their accusation that this injured mess of a man was the one that destroyed the city.

"You can't be serious!" Morgen barked, annoyed. "How could one guy be responsible for this level of destruction? Look at him, he's barely standing!"

Morgen didn't hesitate to put himself between them and the taller blond. If they thought he was a civilian, they'd be idiots to shoot him without cause. Granted, a cynical half formed comment flitted through his head, with what happened, I shouldn't be surprised if they did try to shoot first and ask questions later.

"Step aside!" he one with the flashlight snapped, with Morgen's light on his face, he could tell fear was warring with anger from the man's expression. Maybe they really did think this guy did all this. Morgen was a skeptic through and through.

"Shouldn't you be rounding up more people and looking for the injured and treated the wounded? Isn't that a more fitting task than running around accusing half-dead people of destroying an entire city?" Morgen was stepping closer to them by half steps. He hadn't drawn his gun, but his empty hand was fisted. Some of the men flinched, two of them pushed forward, saying something about witnessing something happening before the city exploded. Morgen wasn't listening anymore.

Once they advanced on him, he lunged at them at the same time. His gloved fist knocked one of their guns aside and he side stepped to shove his elbow into the other's chest. It was a messy scuffle, some of the men backed up, clearly too spooked by everything else to put themselves in the fight. Morgen disarmed one of the men and turned to use the rifle as a club on the other.

While he was occupied with them, the one holding the main flashlight barked at another to apprehend the blond. Out of breath, and just having knocked one man to the ground, Morgen shouted, "I'm not gonna let you do that!"

Before he could advance on the two headed for the blond, Morgen took a solid blow to the back, stumbling a bit and cursing foully.

"You bastards could be helping people," Morgen growled angrily, get into another struggle as he avoided another blow, this time to the head. Lucky for him, fighting in this kind of darkness was just as hard for them as it was for him. He wasn't one for killing military if he didn't have to--but dammit, they're pushing this to that possible conclusion--

"Hey--idiot--run or something--" he yelled in the blond's direction. If he wasn't so preoccupied, he'd realize the condition the guy was in, he really wasn't going to be running, let alone a decent paced walk.

Go... with him? The request took a moment or two to process, but eventually Vash did understand what was being asked of him, his steps shuffling at best.

"My... brother." he said quietly. "I'm... I'm looking.. for my br--"

Freeze...!

A new circle of light hit the body of the blond from the other side of them, the voice and clicking of guns being aimed in their direction making the Stampede turn slightly, narrowing his eyes as the light hit him directly in the face. While Vash couldn't see much past it, Morgen would be able to see the line of similarly-dressed soldiers, all sporting the crest of the fallen city on their uniforms.

Clearly, it was what was left of JuLai's military police, with their weapons all trained on the injured blond.

"Back away from him, civilian!" the man with the flashlight barked at Morgen. "We have reason to believe that this man is the monster who destroyed the city!"

[localvoidcat]

i seriously need to talk about julie and josie more because they have big roles in the amber falls side of third arc

[didhewinkback]

on my way to buy some flowers for you

as if i was going to resist THIS. little blurb from the something old universe.

word count: 1ishk; warnings: zero this is fluff city baby.

---

It was the type of September day you fantasize about in the dead of the frigid cold winter months or during a heat wave in July - the sun was shining but the air was crisp, the breeze creating a slight chill. The dewy grass smell walloping him with nostalgia for the first day of school - how he would fiddle with his new backpack while also trying to make sure his curls fell just right for the 800th time.

It’s his favorite time of year in London, something he only realized recently, having spent his first decade or so living here either on tour or in America doing talk shows and photoshoots and meet and greets and interviews and dinners with executives and feeling himself slowly slip away bit by bit. 

There’s none of that now, as he leans up into the sun, the jazz album playing through his airpods adding an extra pep in his step as he turns down his street. This city has never felt more like home and he’s never felt more like himself. He’s gotten to be a real friends and family man this year, a standard he set for himself in the aftermath of tour. He’s someone who shows up, now - birthday parties, concerts, major work events. He’s there. 

He’s also set strict standards for relaxation - yes, he is the type of person that requires a routine in order to actually feel at ease but it’s worked out great so far. Nothing too crazy, just living in the familiar, building a life through habits. Like this one - how he’s gotten to wake up before you for a year and a half straight, rather than just a few weeks at a time, kissing you on the head before quietly slipping out of the house to head off for a cold swim or bike ride or walk through the neighborhood. Coming home to find you blinking sleepily over a cuppa or getting ready for the work day or, his favorite, still in bed, waiting for him.

It’s his favorite thing, waking up next to you. His stomach swoops at the memory of how good you looked this morning, your arm wrapped around his waist, the sunlight glowing golden embers across your skin. 

He adjusts the bouquet in his hands to enter the gate code once he gets to the house, the surprise gift making him so giddy he has to laugh at himself, barely able to contain his grin. It’s not elaborate, it's just flowers, but it will make you smile and that’s enough for him. 

He unlocks the front door, taking his airpods out of his ears and putting them away, taking in the sounds of the house. He quickly toes off his sneakers when he hears the sound of pages turning, can close his eyes and picture you sprawled out on the couch, book in hand. He feels buoyant as he walks down the hall towards the living room, hiding the flowers behind his back. 

Yeah, this is his city, he thinks, this is his home. And this, he thinks as he lays his eyes on you - still wearing that shirt of his you love to sleep in, bare legs stretched along the couch, fully engrossed in what’s unfolding on the page in front of you - this is his person.

You look up as he enters the room, placing the book down on your chest as you look at him, sleepy smile growing wider as he shuffles over to you, bending over with his hands still behind his back to steal a kiss. 

“Good morning,” you mumble against his mouth as he ducks in to steal another, humming into it. 

“Didn’t know if you’d be awake.” he says.

“It’s half past 10!” you squawk indignantly. “I’m not a heathen.”

“Feel like last night would say differently.” he says, laughing when you smack him, living for the way your face flushes. 

“Didn’t hear any complaints.”

“And you never will.” he says seriously, poker face lasting all of two seconds when you honk out a surprised laugh, your grins growing as you look at each other. 

You shake your head, stretching your arms over your head before squinting at him, the way he’s standing awkwardly, hands still behind his back. He feels a bit like a novice magician, heat blooming behind his cheeks as he pulls the bouquet from behind him and holds them out in front of you. You gape at him for a second, eyes darting between the flowers and his face, before pressing yourself up into a sitting position. 

“Who are those for?”

“What do y’ mean who are they for? A man can’t get his wife flowers?” he says, loving the way the word feels leaving his mouth. 

It’s been about three months but he never tires of saying it, never tires of knowing it's you. A flash of heat flows through him as he remembers the late hours after the reception, being unable to stop muttering the word into your neck as his hands desperately clamored to hold you impossibly closer. My wife, my wife, my wife. 

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, the loss of words apparent as you take the bouquet from him, biting at your lip as you look over the bloom. Eyes lighting up when you see your favorites. You huff a laugh and he swears he can see a blush blooming along your cheeks. You look back up at him, grin wide on your face and you look better than he imagined. You’re better than he imagined. You’re everything.

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss, thumb brushing along his skin, causing goosebumps in its wake, your lips pressing against his just the way he likes. It’s a shit angle for his back, hunched over the couch, one arm on the back of it to support his weight but he really doesn’t give a shit, pulling away to press kisses all along your face until you giggle and push him away. 

“They’re beautiful. They’re fucking massive,” you say and he huffs a laugh against your skin, playfully biting at the apple of your cheek before pressing a kiss there and flopping down on the couch next to you. “I love them. Thank you.”

You lean over to kiss him again, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to hold you closer, kissing you softly. It’s the sound of the kettle that makes you pull apart, the kettle that takes absolute ages but he got it for you when he was twelve and you’ve never gotten rid of it. 

“Fancy a cuppa?” you ask softly and he nods, heart skipping a beat when you press your lips to his again before getting up off the couch. “I’m gonna put these in some water.”

You head into the kitchen and he settles back onto the couch, smile never leaving his face as he listens to you putter around. He pulls his cardigan off, smirking before doing the same with his trousers. 

“‘M taking my trousers off,” he announces, kicking them off his legs and staring at them on the ground for a moment before quickly folding them and placing them on the chair next to him. “We’re going full lazy Sunday, baby.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” you call back and he laughs, reaching for your ipad on the coffee table before laying down on the couch. 

“Will y’ do the crossword with me?” he asks, opening the app up on the ipad, eyes poring over the clues. “The wordle kicked my arse this morning.”

“That’s because you suck,” you say, heading back into the living room with two steaming mugs, placing them on the coasters on the table. “You’re also the only person on the planet still doing the wordle.”

“‘M a man of commitment, what can I say.” he says and you hum, pressing a kiss to his forehead before shuffling back to the kitchen. “And the guy who made it, made it as a gift for his wife, so from one wife guy to another, I’ve got to support.”

He hears you snort at that as he gets a bit lost in the crossword, pausing only when he feels your eyes on him. He looks up, sees you leaning against the doorframe, the vase of flowers in your hand as you look at him with such love in your eyes he swears he stops breathing.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, voice a little breathless.

“My husband got me flowers. And now he’s laying on our couch without any trousers on,” you say with a shrug, taking a deep breath, the way the word husband leaves your lips causes goosebumps to bloom along his skin. That’s him, he’s yours. He’s got a ring on his hand to prove it. “And I’m just feeling really lucky. Because I really love him.” 

His breath catches in his throat as he smiles over at you, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment, both a little in awe of this life of yours, this marriage. This family. 

“Even if he’s really shit at the crossword.” you say, cheeky smile on your face that only grows when he honks out a laugh. 

“Then get over here and help me,” he whines and you quickly shuffle over, placing the vase in the middle of the table before crawling on the couch over him.

It takes some rearranging but you’re squished together, you halfway on top of him, the ipad in between you as you start to go through the clues together, legs intertwined, his arm around your back, holding you close. He presses a kiss to your temple and takes a deep breath, feeling so much gratitude for this moment he may just explode.

There’s just nothing else like it, is there. Nothing like you. No place like home.

--

a/n: if youre reading this and are like bitch theyre married?! canonically, yes. i promise some writing about the wedding will be coming but its taking forever and this inspo hit me like a truck so i had to work with it. also so fun bc grapejuice always reminds me of this fic anyway w the lyric "give me something old".

hope u like it, let me know what u think. shoutout to the random girl on twitter who tweeted my username asking for more writing last summer sorry its taking so long but wow u made me feel special. i missed them!!

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[smileyoongle]

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

A/N- Hi guys, this chapter is not essentially a chapter in the series. It is more like an explanation of the current world order in the series' timeline. Please remember, there is going to be no taglist for this series, so keep your notifications on. Okay bye :-)

The Exodus: Unveiling the Origins and Consequences of the Night-Walker Dominion

By Elara Claxon

July 14th 1324

Three thousand years ago, the world witnessed a cataclysmic event known as The Exodus. It was a day when Hell, overwhelmed by an unprecedented number of sinners, could no longer contain them. In an act of desperation, the Devil unleashed these tormented souls upon the Earth, transforming them into vampires. They emerged from their graves, giving birth to an era of terror and bloodshed. These night-walkers, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood, wreaked havoc across the world, decimating entire populations and forcing humanity into hiding.

For years, humans struggled to survive, constantly on the run, seeking refuge from their relentless pursuers. In the midst of this chaos, they began to uncover the weaknesses of these creatures and devise means to counter their strength. It was during this dark period that two self-chosen leaders emerged—Theron for the humans and Aristarchus for the vampires. These leaders, whose names have since become legendary, met in secret to negotiate a fragile peace.

At the time, the world was divided into thirteen nations. Theron and Aristarchus brokered an agreement to partition these nations based on mutual understanding, creating a semblance of order amid the chaos. For a while, this uneasy truce held, allowing both humans and night-walkers to coexist in their respective territories.

However, not all vampires were content with the division. A faction of them, hungry for absolute power, revolted against the established order. They waged a brutal campaign, overthrowing the human-controlled kingdoms one by one until only a single human nation remained. Today, the world is divided into twelve vampire kingdoms and one human kingdom, a stark testament to the aftermath of the great night-walker revolt.

To govern their expanding dominion, the monsters established a ruling council known as the Domini, composed of the seven oldest and most powerful night-walkers. These ancient beings, with centuries of wisdom and strength, assumed control over the night-walker kingdoms. They decreed that one vampire would be chosen as Emperor, tasked with overseeing all thirteen kingdoms. Despite this, the human kingdom remained autonomous, refusing to acknowledge the night-walker emperor’s rule.

The Domini also codified a set of laws and principles in a tome called "The New Order." This book became the cornerstone of vampire governance, outlining the rights and responsibilities of both the Primas and the Foundlings. Primas, the pure-bred who were awakened from the grave by Hell or some miracle, held a revered status. Foundlings, created from turned humans, were often treated as outcasts within their own society.

In recent times, tensions have reached a boiling point. The humans, determined to reclaim their lost territories and sovereignty, have incited revolts across the vampiric kingdoms. These uprisings have led to widespread destruction and loss of life on both sides. Cities lie in ruins, and the streets run red with the blood of humans and night-walkers alike.

The world now stands on the brink of another great upheaval. The delicate balance maintained by The New Order is crumbling under the weight of renewed conflict. As humans fight to regain their power and night-walkers struggle to maintain their dominance, the future of this fractured world hangs in the balance. The Domini, once thought to be the unassailable rulers of the night-walker kingdoms, find their authority challenged at every turn. The ancient treaties and laws that once held the world together are now mere relics of a forgotten era.

In this tumultuous landscape, the fate of humanity and night-walker-kind alike is uncertain. The echoes of The Exodus still reverberate through the ages, a grim reminder of the chaos that can ensue when the balance of power is disrupted. As both sides prepare for the battles to come, one thing is clear: the world as it once was will never be the same again.

Stay vigilant, stay informed, and may we never lose hope.

For information, or to report news, please find us at:

23 Shadowed Alley, Raven's Cross, Valoria

The Eyewitness Post | Keeping the Light of Truth Alive in the Darkest Times

[avocadoguru]

He was staring at her in a way no one had in her entire life. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes - not surprise, not fear, not malicious intent - nothing. (wolfrry, werewolf!harry, alpha!harry, ranger!y/n)

Lupus Noctis- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

Chapter 10 / alternatively, read on wattpad

Chapter 11 (word count: 8k) -updated July 3rd

Harry had never cared less about appearing vulnerable to someone else. The amount of times Niall had seen him cry and cling to Y/N whilst whispering sweet nothings into her ear was well out of his comfort zone. But it didn’t even occur to him to mind.

It was like no one else existed.

Y/N was all that mattered. Her frail state that he could barely look at the first two days. Niall had told him not to, but he’d climbed next to her in the hospital bed. When he realized his friend was worried for his own injuries and that it would not affect his human, he completely disregarded his admonishments.

And Harry was aware that Niall had saved his life. He was lucky for such a friend as him and he would tell Niall as much once he got his mind in the right place. Once his human was up and talking and smiling again. But until then, he would sit by her side and talk to her, holding her hand and caressing her face, petting her hair. 

His own wounds would heal. He was okay but in pain, as his body had lost an almost fatal amount of blood. But he wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t worried about himself. He could endure the pain, the healing. He could endure the aftermath, his anger.

He’d not made his friend’s job easy. Niall had had to operate on him right there, next to Y/N, because he simply would not leave her sight. At Niall’s practice in the city, he set up two beds. One for Harry and one for Y/N. Lester helped aid him as much he could because time was of the essence with Harry. He was aware Y/N was too far gone to save but he did what he could in order to clean her up and close the wounds. Keeping her stable only prolonged the inevitable but Niall wouldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try. He knew it was of no use but he could stop her bleeding and get her to safety. That was all he could really offer.

For Harry, though. He was strong and could heal. He’d lost too much blood but he was a werewolf and his body would repair itself at a rate a human’s body would never be able to. So he cleaned and stitched, and stapled Harry’s wounds and broke him the news about his human. 

“No. She’s still alive. That means something. She’s not gone.”

“Harry…” Niall spoke softly and slowly knowing his friend had to hear the truth as awful as it was, “She’s not going to recover. I just want you to be prepared for this. Currently, her heart is still pumping but it’s getting weaker as the hours pass. Her lungs aren’t working and we’ve connected her to a ventilator so she can breathe but that just means her body is unable to function properly.”

He refused to believe she was dying. He was looking right at her, leaning over her body, his hands grasping her limp ones. She was only asleep. She was only unconscious and her body needed time. Just a little more time.

Niall went home every night to sleep in his own bed but he stayed with Harry as long as possible and he always returned the following morning with food for his friend.

He was worried about Harry. Not because of his injury, but because he wasn’t sure if Harry would be okay when Y/N’s body finally gave up. He was sure Harry would lose it. He was worried he’d go and get himself killed. The muttered words, “If she doesn’t come back to me I’m going to kill every fucking person that was involved,” told him as much. Niall was worried he’d lose his best friend.

The more time went on, the more desperate Harry became. While at first he’d just sat next to her bed, he’d ended up crawled next to her by the crack of dawn. If he barely could take in the sight of her at first, he was now scanning every inch of her as if to memorize her better. Barely daring to talk to her at first, he was now whispering right in her ear. Not for fear of being overheard. Again, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about how he appeared to Niall, Lester, or any of the nurses who came in during the night to check on Y/N. But as to be as gentle as possible with her, as to not startle her in her slumber, for he knew she was only asleep. 

He did hope she could hear him. Because he had a lot he wanted to tell her. Things he was desperate to get out, for fear he maybe wouldn’t get the chance to later on.

It wasn’t ideal, this wasn’t how he wanted this to happen. But he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “My love, please come back to me,” he murmured in her ear, not for the first time, not for the last time. “Please, I want to look into your pretty eyes again. Wish I’d told you how much I love your eyes before. I get so lost inside your eyes. Would you believe it? Or would you scoff and look away, thinking I was taking the piss? I don’t think you ever knew how far gone I was. I never showed you what you do to me. Not just my body, but my heart. Was too afraid to. Like a fucking coward. I wish I could take it back, wish I could show you just how much you’ve meant to me all along. Wish I could’ve seen your eyes when I first told you I loved you, no, when I sobbed it, when Niall brought us in and finally left us alone after he poked at my injuries for what felt like hours. It’s not that I didn’t want him to hear, hell, I’ll shout it from the rooftops. Mountain tops. I’ll howl it to the moon. I just… I wanted your ears to hear it first. I love you. You’re my mate. I’ve known from the start. I wish I could’ve told you. I wish there’d been a better way. Wish I’d been braver. Anything. Anything but this. Anything but you in this bed. Anything but you so weak and in pain, and–”

Harry buried his face in the crook of her neck and allowed himself to sob once more. He’d not cried since he was an infant, as children do, but he could physically feel his heart breaking. It was unbearable. If he held onto her tight enough, she couldn’t leave him. Right? 

“Everyone left. My parents. My brother. Don’t leave me too. Not when I finally found you. Not when you finally know. Not when I know that… you love me too… I know you do. Tell me you do, Y/N. Please. Please open those pretty eyes, and move those pouty lips and tell me. I swear I’ll not want for anything ever again. And if you don’t… That’s… that’s ok, too,” he sniffled, pulling away a bit and wiping his tears away from her skin. “Just wake up. If I’m wrong, and you don’t want to see me again, if… if seeing me was too much, is too much… I swear I’ll understand. I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll get lost forever if that’s what you want. Just please… wake up. Please.”

On the morning of day three, Niall came in with bagels and fruit. And it was no surprise when he saw Harry sitting next to her in bed. After assessing the scene and finding that Y/N was still alive he greeted Harry, “Hey, morning.”

Harry turned to look at his friend and ticked his head in a nod before bringing his full attention back to Y/N as he continued speaking in whispers to her. Private confessions. Promises. Declarations. Apologies. Supplications. The sort of things one whispers to a loved one on their deathbed.

“Got bagels and some spreads. Some bananas and melon too. It’ll be over here if you’d like any,” Nialll placed the food on the table he’d been using to eat on next to the window. 

Harry was a little hungry. He hadn’t eaten all that much in the few days since the fight. He hadn’t really been that hungry. But his body was healing well and now it was asking for some sustenance. 

Lifting his head he turned to face Niall, “Yeah. I think I’ll eat,” he stood from his chair and walked to the table selecting his bagel and a packet of butter as Niall watched him closely, “What?”

“Just… I’m glad you’re eating first thing. That’s good news. You’re healing well I think-”

“I don’t give a fuck about me. I know I’m fine. That makes all this so much worse!” He gestured around the room.

Niall nodded, “Yeah. I know. I just mean, for me. You know? You’re my friend. I’m just glad, is all.”

Harry was chewing into the bagel as he nodded, keeping his eyes on his friend. Swallowing down his bite he looked across the room to Y/N then back to Niall, “You’re a great friend, Niall.”

Harry took his usual quick nap once he’d finished eating the bagel. He would stay up all night with his eyes on his mate to watch for anything. He refused to sleep since Niall wasn’t there to check on her. He couldn’t risk being asleep if anything happened to her and no one else could watch over her, even with an overnight nurse present in the practice in the doctor’s absence.

Niall hoped against hope that, somehow, she would wake up. That she would be okay so that his friend would also be okay. He knew it was just about impossible, but if she didn’t wake up Harry would get himself killed by trying to avenge her.

After the last patient had left and Niall was shutting everything down he heard Harry calling for him. Niall took a deep breath, imagining the worst as he turned into the room the pair were in.

But it was the opposite of what Niall had thought. The patient monitor was showing a stronger heartbeat and slightly higher blood pressure. He scratched his head as he looked at the vitals on the screen and immediately pulled his stethoscope over his ears and held her wrist as he placed the chest piece over her heart to check the stats for himself. 

He looked up at Harry who had an expectant, hopeful expression on his face.

But Niall was confused. How? He double-checked her heart rate and swallowed, “I… She’s getting stronger. But I don’t know what this means. Um, I should stay the night. We can take shifts-”

“No. You can sleep if you need to. I’m gonna stay right here with her,” Harry spoke as he looked over his human and took her hand into his, “You’re doing so good, Y/N.”

Niall put on a pot of coffee and continued monitoring her as Harry stayed by her side. But the night didn’t change her status. She still had a stronger heartbeat and that was good. But no improvements were notable by the time Niall laid down to shut his eyes for a bit. His friend was glued to Y/N’s side. 

After Niall had fallen asleep Harry paced the room a bit. His nerves were getting to him. She’d gotten stronger suddenly and Niall was surprised by that. The not knowing what was to come was hard. Harry was used to being in situations where he could pretty well foresee the outcome because he was the one calling the shots. But this was different. Y/N’s life hung in the balance and he had no way of forcing his hand in this. It was up to fate. To chance. 

When the sun slowly drizzled into the room, golden first light hues scattered over her face as Harry sat by her side. Even asleep she was beautiful. Even with a tube in her throat. With a bandage on her neck, scratches on her face. 

“Good morning, Y/N. Sun’s up. Where are you? Are you coming back today, my love?”

Seconds after Harry whispered his words the patient monitor sounded with an alarm and Harry stood up quickly to see what had caused it. Rapidly increased heart rate.

Niall was quick to jump out of bed and take over but before he could pick up his stethoscope she moved. Her neck turned and her brow furrowed and Harry inhaled a sharp breath as he watched his mate come back to life. 

Quickly snapping on his gloves, Niall carefully pulled the tube from her throat, “She’s breathing. Respiratory waveform is active. I may need to reintubate but she’s breathing!”

Harry didn’t know what Niall was talking about but he didn’t care. It was all good news to him. She was moving and wincing as the tube was pulled out. Once it was tossed to the side Y/N began to cough and her scratched throat and trachea sounded like she had laryngitis but Harry was smiling and his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Y/N!” He pulled her hand into his and squeezed as she slowly blinked her eyes open. When her vision cleared and Harry came into sight she startled and yanked her arm away from him, eyes wide and looking around the room. 

The smile fell from Harry’s face at her reaction to him but figured that was deserved. He was just happy she was with him. She was awake. She was alive.

Niall quickly adjusted the settings on the monitor so the alarms would stop and then he looked her over, “Y/N. You’re in my clinic right now. You’re recovering from an injury. Do you know who I am?”

She tried using her vocal cords but winced and coughed, “It’s okay. You don’t need to use your voice right now. You had a tube in your throat and you’ll be a bit sore and uncomfortable for a bit. Just nod or shake your head to answer.”

She nodded slowly and scrunched her face in pain.

“She’s hurting, Niall!” Harry spoke quickly. Her little body was in pain. He could tell.

Niall pulled an IV and inserted the appropriate amount of narcotic to put into her bloodstream to ease her pain, “I know, Harry. One thing at a time, man. She’s just becoming conscious.”

Harry could feel warm tears begin to fill his eyes and blur his vision but now that she was breathing, and looking around the room, he didn’t want her to see him falling apart. Now that she was back he knew he needed to stay strong for her. He quickly exited the room so he could let himself feel the sadness and joy heave from his body. He leaned into the wall and tilted his head back to look upward as he clutched over his pounding heart causing the tears to drip into his ears and on his neck. 

If Harry didn’t need Niall he’d have strangled him then and there when he re-entered the room after collecting himself and seeing Y/N was back asleep. 

“I had to sedate her! She was in too much pain!”

Harry kept it together upon hearing that. “But she will wake up again. Right?!”

“Absolutely. She’s… I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but she’s on the mend. She’s getting better. It’s only uphill from here, man. Listen, I know you wanted to talk to her… but she was struggling, I could tell. Another round of IVs and she should wake up way smoother next time. Plus, she’s breathing all on her own! Look!”

And Harry was looking. He’d not taken his eyes off of her. Niall had better been right about this, otherwise he’d never forgive himself the mistake of stepping out for the brief moment she was awake. But he didn’t want her to see him fall apart like that. He needed to be strong for her. Needed to reassure her. Brighten her up.

He hoped he hadn’t missed his shot.

*

Niall decided to sleep at the practice again that night, knowing Y/N would probably wake up and he wanted to be there to give her proper medical care and make sure Harry didn’t accidentally smother her back into a coma. He kept that thought to himself, along with his other suspicions regarding her sudden, and quite miraculous recovery, at that.

Instead, he tried distracting his friend who seemed even more impatient for her to wake up than before, “She’s a fighter, your Y/N.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that, ungluing his eyes from her frame. He sat on a chair on the side of her bed when Niall was in the room, mostly so he could prod at her freely. 

Niall was very pleased with her vitals. She was almost fully recovered, judging by all her stats. The bloodwork had come back almost impeccable. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was a scientific miracle. It kind of was, in a way. But Harry wasn’t questioning it at all. Maybe to him it didn’t seem like such a miracle, with all the pleading he’d been doing for her to get better, it was like all his prayers had been answered. He didn’t have the medical knowledge to grasp the uniqueness of the situation.

“She always has been, you know. Brave little thing.” He told Harry how she had gone looking for him that night and found Niall at his apartment and how he knew she didn’t buy his story about taking over the lease. He’d called Lester the very next morning to tell him that Y/N was concerned about Harry being missing and Lester told him that she was in danger and he was on his way. Lester knew not to trust Harry’s pack. He knew something wasn’t right. He’d been around long enough to know what was what in that world.

“And then Lester said that as he was leaving the house and saying goodbye to Alma, Edward growled and pounced on him to get him to wait and that’s when he shifted back. No one expected it but it happened. So Lester, Alma, and Edward all made the trip together because Edward wanted to help. Then I tried calling her and texting her so I could warn her but by then it was too late. And that’s when I found her apartment door open and her purse left behind.”

Y/N had been smart to go searching for Harry. If she hadn't, Niall might have not known he was missing because it wouldn’t be uncommon for Harry and Niall to go a week or two without talking. And both she and Harry might be dead at that moment if not for Lester and Niall’s intervention. 

Lester’s sway amongst the leaders of the packs was wide-reaching. He threatened to call on reinforcements if Harry’s pack didn’t offer a trial (which they weren’t going to at first). So, as grim as the current outcome had been, it would have been worse if Niall and Lester weren’t there to help.

But it had all started with Y/N. She’d been worried about him, even mad that he’d gone missing, again. 

Eventually, Niall left the room to nap in his office and Harry was once more alone with his little human. Knowing she was definitely going to wake up again now made him focus on how he was going to fix this mess. He wasn’t foolishly assuming she’d forgive him and want him back, even though he did know that she loved him too. He’d seen it in her eyes when he was about to fight that scumbag for his life. 

Be that as it may, he knew that didn’t equate to her wanting him in her life necessarily. What she’d witnessed was hard to accept. What he’d kept from her was hard to come to terms with. And she was fragile now. She needed space, he knew. But he wasn’t going to leave her out of his sight no matter how much she opposed it. He was going to bring her back home and assure her he would give her space, the space she needed to figure things out whilst recovering safely. 

He didn’t trust her alone at her own place. Sure, he’d earned their freedom from the pack but there were still loose ends he needed to trim. Like Irina. Harry hadn’t forgotten about her and her complicity in all of this. She was going to have to pay, too. But that was for later. For now, he was focusing on Y/N and her safety, and he didn’t trust his former pack, especially Irina, not to try and get to them again. They were conniving, double-crossing fiends, and even after earning his freedom fair and square he was still expecting some sort of retaliation. 

His plan was for them to move away for good as soon as she made a full recovery. Granted she still wanted him, of course. He had no plan for the eventuality that she would kick him to the curb. He couldn’t even ponder that option. 

But Lester’s offer was all the more appealing now. And he knew she loved it there on his farm too. Maybe that could be their new home. Anywhere she wanted. As long as they were together.

Just then, he felt her stir, and he climbed off the bed gently and sat on the chair next to her bed. He didn’t want to suffocate her with his proximity. Didn’t want to give her the impression that he was assuming anything. But he still held her hand, he just couldn’t let go. He didn’t need the monitor to feel her heartbeat pick up and know she was waking up, and he saw Niall approach from the corner of his eye, his watch alerting him of the changes on the monitor.

“She might be a little woozy ‘cause of the higher dose of painkillers I gave her. So don’t worry about that.”

Harry nodded and squeezed her hand in his gently, “Y/N? Are you awake, kitten? C’mon. Open those pretty eyes for us.”

And open them she did. Fluttering eyelashes gave way for her lovely irises in which Harry had feared he’d never see his reflection again. 

Both men smiled widely at her compliancy and Niall brought a tall tumbler of water to her lips, “Need to lubricate your throat a bit, Y/N; have a sip, please?”

She looked up at him and gave the faintest of nods, and he took it as his cue to hold the straw steady as she puckered her lips around it and began drinking out of the glass slowly. She winced at first, taking the first few gulps, her throat sore no doubt, but she finished the glass in its entirety which prompted Harry to squeeze her hand once more and coo, “Good girl.”

Her heart rate picked up a bit at that and Niall gave him a sly smile, but Harry was too enthralled watching his little human to notice. She rested her head back against the pillow, the strain in her neck keeping her head up getting to her. Niall fluffed the sides of her pillows a bit to give her even more support and smiled at her, “You’re doing so well, Y/N. You’re recovering beautifully. Would you mind trying to talk to us a bit? I know it’s a bit uncomfortable and your throat must still be sore, but I know someone is dying to hear your voice again.”

Harry kicked his friend in the ankle at that. He had no business putting that kind of pressure on her and Niall got the message loud and clear, but she seemed to miss the interaction altogether and opened up her mouth to try and get some words out. “How…” she frowned at the sound of her own groggy voice, and tried clearing her throat but it came out the same, “How long was I…?”

“A few days. Nothing major. Don’t worry about that. You’ve made a full recovery, so nothing to worry about whatsoever! You still have some scarring that will fade but I guarantee there will be no marks left to tell for them. And of course, you need to build your strength back, but at the pace you’re going, you should be on your feet as soon as tomorrow!”

Harry shot up his eyebrows to Niall’s statement as he watched him prod at her further, making her follow a small light he fished out of his breast pocket and then asking her more questions to assess her reflexes and awareness. Wasn’t that a bit too optimistic? He’d never heard of anyone making such a speedy recovery waking up from a coma. He didn’t want Niall to create false expectations for her.

“In fact, I’m discharging you today!”

Y/N was just as surprised as Harry to hear that she was going to be ok to leave so soon. She had no idea how long she’d been out of it exactly, but she disliked hospitals as much as the next person, so she was glad for it.

“Now… I know this is a sensitive subject, so I’m going to step out and leave you two to it, but I’m going to have to need you to tell me if you want me to send over a nurse to look after you for a day or two at home, or if you’re comfortable with nurse Harry over here,” Niall nudged over to his friend. “There’s really nothing special he needs to do, just make sure you take your meds on time and keep an eye on you, make sure you make no sudden movements, make sure you hydrate and feed yourself properly, you’re still going to need to sleep as much as possible so it’s easy to lose track of all that yourself.”

Y/N made to say something but stammered, trailing off and Niall took it as his cue to leave the room, but not before praising her for her recovery again, “You’re doing great, Y/N. I’m so happy to see you on the mend. Had us worried for a moment there, but you’re a fighter.” 

Harry watched his friend close the door behind him and then turned back to look at his little human and found her eyes already on him. He was still holding her hand, running his thumb over her skin in soft strokes all along, and he took one more look at the sight of her small hand in his before he removed himself in order to give her the space she needed to make the decision.

He looked back at her then and his heart soared at the sight. He didn’t know whether it was the drugs she was on, but the brazen look in her eyes and the way she didn’t shy away from his as she sometimes did had his own heart pounding against his ribcage. For the first time ever, he didn’t know how to approach her. She intimidated him. A feeling so foreign to him. He didn’t think anyone had ever made him look away, stare him down to the point where he had to break eye contact. Surely it was the guilt he felt, he reasoned. 

“Are you alright?” she whispered as to not strain her vocal cords. Her voice sounded more like her old self when she did that, she found.

Again, Harry felt his heartbeat pick up at her concern for him. “I am now. How are you feeling? Are you hurting?”

She shook her head slightly, “I feel fine. It’s like I just woke up from a deep sleep. But I remember the pain…” she winced at the thought, and Harry made to grab her hand in his again but stopped himself just short of.

Instead, she stretched her arm ever so slightly and grazed his hand with the back of her fingers. Both of them watched intently as their fingers intertwined. Harry couldn’t fight the urge to raise their conjoined hands to his lips and kiss hers. “I was so afraid I’d lost you,” he murmured against her soft skin, his brows furrowed and eyes shut tightly.

She understood all the different meanings to his statement and wanted to say the same. But she needed more time. She needed to clear her head a bit. But she also needed him, that she knew for sure. She didn’t want to go home without him. Not after she thought she was going to lose him, herself. No. She wanted him near. “So take me home, nurse Harry.” 

*

Y/N felt exhausted by the time Harry had brought her back to his house. He’d carried her all the way, to and from his car, and she could’ve sworn she felt his heart threatening to break free from his chest as she laid her head atop of it, in his arms. She’d never seen him drive that slow, avoiding every little pothole just so she could be as comfortable as possible for the small journey to his house. She knew they needed to talk and clear the air, but she didn’t have the energy for it quite yet. She was happy he was alive, and she allowed herself to bask in that feeling. 

She’d asked him to run her a bath, the sponge baths the nurses had been apparently giving her had left her sufficiently clean but she felt like she needed to really soak and preferably wash her hair too. Harry wasn’t too sure about that, though. He wanted to give her space, but this could be too dangerous for her still weakened state. He didn’t want to push it and suggest he get into the tub with her, but he told her he’d be standing by the whole time and wash her hair for her, and she agreed to it.

He tried looking away when she undressed, and he even helped her to an extent, but then he reasoned he needed to assess how her bruising and scarring was developing. He was pleasantly surprised to see her skin was barely tainted.

And Y/N was very aware of his eyes on her, on the way his blood quickened in his veins, could almost guarantee he’d stiffened in his pants at the sight of her bare body before him, but she couldn’t act on it as much as her own body was responding to their closeness. She needed time. Her body needed time, too, not just her heart and her mind.

He helped her climb into the tub and sink into the perfectly warm water and Harry sat on the floor next to it and leaned on the margin, looking at her through bubbles, content to have her safe in his presence. Content to know she wasn’t in any pain. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky. It seemed like a miracle that she was awake, let alone able to do all this so rapidly. 

But he didn’t want to tell her how close he’d been to losing her. Didn’t want to tell her how worried Niall had been and adamant she wasn’t going to wake up. Didn’t want to tell her that he’d been prepping himself for losing her for good, telling her all he had weighing heavy on his heart.

They sat in silence, and it was perfect. She was there. She was alive and well. And she’d not told him to get lost. His heart was hopeful.

Eventually, he helped her wash her hair, sitting on the edge of the tub behind her. He was extra gentle, and she hummed deeply at how good it must’ve felt. He was happy he could make her feel better, in any way.

And later, when she let him dress her in one of his shirts to bed, his heart soared. He wanted so badly to kiss her, just a soft peck. Just to be close, and communicate how he felt. But he wouldn’t push it. Her hair was still damp but the look in her eyes had gone soft and hazy, and he knew her energy was running low. He gave her her meds and helped her in bed, and then stood there stupidly, unsure what to do.

“Are you not tired?”

He nodded. He was exhausted. He’d barely slept for all those days, and he was still recuperating himself from fatal injuries. Of course, being a werewolf, his recovery was expedited, but he still felt weak. Above his physical injuries though was his mental exhaustion. He’d worried so much for her that he was now feeling it all catch up to him. 

“Will you hold me, then? I know you’re injured, too, so only if–”

She didn’t even have time to finish that sentence before Harry was undressing and climbing into bed behind her. He’d kept his boxers on- again, boundaries. But he tentatively reached for her soft body and pulled her into his chest, holding her to him.

Her own hands grabbed on to his arm and she nuzzled closer against him as he spooned her, “I just know I couldn’t fall asleep without your scent all around me,” she mumbled, already so close to falling asleep.

He’d not had time to shower himself that day, so hopefully it wasn’t off-putting for her. But he’d get that done in the morning. As well as cook for them, his appetite was growing now that all was well in the world again. And, well, he’d have to do something about the erection he was trying to keep from pressing into her. He was determined to give her the space she needed and that meant keeping his urges at bay. 

He was so happy she was in his arms, he felt like crying from happiness. It was hard refraining from smothering her in his affections when she was right there, pressed against his chest.

“Oh…” she gasped softly. “Is that… are you purring?”

Harry froze and immediately stopped, “‘m sorry, thought you’d fallen asleep…”

“No, no. Don’t stop. I like it. Please keep doing it?”

Harry didn’t even have to force himself to, just hearing her asking him to purr had him doing so naturally. It felt incredible to be able to do so freely, after having to hide it from her for so long. His natural reaction to her proximity when he felt happy and warm and fuzzy. 

She giggled. Harry smiled widely at the feel of her trembling in delight in his arms, and it spurred him further, tightening his arms around her a bit more, still careful not to harm her in any way though. “This feels amazing…” she trailed off, drifting into unconsciousness. Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

*

Harry had woken her up at around 6am to give her her meds, then before she could drift back to sleep he told her he’d be stepping out very briefly in the morning to restock their fridge so he could cook something for them, as promised, making a point out of how he’d be back before she’d even wake up but in case she needed anything, anything at all, she was to call him ASAP. 

But she was feeling fine, in fact, she’d used the bathroom before going back to sleep all on her own, no need for him to help her to the ensuite, she was just very tired still.

So when she woke up later, she didn’t really need to go downstairs and check to know that Harry was not back yet. In fact, he’d probably just left since his scent was still lingering pretty heavily around her. Plus she couldn’t smell any cooking taking place.

Still, just to be sure, she got out of bed and decided to go inspect. She was feeling… surprisingly fresh and reinvigorated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up so well-rested. She couldn’t believe she’d suffered any injuries, she was feeling fine. More than fine. 

Strange.

But she wasn’t gonna complain about it. She did feel hungry though, so she was hoping Harry would be back soon from grocery shopping and she was determined to convince him to let her help. She had a burst of energy and couldn’t imagine being made to lay in bed for one more day.

She still felt like this house had way too many rooms. Was way too big. Who needed all this space?! She liked it, she really did, but she much preferred the cosiness of her own home. That was probably what was wrong with it, this just felt like a house, not like a home.

It hadn’t been lived in all that long, to be sure. But still. Passing by a spare guest room she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

She furrowed her brows, following the overwhelming scent she was picking up on, coming from that room.

She’d expected it to be a laundry room with the kind of scent she was picking up on, but there were no hampers lying around the room. It all smelled of brand new furniture, except for one specific chest of drawers. 

Approaching it, she reluctantly opened up the uppermost drawer, on a whim. 

Her eyes rounded in shock. She gingerly picked one of the several pairs of panties. Not just any panties, but her very own. Her very own used panties. 

She dropped them back and took a step back, incredulous laughter escaping her lips that she then covered, still in shock. “...Holy shit!”

Maybe she should’ve found it repulsive, she reasoned, but to her dismay she found this was turning her on for some reason. She didn’t know what it was about her discovery, but it awakened something in her, something very… primal. 

But she didn’t really have time to contemplate this when she heard the faint sound of a car door. The huge, semi furnished house must’ve had quite the echo if she could hear him out front when she was on the other side of the house entirely.

Nonetheless, she decided to bring it up later, use it to her advantage somehow, the idea sending a thrill through her body.

For now, she needed to eat. She was truly ravenous. 

She made her way into the kitchen, just in time for Harry to emerge with the groceries. He was being very careful and quiet in his movements, but she noticed him rush to the kitchen after he’d entered the house, almost as if he knew she’d be there.

“What are you doing here!?”

She shrugged, “Waiting for you. I’m hungry, you said you’d be quick.”

Harry didn’t know whether to be annoyed or glad. He was happy she was feeling good enough to get out of bed, happy she was hungry, but he’d told her to take it easy. “I told you to call if you needed something!”

“Why? I knew you were probably on your way back, and I don’t exactly need anything. But you’re letting me help.”

Harry placed the groceries on the island, taking her in. She was quite sassy all of a sudden. Again, there was something about the way she was looking at him. Something was just… different. Like she was challenging him, more than before. She was never the meek and obedient kind, and that’s one of the things he liked about her, but now… she’d amped it up a notch. Or two.

And he liked it.

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “Are we making eggs benedict?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, his lips quirking up in a smile. “I am. You’re gonna wait on the couch all snuggled up.”

Y/N frowned, “But I’m tired of lying around! How long was I even out for, I feel like my muscles need a good stretch! Could we go for a swim later? Besides, you went for a jog yourself, don’t be selfish!”

Harry was taking all of this in, trying to process what she was saying. He wasn’t all that familiar with human recovery, but this sounded out of the ordinary, even to him.

“It was just a quick run before I headed out. I’ll have to check with Niall and see if he approves. He told me to make sure you take it easy.”

“Yeah, nurse Harry, I remember. But surely swimming isn’t too strenuous… I just wanna stretch my limbs a bit.”

Harry had a different idea as to how he could help her with that but he kept it to himself. For now. Especially with how he was certain he could smell hints of arousal on her. But he knew he couldn’t dream of pursuing that idea until they had a serious talk about what had happened. And he was waiting for her to initiate that conversation. For now, he had to burn off his pent-up energy by doing things out of character, like jogging. He would’ve skipped it had he known she’d be up so soon. For as long as he’d known her, Y/N had never been a morning person. And now especially, she should’ve been still in bed, recovering. But it was barely 9am and here she was, giving him lip that early in the morning.

“I just don’t know where,” she mumbled while she started unpacking the groceries. “Can’t exactly go back to the preserve…”

Harry furrowed his brows even deeper watching her unpack the groceries. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all. “How did you know I was planning on eggs benedict?”

Y/N shrugged, “Guess I had a hunch? Oh, crap. The hollandaise is dripping!”

Harry approached her side to inspect the jar, luckily not much had dribbled down the side of it, “Yeah, I opened it up to check if it was any good otherwise I’d have had to make it from scratch. The lid must’ve unscrewed on the way here…”

Part of him wondered if she’d smelled the sauce, and that’s what had given it away, but there was no way she could smell that tiny bit that had dribbled out of the jar. He could smell it now, of course, being as close as he was to the opened bag, but had he been able to get a whiff of it earlier he’d have secured the lid in place.

Y/N was having a hard time with him so close to her. He smelled delicious, all manly after his jog. She felt like burying her nose into his neck and forgetting all about breakfast. Suddenly she had a different appetite that needed sating. And then there was the tiny detail about him collecting her discarded panties…

No sooner did she finish even thinking about that, that Harry pulled away as if electrocuted and she watched him take a few tentative steps back. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered I’m long overdue a shower, I must reek. I’ll be quick, please don’t start without me, alright? Turn on the TV or something, sit.”

She rolled her eyes and watched him rush for the staircase. Fine. She’d wait. 

Harry had not allowed himself any reprieve since this whole nightmare had started. The first good night’s sleep he’d gotten was that very night, with Y/N safe and sound in his arms, in his bed. The jog earlier that morning was meant to help him blow off some steam, but Y/N’s proximity was making it very hard for him to ignore his urges, especially when he most definitely smelled hints of arousal on her.

He was determined to keep it in check for her sake, and aside from the fact that he really did need to shower, quite desperately so, he was also going to jerk off to clear his head a bit.

He came way too fast, and very hard since he’d not released in over a week. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone so long without. Probably not since he’d first masturbated as a teenager, which was saying something. But it left him unsatisfied. He needed more. He huffed his frustration but then heard a loud knock on the ensuite door. He turned the shower off so he could hear her properly, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“You tell me! It sounded like you were in pain, are you alright?!” a very distraught Y/N could be heard from the other side. Harry frowned. Surely he hadn’t been that loud when he came. And the water should’ve muffled it. 

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” He quickly grabbed a towel, placing it around his hips and holding it together in his fist as he emerged from the ensuite, taking in the distressed look on her face.

But her look of distress quickly morphed into something else. He could visibly see her eyes darken as she unashamedly scanned him head to toe, her hungry gaze following the path the water droplets were making on their way down his body.

She took a step closer, then, to his surprise. He was already hardening again just taking in her own body’s response to his. And Harry definitely noticed the way her eyes widened when they reached the way he was tenting his towel, even held snug around his hips as it was.

And he could definitely smell her arousal, too. She must’ve been dripping with how potent it was. Harry was in limbo, frozen in place waiting for her to do something, anything. He knew she desperately wanted him, just as much as he wanted her, but he wasn’t going to push her. Not when he knew there was so much to–

His throat went dry immediately when her eyes traveled back up to meet his. Her eyes. It couldn’t be…

“I, uh, I forgot something in the car! Be right back!” he stammered, clutching his towel tightly as he made his way downstairs in a rush, all wet and slippery on the marble floor.

He not only went outside, but surpassed his car parked out front, and instead circled the property all the way to the furthermost corner of the expansive garden. He’d made sure to grab his phone first from the kitchen island where he’d left it, and dialed Niall’s number as soon as he was as far away from the house as he could get, given his state of undress.

An amused voice sounded from the other end when Niall finally picked up, “So… did you figure it out, yet?”

Chapter 12

A/N: (@fkinavocado and @gurugirl here) What do you think this all means for Harry & Y/N? Did you vote correctly?

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[tsukimefuku]

The broken idealist: Higuruma Hiromi

SatoSugu is canon and I can prove it

.˳·˖ HIGURUMA SENSEI +18! (fluff, romance, comedy, smut) mlist | higuruma hiromi, a brilliant professor who teaches Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure Law, is known among students and other faculty members for being a little... peculiar. Since you dream of becoming a criminal lawyer, you'll definitely have to endure his antics for a while - but, considering the odd charm he has, maybe it won't be as hard as you expected.

.˳·˖ JUJUTSU PARTNERS CANON DIVERGENCE AU +18! (multi-genre) mlist | collection of stories. canon divergent alternate universe where reader is a jujutsu sorcerer that ends up working for jujutsu high alongside nanami kento and higuruma hiromi.

.˳·˖ THE WORLD IS A WINDMILL (angst) mlist | a series of short drabbles (semi character studies) of jjk characters (yuuji, nobara, nanami and higuruma) based off of the song “o mundo é um moinho” from the brazilian musician and poet, cartola. 🇧🇷

.˳·˖ SAND AND SNOW (murder/mystery, action, canon typical violence) mlist | in the past few weeks, there have been multiple deaths in Odate city. Nanami Kento, a first-grade sorcerer, is dispatched to investigate the snowy city, unaware that this would be his final mission as a Jujutsu High’s student.

.˳·˖ NANAMI KENTO

4:00 A.M. (angst): nanami is your ex and calls you just before dawn to hear your voice.

Voice kink +18! (smut): suggestive drabble thanks to kenjiro tsuda’s voice and the chokehold it has on me.

Voice kink the reckoning +18! (smut): sequel to voice kink, in which nanami keeps teasing you even in the throes of it.

Blunt trauma (villain!nanami) +18! (angst, canon typical violence, smut): your mission is to execute a curse user. the issue? said curse user is nanami kento, your former high school classmate and the man who you still secretly love.

Be good for me and… +18! (smut): smutty office drabble, prompt based.

3rd of July (fluff, comedy, suggestive): you surprise Nanami on his birthday after some undeserved teasing. collab work.

Scarred Nanami head canons (fluff, comfort, smut): Nanami has you on his side to deal with the aftermath of Shibuya.

◇─◇──◇─◇

.˳·˖ HIGURUMA HIROMI

Whimperer +18! (fluff, suggestive): you wondered why hiromi always seemed to not be enjoying himself fully in bed, and the answer is definitely not something you expected.

de-stressing the lawyer +18! (smut) - your husband hiromi is pretty stressed, so you decide to help him out by giving him head under his desk.

In another life (angst) - what if reader met higuruma briefly before the culling games.

drowsy proposal (fluff) - silly fluffy drabble with sleepy higu.

kintsugi (fluff) - Higuruma, former lawyer, curse user, and reformed jujutsu sorcerer tries to make sense of what his life has become after the war is finally over.

◇─◇──◇─◇

.˳·˖ HIGUNANA X READER

jujutsu sorcery, and how the legacy stays alive +18! (fluff, suggestive) - a take on what would happen if the throuple's daughter wanted to become a jujutsu sorcerer.

Daddies (fluff) - hiromi is trying to feed his infant daughter, but failed to realize no one can really reason their way out with babies.

Stop teasing +18! (smut) - You and Nanami decide to edge Hiromi to the verge of tears. Prompt based.

◇─◇──◇─◇

.˳·˖ KUSAKABE ATSUYA

lollipop kiss (fluff, comedy) - your workplace crush, kusakabe, is pretty dense when it comes to romance, so you try to ease things out with a bag of lollipops.

oh, you like that? +18! (smut) - smutty prompt drabble with hair pulling and soft dom kusa.

.˳·˖ NANAMI KENTO

Love language (fluff)

Kitchen fluff (fluff)

Scarred Nanami head canons (fluff, comfort, smut)

Babysitting (fluff)

◇─◇──◇─◇

.˳·˖ HIGURUMA HIROMI

don't cry, my love (fluff)

all by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost.

[moongirlwidow]

File: Volkov, Anetka Vespera —> Notable Events

Aliases: Winter Widow

Status: Classified

File Last updated: July 6, 2023 AD

Status: Student

Age: 15

Class: 16ABX

Total Missions: 681

Missions completed: 671

Missions successful: 670

Mission failures: 1

Kill count: ~10k

The First Winter Soldier Incident

Date of occurrence: April 6, 2012

Age: 6 years

Summary: the Winter Soldier was brought to the academy for a pruning of classes and training session. After watching the elder classes fight and largely fail against the Soldat, Volkov faked unconsciousness. The objective of her class was to survive, however she laid limp for an hour before performing takedown 6AN19Y, a skill she had not been taught not previously seen. She proceeded to render the Soldat unconscious, the only Widow under the age of 11 to do so

Aftermath: following this, in consideration with Volkov’s other skills, statistics and mannerisms, she was selected to train as the replacement for the Iron Maiden, Melina Vostokov, alongside A. Dreykov, Taskmaster

Melbourne Playground 618

Date of occurrence: July 16, 2010

Age: 4 years

Summary: flammable gas canisters were placed in the playground at [redacted](Melbourne, Australia) by Volkov, Galkin and Zubov, lit with a dropped cigarette

Casualties: 29

Targets killed: 6/6

Myers Mountain Poisioning

Date of occurrence: October 16-31, 2022

Age: 13

Summary: Volkov infiltrated the Myers-Henderson Charity Gala in Salt Lake City Utah, seduced Messers. George Cawford and Issac Wells into her suite where she followed orders to lead them on in belief of a possible three-way encounter. She then put a heavy poison on her neck and lips which when oral contact is made knocks the victim unconscious, with the safety precaution of a powder which could be applied via [redacted]

Casualties: 2

Targets killed: 2/2

Retrieval of Archival Soviet Files from [redacted] Castle, Scotland

Date of occurence: August 12, 2022

Age: 15

Summary: Volkov alongside Taskmaster attended a fantasy-theme event in Scotland, using this as a cover to retrieve various Soviet files and archival items. Volkov created a contact with Nina Brown to gain na alibi for being out late, once again showing her skill in seducing women of a lesbian persuasion

Casualties: 0

Items Retrieved: 45/44

Graduation Test

Date of occurrence: July 28, 2023

Age: 15

Summary: following suit with N. Romanova, Volkov’s test included the retiring of her class. She was left blindfolded in a room with four of her peers, all of whom were shot at point-blank range, one shot to the heart and one to the throat. She then found herself in a laboratory chamber, and after moving through light gunfire she mixed chemicals to create toxic fumes, claiming the single gas mask for herself and climbing her to aid in avoiding the chemical.

The final room contained Katarina Yubkin and Olga Oborin, second and third ranked in the group. She eliminated Oborin without issue. Yubkin gave a fight, showing weakness as she begged for mercy before her death. Volkov then checked all bodies to confirm deaths and emerged for her assessment.

Score: 112/100

Time: 7 minutes, 26.751 seconds (record, beats Natalia Romanova)

Casualties: 28

[yuzurujenn]

[2024.09.25] Newsweek Japan Oct 2024 - Special Feature: Yuzuru Hanyu's Message to Noto

Lending a Helping Hand

Someday you'll be able to smile - What Yuzuru Hanyu wants to convey to the disaster-stricken area of ​​Noto

Nine months have passed since the Noto Peninsula earthquake that occurred on New Year's Day this year. In this special feature, we highlight the thoughts of figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu, who experienced the Great East Japan Earthquake in his hometown of Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture, and continues to support disaster relief efforts, as well as the voices of young people who have begun their journey towards recovery in Wajima City, Ishikawa Prefecture. What can the lives of people living in the aftermath of the disaster teach Japan, a country prone to earthquakes?

Earthquake disasters take so much away from people. What they truly are can ultimately be understood only by those who have actually experienced them. At the same time, if there is something to be gained from a disaster, it can only be conveyed by those who have lived through it.

After achieving consecutive victories at the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics and the 2018 PyeongChang Winter Olympics, figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu announced his transition to professional status in July 2022. A native of Sendai City in Miyagi Prefecture, he experienced the Great East Japan Earthquake in his hometown on March 11, 2011, about three years before winning his first gold medal.

Hanyu spent several days after the disaster in an evacuation center with his family, and experienced a period when he was unable to practice properly because his home skating rink was closed. Over the past 13 years, he has supported disaster victims and engaged in relief activities for disaster-stricken areas throughout Japan.

On September 14, he participated in a skating class in Kanazawa City, inviting elementary school students from Ishikawa, Toyama, and Fukui Prefectures, who were affected by the Noto Peninsula earthquake. The following day, on the 15th, he performed alongside Akiko Suzuki, Satoko Miyahara, and Takahito Mura in an ice show titled “Noto Peninsula Reconstruction Support Charity Performance.”

Although the performance was held without an audience, public viewings were conducted in the disaster-stricken cities of Suzu, Wajima, Nanao, and Shika, and a paid streaming service was also offered to the general public. Proceeds will be donated to Ishikawa Prefecture (streaming is available on Lemino until September 30).

During a press conference after the performance, Hanyu was asked why he chose to skate in Ishikawa despite the event being streamed. He said, “I wanted to skate close to those who have suffered, those who are currently suffering, and those who are troubled by various things.”

Why does Hanyu have such deep sympathy for the victims and continue to convey his

memories of the disaster? If there is one thing he would like to convey to the people of Noto, what is it?

This magazine conducted an exclusive interview with Hanyu in Kanazawa City on September 15th. An hour and a half after the performance ended, Hanyu appeared at the interview location wearing the charity T-shirt. The fabric, dyeing, and sewing of the T-shirt are all "Made in Hokuriku," and on the front of the T-shirt is the word "CHALLENGE," the theme of the performance.

When asked about his feelings for Noto, Hanyu spoke about his own journey of continuing to challenge himself alongside the memories of the earthquake.

(Interviewers: Satoko Kogure and Nozomi Ohashi from the editorial team)

-In June of this year, Hanyu visited Wajima City for an interview with Nippon Television's news program "news every." What were your thoughts while skating at this charity performance?

My strongest wish was to make people smile, even if only a little. When I visited Noto, I couldn't forget the smiles on people's faces when they told me things like “It used to be like this” and “We had so much fun back then”. I realised that the smiles became fewer when talking about the present or the future, so I skated with the hope that people would smile in this "moment", and spread feelings of kindness and warmth.

-I heard that the production costs for the performance were kept low by not focusing on elaborate lighting, allowing as much of the revenue as possible to go to charity. You yourself have donated more than 300 million yen to ice rinks and disaster-stricken areas.

When the rink that I used as my training base became unusable due to the Great East Japan Earthquake, Shizuka Arakawa (Olympic gold medalist in figure skating) helped advocate for the restoration of the rink in Miyagi Prefecture and Sendai City.

I always think that it was these various circles of support and the thoughts of many people that led to my Olympic gold medal. That’s why I want to give back (donate) to the rink that helped me so much and to support those in the disaster-stricken areas who have cheered me on.

-You were 16 years old when the disaster struck Sendai City. I imagine that this experience had a big impact on your subsequent skating career. Can you tell us about your memories of the time of the disaster?

Just before the earthquake, there were several tremors, including one that was a magnitude 5, but it didn’t damage the rink. So, when the earthquake on March 11 happened, I initially thought we would be okay, and since the general public was also present, I felt I needed to calm everyone down, saying, “It’s okay, everyone.”

But gradually the earthquake got longer and stronger, and eventually the electricity went out, there was a loud sound of glass doors clashing, and the building began to crack so hard it seemed as if it might collapse... I experienced the earthquake amidst that deafening noise.

It was very tough at the time, but I kept my skates with me at all times. There was no electricity in the evacuation center, so I remember looking up at the sky and thinking, "The stars are so beautiful," and warming myself by a kerosene heater. Lifelines were not easily restored, and I had no time to think about skating. But many people organised charity performances, and that was the trigger for me to think that I had to practice skating again.

There was a sense of wanting to support the disaster-stricken areas through various ice shows, and I was able to continue skating with support such as being allowed to go to the rink early (before the show) to practice.

-I think there are some things that only those who have actually experienced it can talk about. What does it feel like to have the town you've lived in taken away in an instant?

I didn't lose anything, so to be honest, I don't feel it as much. You know how sometimes a familiar store renovates or moves? It felt like that happening all at once across the whole town, and a world I had never seen before suddenly appeared. Even though I thought, "It’s all broken," I didn't have time to feel sad about it.

-Two weeks after the disaster, you left Sendai and resumed skating practice at a rink in Kanagawa Prefecture. Even now, there are people in Noto who have been forced to leave their hometowns due to the disaster. What were your thoughts when you left your hometown?

I had things I needed to do, so out of that sense of mission, I felt I had no choice but to leave my hometown. It meant leaving my family behind, and I struggled thinking whether it was right for me to go alone. I always had the feeling that I had fled the disaster area.

Now I might think that there is no need to have such a feeling, but back then, I went (to Kanagawa) with a sense of mission to do the best I could, even though I was tormented by guilt.

-In the disaster-stricken areas of Noto, many of those who wanted to move into temporary housing by this summer have finally begun to regain their living conditions. While it’s quite challenging to shift focus from recovery to reconstruction, how do you remember the path to recovery based on your own experiences?

I was 16 years old, so I couldn't take any active steps to support the recovery. I had no choice but to wait for the government and local people to take action.

In that situation, I felt that I was given a role that only I could play, which was to work hard at skating for the people affected by the disaster. It wasn't a proactive or voluntary feeling, but more of a passive one.

Wherever I went, no matter how I skated, I was labelled a "skater from the disaster area." It felt like society had created it for me before I could even think about the meaning of skating as a skater from a disaster area. I didn't rebel against it, but I felt like various burdens were placed on my shoulders before I knew it.

-So, you could say that being from a disaster-stricken area become part of your identity?

It took many twists and turns before I could accept it. I had just entered high school and was in my second season as a senior (2011-12), and thanks to all the hard work I had put in, I was able to achieve results and even became a member of the Japanese national team. But I was frustrated that I was no longer seen as anything other than someone from the disaster area who was trying his best, and it was a tough time for me.

But then I read letters and messages of support from all kinds of people, and I started to think, "There's probably no one else who can receive this much support," and gradually (being from the disaster-stricken area) became a part of my identity.

-I believe you have turned your experience of the disaster and being from a disaster area into your strength. How can one transform such experiences into something positive?

It's really difficult, isn't it? You can't force someone to look forward, and what has happened so far and what will happen in the future is different depending on each person's position. But surely, a time will come when something happens. In my case, it was the supportive messages from everyone, as well as my results and failures, that provided me with the opportunity to accept the reality of the earthquake.

For example, in Noto, it could be when the water supply is restored, or that people no longer have to go to school in Kanazawa (away from their hometown), or they can start a business in a different place. I think that there are many different opportunities waiting for you. I think that in the process, people will gradually come to see their own way of life and the value of their own lives.

I think that the disaster is something that "shouldn't have happened." Absolutely. However, as sad as it is, what has happened cannot be undone. What has been lost cannot be brought back. However, at some point, we must accept and acknowledge that reality.

It may take decades, but the time will come when you will be able to smile again. I believe that, and I think it's okay not to push yourself and just let things take their course.

I can’t say I want people to smile right away, and I myself have found it difficult to visit places like Ishinomaki City in Miyagi Prefecture, which suffered from the tsunami. So much was lost there, and I hesitated, thinking if I had the right to go.

But I thought that by winning the gold medal, and achieving consecutive victories, by showing my gold medals and my performance, maybe I could provide a small trigger for others to feel, “I’ve worked hard too,” or “There is meaning to my life”, so I’ve finally been able to take action.

I'm sure that some sort of opportunity is waiting for everyone, so I want to say that it's going to be okay.

-If there is anything you’ve gained from the earthquake, what do you think it is?

I started to think a lot about life. I realised that the same time will never come again, and that this moment is truly a one-time experience.

I also think that I've come to live my life constantly thinking about my responsibilities.

-What do you mean by responsibility?

It's the responsibility to the people who gave me their time to watch my performance. I can't show them something half-hearted, I can't spend time without putting my life or heart into it. Also, as someone who survived the earthquake, I feel a sense of responsibility for how I live my life.

-You've seen a lot of things as a result of the earthquake, such as life and death, sadness and small joys. Do you feel that it has broadened the scope of your expression?

Yes, that’s how it turned out. It would be better if the disaster never happened. But since it happened, it has some kind of impact. The deeper the sadness, the happier you feel about the smallest things. After the earthquake, I was able to feel happiness in things like the sprouting of grass, something I wouldn't have been able to feel if I had always been happy.

And I also think that I feel a sense of happiness from having opportunities to talk with various people and share thoughts like this. I'm sure that each and every one of you has something that made you feel the way you do now.

-Is the happiness you felt when you were a competing athlete different from the happiness you feel now?

During my competitive days, the happiness I felt was more selfish, driven by the results I achieved.

Now that I'm a professional, I think what people who come to see my skating want is the kind of experience they can get through watching my performance, or the kind of expressions they can see, among other things.

When I think about it that way, I realised I'm doing it for the people around me... The time and energy I’ve dedicated for everyone connects directly to their smiles and emotions, and that truly makes me the happiest. Since becoming a professional, I’ve come to think more like this.

But I think that has always been a part of my personality. It’s a very trivial thing, but ever since I was a child, I have always felt happy when someone praised me. I would feel happy when someone looked at me and thought, 'That was good.' That’s probably the fundamental source of my happiness, and now it has just grown in scale.

-Today's solo performance was "Haru yo, koi". You performed this song in the ice show "Notte Stellata" (Italian for "A Starry Night") held in Miyagi Prefecture last March, with the aim of sending hope from the disaster area. Did you choose this song without hesitation this time as well?

Yes, I think this was the only choice. Most importantly, I hope for everyone to feel kindness. Of all the songs I’m currently skating to, "Haru yo, Koi" has the most heartwarming and familiar melody that resonates deeply.

This song was used in a morning drama in the year of the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake (the theme song for the NHK morning drama "Haru yo, Koi" from 1994-95). It was also sung by Yumi Matsutoya for a charity project to support the recovery from the Great East Japan Earthquake, so I chose it because I felt a connection to it.

-The title of today's performance was "Challenge". What is your current challenge?

I think every day is a challenge. After all, when I think about wanting to deliver a good performance and for the audience to feel something from it, I realise that even if I perform the same performance, if there’s no improvement in it, it's unlikely that people will think it was “good”.

It's very difficult to continue evolving from a point that I consider to be complete, and that's the challenge for me. I think that the fact that I am alive now and going through each day is, in a sense, a continuous challenge, an ongoing challenge to protect my life. When I think about Noto or remember March 11, it feels like that’s what it is.

-Do you ever feel exhausted or lonely from continuously fighting and challenging yourself?

For example, in your daily life, when you come home from work and feel “I’m so tired”, I think that means you must have worked really hard (laughs).

Because what I do is showy, people pay attention to my every move and I get reported in the media for what I’ve done. But to me, this is just a part of my life.

Everyone has a lot of hardships in their daily lives, right? We rarely get praised for what we do. It's not so easy to hear things like, "Thank you for cooking dinner again today!" or "You worked hard today, that’s great!" I think that's just how life is.

Everyone is fighting hard every day. In my case, it’s just that my efforts are visible to everyone.

-Hanyu will turn 30 this December. What do you envision yourself doing at 40, 50, and 60 years old?

That’s just a future I can only imagine now, so I don’t really know how it will turn out, but I think I'll still be doing my best in the "now" at each moment.

As I said earlier, working hard or fighting is the same in any field, and even when there’s no work, or if I’m just playing games, I’m sure I’m still fighting in my own way.

There are days when I feel lonely despite being surrounded by people, and days when I can feel the warmth and kindness of those around me, and I think that this will never fundamentally change.

Since what I’m doing is on a large scale, I feel great happiness and also great sadness. But I think the range of those emotions is probably the same as everyone else’s.

I don't know if I'll still be skating when I'm 40. It might be impossible by 60, but I believe the range of emotions I have will remain constant throughout my life.

-How do you feel in your daily life now? Are you happy?

Yes, I’m happy. Because everyone is happy.

-So that’s what happiness means to you.

I mean, living day to day can be surprisingly tough, right? Sometimes I think, "It’s such a hassle to eat..." Ah, this might just be me though (laughs).

For example, even if I want to sleep all day or live carelessly, society doesn’t really allow for that. There are rules in the world, and we have to live according to them. I think everyone is doing their best within those rules.

In the realm of skating, I’m doing my best within the rules of skating. I have to face thousands of people with my one life, and I may think, "I don’t have the energy for tens of thousands of people!" But still, I try my best.

So, even if not everyone in the audience thinks it was great, if even one person feels happy because of it, that’s enough to make me feel rewarded and happy. So, I think right now is probably the happiest I've ever been.

-At the press conference in July 2022 when you turned professional, you said, "For me, the existence of Yuzuru Hanyu is heavy." Does that still hold true?

Honestly, I’ve never thought that it wasn’t heavy. But I think this weight makes me reflect deeply on the meaning of my life.

Of course, there were times when I felt like I was becoming disconnected from the so-called Yuzuru Hanyu that the general public sees, and there were times when I struggled with negative feelings because I couldn’t keep up with that image.

However, it’s precisely because I am Yuzuru Hanyu that I want to live my life to the fullest. As long as there is a place for me to perform and a society that has high expectations of me, I have to keep working hard. Perhaps "I have to work hard" has a similar meaning to "I have to live." That's what I think.

Source: Newsweek Japan Oct 2024 issue, pg 18-25 Online: https://www.newsweekjapan.jp/stories/culture/2024/10/517791.php Info: https://x.com/Newsweek_JAPAN/status/1837401474730520872

[bittercape]

TJA Sequel Exchange Masterpost

What is a sequel exchange, you may ask?

Well, when you have a ship-focused server full of writers and artists, there will be so many people who want more of that one specific fic (or, as it turns out, so many specific fics). And what better way to motivate people to write than an exchange?

Here's what we did (in alphabetical order):

@araydre made this gorgeous art for Skalidra's fic More Chances Than Deserved:

set in chapter 3, Jason and Slade sparring before Billy arrives

@arkhammaid wrote Fangs and Claws (sinking into me) , a new work in the Fangs and Claws series for @bittercape:

Theory says both the Alpha and Omega must consent to entering a mating dance for it to even have a chance in being succesful. Reality proves once again that theory can be fucking bullshit.

@bittercape wrote Midnight at City Hall, a sequel to 4am at Denny's for @safelycapricious:

“What’s wrong?” he asks, because obviously something is wrong for Roy to be calling like this. “Jason,” Roy says, sounding a little faint. “Stay put,” Slade says, and then he calls in the big guns.

@darbydoo22 wrote Happy Birthday Steve, a sequel to Sit By the Fire for astranne:

Dick Grayson introduces the family to his boyfriend, Steve Rogers, during the Wayne family’s annual Fourth of July party.

@katzynia wrote Piece by piece, a sequel to Every piece of you for littledevilbean:

A month after their last encounter, Slade shows up to see how the life has been treating Jason. And to show him a thing or two.

@lisholoz drew Slade in Red Hood's gear as a sequel to Jason in Deathstroke's armour:

Boyfriend hoodie? Pfft. Steal your BFs vigilante gear

@littledevilbean wrote Bad Habits (and how to share them), a sequel to in the office ( 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘺) for @notherdeadrobin:

In Slade's defense, it wasn't like he was trying to create a pattern.

@marquisedesaad wrote Turning the Advantage, a new work in the Taken Advantage series for @paprikadotmp4:

Dick and Bruce investigate in the aftermath of Jason's abduction. Meanwhile, Slade turns the situation to his advantage.

@marirah wrote two fics for darbydoo, candlelight and good morning, new works in the of Year of the OTP/Year of Jason and Slade 2023 (combined) series:

Dick and Tim have a date night in

Jason and Slade (and Peter and Damian) start to adjust to their new apartment

@safelycapricious wrote BE TRUE?, a sequel to BE MINE? for GavotteandGigue:

In an event that honestly Jason doesn’t foresee, the next day doesn’t bring him the chance to go out and figure out what the fuck Deathstroke is thinking. Not just because the idiot hadn’t cleaned up the crime scene and Bruce had taken the “BE MINE, RED HOOD?” as a threat instead of a courting gesture. But also because his cramps are persisting. Which is just. Fucking. Perfect.

Life happens, so there are a couple more sequels coming in a later reblog, but in the meantime: read, look, and remember to keep your fancreators fed and watered (commented, reblogged and kudos'd).

[the-nysh]

One of the biggest shocks from reading Trimax vol5 for the first time, after coming in from the 98anime, was the horrific contrast between Vash's destruction of July.

98 anime: the city was destroyed, but miraculously no one was killed. Resulting in a hellish aftermath where everyone (1.4mil people) fought and killed each other for survival in the fallout. Which sounds like a hugely unprecedented disaster, but all those subsequent deaths (loss of lives & livelihoods) were an indirect consequence of Vash firing his Angel Arm on Knives.

But in Trimax? :) Oho.......what a difference, where Vash's horrors are taken to the extremes in ways the 98anime could never show!

Cause everyone--ALL those kind people Vash ever knew and loved in that city were killed by his own hands! Swallowed up into the void (his 'gate') as the direct consequence of firing his forced-activated Angel Arm on Knives. (Reacting in a mix of fear, anger, hatred, revenge, or even aimed in cornered self-defense...all to get Knives to stop. At such a terrible cost.) Where everything else became unintended collateral in that moment, like an unleashed black hole tearing right through the city, causing indiscriminate mass destruction with no survivors or even any bodies left to be found. (Even Knives' body was irreparable.) Utterly and completely lost. Just like Vash's memories. Where it's no wonder he developed amnesia from the traumatic incident!! Cause OH does he SUFFER immensely for it once he fully remembers...

Where his life's long-wandering search (his original goal's 'destination') to finally confront and punish Knives for the death of Rem and causing the Great Fall in the first place, only led to another unprecedented catastrophe engulfing everyone he loves in July, but this time caused by himself! Nooooo--!

Flooded by his returning memories, his guilt, grief, despair and torment reach an inhuman degree of self-loathing and agony. (Warping to such a grotesque visual perception of himself within his own mind--cursed to bear this nightmarish reality he cannot escape or part from.) Utterly repentant for the horrific loss of life and monstrous sin against humanity his arm caused--as his greatest mistake he cannot undo, knowing that he's (already) a mass murderer who inherently wields the terrible power of death & destruction he never wanted to unleash or become!!! Not like that! ;o; (Cause just as he told Knives beforehand, "I'm not like you!" and then look what happened! Knives may hate and kill humans, but in the tragic irony and twisted reversal of that moment, Vash acting on his fear and hatred for Knives swept up and killed all those humans he loved along with it! aaaaa!!) And in Vash's distraught state of mind, fully taking the blame and responsibility for what he's done to July, how can he ever hope to atone or find peace or forgiveness for that....

(Cause he knows...he knows, that no matter what he does differently or how he chooses to bear the pain, the weight of all that guilt, that grief, that truth...can never escape him.)

"(I am a murderer)...All those people, those lives I extinguished...they were so kind..."

Significant even when it's described from the perspective of others, like Dr Conrad, who sees Vash having a terrifying power 'greater than anyone's ever seen or possessed' (even greater than Knives!) Zazie sees Knives & Vash as the 'natural enemies of humanity,' and even Midvalley views (them) as a 'higher existence that could will humankind's complete and utter extinction' on biblical scales of calamity...so just imagine holding all that feared power from Vash's perspective, knowing the disastrous extent and severe consequences of it being misused or going out of control again, at the risk of razing the entire world and everyone you love along with it. By naturally being a destroyer (whose very existence is a 'gun') who struggles against that by choosing to be a protector who saves instead! (No wonder Vash tightly binds and suppresses that other side of himself) And just...contending with all of that, and all that he's capable of unleashing, is the inhuman burden and reality Vash is forced to live with....

But even then, if his first confrontation with Knives at July resulted in so many collateral deaths, already breaking his promise to Rem years ago (by inadvertently killing those she sacrificed her life to save, ugh meaning his attempt to keep her memory alive and ensure her sacrifice for humanity wouldn't be in vain had already failed long ago) and his second confrontation led to Fifth Moon, then....what can Vash do the next time? Continue his usual pursuit to stop him and risk unleashing a third calamity?? What must he change in his approach, and what of his ongoing reason to live now?! Cause he can't just continue his 'send Knives to hell' mantra as his sole reason to keep on going anymore, as July already proved how attempting that backfired spectacularly, practically condemning Vash to suffer his own personal hell, intensified to the nth degree in exchange. As usual, even with the many revelations this volume, Vash still doesn't know or have any definitive answers to those questions yet. BUT by progressing the hard way even just from the little things, this becomes his ongoing struggle to figure out...

[kanangul]

After spending a childhood in isolation, Mikhail has finally been able to find freedom in academia. Pursuing the passion of their only solace; the forever gentle sound of song. Though, Mikhail has lived a life of naivety. A life shielded by the harsh faith of their church and family. Now Mikhail will discover the dark underbelly of the city of Vilyuchka — and what it means to be a composer in a city where crime and music are one in the same.

Demo: July 2024

The Garden Sanctuary is an 18+ horror, lesbian romance, and erotica interactive fiction. It takes place in a world built in Gaslamp Fantasy, with Art-Deco and 1920s influences. It is planned to be a browser-based visual novel style experience, with multiple illustrations and CGs placed throughout.

(Character bios and additional info can be found under the cut.)

CONTENT WARNING: The Garden Sanctuary is a HORROR and EROTICA interactive fiction. CWs include gore, violence, body horror, body dysmorphia, gender dysphoria, as well as internal and external transphobia, homophobia/lesbophobia, and ableism. The Garden Sanctuary also portrays critical views of the effects of CSA and incest from a personal perspective. (No on screen depictions, just the aftermaths of such events.)

MC: Mikhail Ilyushin - The Composer - They/Them

Mikhail Ilyushin was raised in one of the many churches of Vilyuchka who follow the single god of Lithos. From birth they were seen as sick, in body and mind alike. Thus they were sheltered from the rest of society in an attempt to protect their frailty from the outside world. During their time in the church they would occupy their dark upbringing with their passion for music. Mikhail had given up on the prospects of freedom. Until one day their overbearing family was contacted by a mysterious sponsor, who was somehow able to convince them to allow Mikhail to attend the University of Saint Yelena in order to pursue becoming a professional composer.

RO: Watcher Uriel - Patron of Pestilence - He/She/They

Watcher Uriel, the cursed angel forced to live on the outskirts of the city. Their very existence brings sickness. Her appearance is gruesome, no matter how hard she tries to mask her true form under a mortal glamor. In spite of the nature of their very existence, they long for only one thing: Love and affection. They are the head of a fanatic cult, obsessed with finding love for their holy angel. Nonetheless Watcher Uriel remains on the ceaseless hunt to find a soulmate. No matter the cost.

RO: Lucia Blackhart - The Violet Songstress - She/Her

Perhaps one of your only hopes of learning what the life of a composer entails. Lucia is not only a prolific melodist herself, she's also an extremely elusive detective. The catch: she only works with criminals in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Her allegiances are never set in stone. And while her services are invaluable, you can never fully set your trust in the Violet Songstress. Bonus Route: Because of her good natured relationship with Caim, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between the two of them.

RO: Caim - The Wonderland Ensemble, one of the Five Kings of the Vilyuchkan Underbelly - They/Them

Caim is a demonic being who surfaced in Vilyuchka many decades ago. Since then they have founded the Wonderland Ensemble, a ruthless crime syndicate known for its equal worship of pleasure and pain. Caim is an absolutely ruthless criminal, earning them the title of one of the Five Kings; a designation for the most dangerous and esteemed crime bosses in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Bonus Route: Because Caim is great friends with Lucia Blackhart, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between both of them.

RO: Headmaster Stelliana - Beholder of the Moon - She/Her

Headmaster Stelliana is the only companion you will meet on your journey that has the privilege of participating in regular society. She's a highly respected scholar, and lead of the academic group known as the Beholders of the Moon. Though she just poses as an intellectual elite, she holds a dark secret. Her and her fellow Beholders are apart of a cult seeking to resurrect the Old Gods. Only she and her fellow scholars know what this entails, and what fate this may bring about.

RO: ████████████ ████████████ ██████ ███ █████████

Something about this presence seems familiar. Yet foreign. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. Is it fear, or is it fiery yearning that I feel? Nonetheless something inside of me burns. Threatening to sear through my sternum and breach the skin along my breast. Until we meet again.

[fatehbaz]

In May 2023, the city of Phoenix began its project to clear and eliminate its largest homeless camp, known as The Zone, a refuge for hundreds of people. During the record-breaking heat of the summer of 2023, Phoenix cleared the camp, block by block. By the beginning of September 2023, just as the city was experiencing over 50 consecutive days of temperatures of 110 degrees Fahrenheit, the city cleared the block of the camp where most seniors and the elderly lived.

The trend of unhoused people moving from [the neighboring city of] Tempe into Phoenix has implications for Phoenix, which is under intense scrutiny for how it has handled its own growing homelessness crisis. Phoenix has been battling [...] lawsuits since 2022. [...] [One] was brought be the American Civil Liberties Union of Arizona, which alleges the city unlawfully cited people and threw away their belongings during encampment sweeps. The U.S. Department of Justice has also been investigating the Phoenix Police Department since 2021 over several issues, including its treatment of people experiencing homelessness. [...] “They say it’s not illegal to be homeless. But it totally is. There’s nowhere you can be homeless,” said [AD], a community organizer who hosts weekly picnics in Tempe for unhoused people. Others agreed. “It’s become kind of a police state for the homeless within the city,” said [KE], founder [...] of [a] homelessness nonprofit [...]. Both the River Bottom in Tempe and The Zone in Phoenix, two of the largest encampments in the region, have been or are currently being cleared out. Smaller encampments are also frequently broken up by police or private security [...].

Text excerpt from: Juliette Rihl. "Tempe's clearing of homeless camps has ripple effects for Phoenix, aid workers". The Arizona Republic. 11 July 2023.

---

The city continued clearing Phoenix's largest homeless encampment known as "The Zone" on Friday morning [1 September 2023], in the aftermath of a severe storm that raged the night before. [...] This was the eighth block cleared [since May 2023] [...]. The block cleared was [...] where many elderly people lived. [...] [A] nonprofit organization providing supportive resources for seniors experiencing homelessness, is located along the same street. 'The Zone' was hit hard by Thursday night's monsoon storm. [...] [H]igh winds scattered some people's possessions. [...] At the start of August, around 700 people lived in and around The Zone [...].

Text excerpt from: Helen Rummel. "Eighth block of 'The Zone' homeless encampment in Phoenix cleared out after storm". The Arizona Republic. 1 September 2023. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

As the city cleared another block late last week [September 2023], local activists gathered outside the barriers set up around it. [...] A man who goes by [Q] has been unhoused for roughly four years. [...] “It is kind of heartbreaking to see,” he said, watching city staffers pick through piles of belongings left behind. [...] Neighbors from different mutual aid groups set up folding tables just outside barriers on either side of the block. [NA] was among them. [...] He said they form relationships with the people living here. Most are elders, many people with disabilities that prevent them from working. “They’re dejected, they’re demoralized, they’re upset,” [NA] said. “These are homes that they’ve built for themselves that have taken some time, and resources that they’ve just had to come by because nobody’s providing them.” [...] [JS] said when people are moved, they often don’t stay sheltered. [...] “But a lot of people go into these [shelters] and then they’re hit with restrictions when they get there. They’re told one thing, and then they arrive, there’s a curfew, [...] they can’t have whatever. And then it’s: You either follow our rules right now, or you’re going out into the heat.” [...] [AM] watched the street sweep from behind the yellow tape. “Well, I think that this is a human rights violation,” [AM] said. “What I’m seeing is just a bunch of people being paid to dislocate people.” [AM] is a legal observer, volunteering with the National Lawyers Guild. [...] “They're being moved out of one street,” said [AM]. “But the reality is, they have nowhere to go."

Text by: Kirsten Dorman and Tori Gantz. "Another block in 'The Zone' is cleared, but the path forward for those living there is unclear'. Fronteras Desk. 7 September 2023. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

[nobodyfamousposts]

Felix July - Tragic

Yes, I know this is years late. I hope it's worth it.

Follow up to the Betrayal prompt and an aftermath of Party Crasher:

*Click*

With that, the call ended. Felix gave a small sigh of relief.

At least that whole mess was over with. Mostly.

He looked up at the multitude of girls appearing all too pleased.

“I expect you’ll be having quite a few tokens of appeasement waiting for you come Monday. Maybe sooner.” He stated, returning his phone to his pocket.

“Thank you, Felix.” Alya said, sounding almost downright pleasant towards him for once.

“Don’t you think that was a bit mean?” Marinette asked. “I mean, they were doing it for Adrien.”

“The problem isn’t the party for Adrien, it’s that they lied to us about it and left us with all this work to handle by ourselves in the process.” Alya countered.

Mylene nodded. “It took a lot of planning to set this whole thing up and having most of the male portion of the city duck out at the last minute for a party they just set up that day is downright rude.” She looked away, pouting and muttering something about no kisses for a week.

Marinette felt a hand on her shoulder, drawing her gaze up to Felix. “They knew they would likely cause problems by doing this and chose to do so anyway. And so they decided to lie to try to avoid being caught. Whatever happens is a direct result of their actions, regardless of the supposed goodness of their reasons.”

“You’re saying that because they left you to nearly get your eyes clawed out.” Marinette pointed out.

His eye twitched. “But am I wrong?”

Well, he really wasn’t…

“Still…” She remained uncertain.

“They could have just invited Adrien and his bodyguard to help out here rather than start a party.” Rose pointed out.

“And leave all the work for us.” Alya added—because yes, she was still bitter about that.

“I still say we should use them as fertilizer.” Alix grumbled.

“Girls, this is a community project, meant to be for the community, not made up of the community.” Mylene reasoned.

“Even if they deserve it.” Juleka snarked, also still miffed and unwilling to let it go.

Rose smiled, beaming. “Still, that girls’ party sounds like a good idea.”

“It’d be a nice reward after all this.” Mylene agreed.

“Not to mention a nice petty revenge at the boys.” Alix said with a grin.

Marinette laughed, seeming relieved with the peaceful solution. “Better than killing them, at any rate.”

Felix clapped his hands, seemingly nonchalant.

“Well then, I hope you all have fun.” And with that, he turned to walk away.

Only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a smiling Alya.

…he did not like that smile. Not one bit.

The increasing grip on his being only added to his trepidation.

Alya, naturally, had no concern for this.

“Don’t say that, Felix! You’re coming too.”

A pause.

“What?”

____________

The week passed in relative normalcy. Emphasis on “relative” as it did still involve the drama of half of his classmates cowering and/or groveling before the other half. As well as much bemoaning, harrumphing, occasional begging, and the daily occurrence of walking into the classroom to be greeted by the sight of an array of flowers, candy, and gift baskets on the desks of one or more of the girls in the class each time he entered.

But it was surprisingly akuma-free, so Felix would consider it normal. An odd sort of normal, but normal nonetheless. It was nice. Peaceful, even.

…if not for the sense of impending doom he could feel creeping on him the more of the week that passed and the closer they got to the weekend—and the time of the planned “party”.

Felix knew that going to the party would be a bad idea. And not just because it was a girls’ slumber party. Or one that the girls in his class were throwing out of sheer spite due to the impromptu party the boys had thrown without them when they were supposed to be working together on that community project. Or because the girls in question had previously threatened his eyes. It was partly due to those things, certainly, but not solely.

He simply did not want to go. Period.

But like with many things in his life, Felix‘s feelings weren’t so much overlooked as they were completely disregarded.

Going to a party for the girls was not something Felix had any interest in. He wasn’t a people person in the first place and a slumber party with a number of teenage females was far from his idea of a good time, regardless of what his peers may believe. Furthermore, he was sure there were rules—or were SUPPOSED to be rules concerning the presence of boys at such things.

But apparently this was his punishment for his part in Lahiffe’s plot. Despite the fact he’d had no interest or involvement in that either. And had even been the one to explain what was going on.

Truly life was cruel.

Or maybe it was just Cesaire trying to make him miserable.

...considering the gleeful smirk on her face when she informed him of this decision, he was inclined to believe the latter.

“Don’t worry, Felix! It’ll be fun!” Assured Adrien Agreste, who was apparently either completely ignorant of what was to come or was simply a masochist.

And no, the fact that he would not be suffering this torment alone was no comfort.

“I’m so excited!” Agreste squeed—actually squeed the way the boy’s own fangirls did. Felix wanted to die from embarrassment on his behalf. 

“I know! I can’t wait!” Agreed Whayhem Marot, whom Felix was sure would enjoy the event regardless simply as long as Agreste was there.

Felix twitched.

Why was he the only one who recognized it as the punishment it was? Even the other males in the class seemed to see this as a desirable or dare he even say enviable circumstance.

“Felix. Bro. We got to talk.”

Case in point: Nino Lahiffe as he grabbed Felix and dragged him across the courtyard to some impromptu meeting with the other idiotic males of the class. And Couffaine.

This was his life now, apparently.

“What is it?” Felix demanded. Demanded quite reasonably, in his opinion—given the grabbing and the forced interaction.

“Dude. While you’re there, don’t be looking at my girl.” Lahiffe warned him. Backed by the other relationship-bound males in the class whom were also giving him stern looks and nodding in agreement in defense of their respective girlfriends and girl friends.

Not that Felix had any interest in observing any of the aforementioned females in states of undress. And again, didn’t want to be there to begin with.

“But get pictures. We need pics, man!”

He wasn’t sure he would be able to be able to take pictures at all with the girls watching him. Much less take pictures of anyone when he wasn’t allowed to look at them.

“And details!”

“Yeah!”

More to the point...

Felix raised a hand in exasperation. “There are two problems with this. The first being that I don’t know anything about slumber parties.”

“It’s…y’know. Slumber. And parties.” Lahiffe frowned before turning to the others. “Guys, back me up!”

“I have compiled a list of top activities that tend to take place at slumber parties, along with their detailed explanations for your purposes.” Kante offered, holding out a ream of papers clipped together that could practically be its own book.

Felix shoved it back to the shorter boy with a glare.

“The second problem is that I don’t care.”

“Man, seriously?” Le Chien demanded, as if the reason Felix should want to go was supposed to be obvious. “This is a party! With girls!”

A pause.

Felix raised an eyebrow.

“...And?”

Le Chien scratched his head. “That’s…kind of supposed to be the reason.”

He turned away. “And I’m done here.”

Frustratingly, Lahiffe blocked his way.

“Come on, Felix! Adrien is going! Would you really let Adrien go to a girls’ party all alone?”

“Yes.” He replied without even the slightest hesitation.

If it was his choice, who was Felix to interfere? Or be needed to put himself at risk? Because that was the difference—Agreste actually WANTED to go and possibly meet death. A brutal, painful, burning, scarring death.

“Dude! You’re really just going to leave Adrien on his own?”

“I fail to see how that would be my problem.”

Or why they weren’t bugging Agreste about getting these desired ‘pics’.

“Besides, Marot is going so he won’t be ‘alone’, as you say.” Felix stated, even going so far as to make ‘quotation’ gestures for emphasis.

Lahiffe coughed. “Wayhem is…cool and all. But he’s a fanboy! And about as innocent as Adrien is!”

“Then they can learn together. Starting with why adolescent males should not be at slumber parties with adolescent females.”

“Oh come on, do you really think those two would do anything?” Le Chien questioned.

He said that like anyone would think Agreste and Marot would be the ones to worry about instead of the victims.

Felix expected that there would be bodybags.

…he expected one of those bags to be his own.

But on that note…

“Why isn’t Couffaine going?” He asked, gesturing to the musician who had apparently stopped by to drop off a delivery for the girls that likely had to do with the party in question.

Because surely, surely he of all people wouldn’t have earned the girls’ ire.

“Because Luka joined the guys’ party.”

Felix shot Luka a withering look.

“You disappoint me.”

Luka smiled, nervous and apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Make no mistake.” Felix stated, turning back to the others. “If I had any say in the matter, I would not be going to this party. At all.”

“Too bad you don’t have a choice!” Cesaire chirped, coming upon the group with a vicious smirk that made the other males scramble away like the dirty cowards they were. “We’ll be set for the night and you’re not allowed to run. Or we will know.”

Felix sighed.

How they had gotten his mother on board with this, he had no idea.

“This is a punishment, isn’t it?“

“What?” Cesaire fake gasped. “You’re going to be spending the night with a bunch of pretty girls, eating plenty of junk food and baked goods, and having tons of fun! How is that a punishment?“ She asked, fluttering her eyes at him.

Felix glared at her, unimpressed.

“I despise fun.”

“Careful Felix.” She said all too sweetly. “I would almost think you were rejecting our kind offer.“

Ah, yes. The “kind offer“ to not claw out his eyes at the low cost of one night of humiliation and degradation that would no doubt be used to haunt him for the rest of his life.

...he could learn Braille.

________________

The night of the party came, and at late afternoon, Felix was “escorted” to Le Grand Paris.

And by “escorted”, he meant “kidnapped”.

Not that his mother cared.

“Goodbye, Felix!” She called out, waving happily while seemingly ignoring the fact that he was literally being dragged away. “I’ll see you in the morning! Have fun!”

Evil woman. Evil vile woman.

“Come on, Felix! You don’t want to be late!” Cesaire said, all too cheerfully.

“I could just not go.” He muttered. He could very well hide out under a bridge. That would be unpleasant for the night, but still better than what was to come.

“How cute! He thinks he has a choice!” Cesaire cooed as she and Kubdel each stood on either side of him—likely to prevent him from escaping.

He gave her a flat glare. “Die. Die and come back as something pleasant.”

Cesaire just grinned smugly. Kubdel, for her part, rolled her eyes but went along with Cesaire.

It was clear there would be no avoiding this. All Felix could do was accept his fate and begrudgingly walk with the girls to the car that would be taking them to the party.

The only good thing to come of this was that Rossi would not be in attendance as she had not helped out with the volunteer project either.

Though Felix suspected that was just the official excuse so as to prevent discord during the night between Dupain-Cheng and Rossi…

…as well as prevent him from following through on his threat to jump out the first window available, regardless of relative distance to the ground.

You win this round, gravity.

“Hi, Felix!” Agreste greeted as Felix and his “escorts” entered the car.

Felix merely grunted in acknowledgment as the doors closed and his moving tomb started to head towards their destination.

Somehow, though for the life of him he would never understand precisely how, the girls had managed to convince Agreste’s anal-retentive father to consent to his son going to an all-girls’ slumber party.

Which would quite frankly be a miracle in and of itself. Felix has heard enough of the man over the years to know that this should have been an impossible feat. Even if Gabriel Agreste was the sort of man to believe in something as asinine as “fun”, no sensible parent would want to allow males at a sleepover comprising mostly of teenage daughters. And while Felix did question Mr. Agreste’s precise position on the line between “sensible” and “idiotic”, he had been sure that even that man would know better—if only to protect his slowly dying business from the scandal of his son spending a night with a bunch of girls.

Felix suspected some form of blackmail may have been involved.

Or mind control.

Agreste was clearly excited, practically bouncing in his seat. “This will be my first sleepover!”

“Mine too!” Merot chimed in.

It would be Felix’s as well, but that hardly meant it was a life goal and for the life of him, Felix didn’t understand why anyone would think it should be.

As the others continued chatting, Felix was contemplating the pros and cons of jumping out of a moving vehicle. They weren’t going too quickly. Maybe if he ducked and rolled? Or waited until it came to a complete stop?

Either fortunately or not, his contemplations were cut short as they had rather quickly arrived at the destination.

The Grand Hotel.

“It was really nice of Chloe’s Dad to let us have the party here!” Adrien said cheerfully.

Alya smiled.

Felix did not trust that smile. At all.

While none of the girls explained how they had gotten permission to use the hotel main event room for this party, Felix highly suspected that Mayor Bourgeois’s unusual acquiesce to their request had less to do with any good will than it did the very real threat that the girls involved were classmates of his daughter and could easily tell her that he had gone to that party at the mansion.

Adrien’s mansion.

Adrien. Her “best friend”.

A party SHE was not invited to.

To say she would be furious would be an understatement. And the fact that he had managed to keep his involvement secret from her was impressive in its own right. And maybe it would have worked out for him if Cesaire wasn’t involved and looking for vengeance.

Felix sympathized somewhat with the man. Only somewhat because….well…a grown man—and an easily recognizable politician at that? Going to that party was still an incredibly stupid thing to do. Not to mention somewhat creepy.

Andre Bourgeois seemed to think Felix was a kindred spirit as he smiled shakily at the boy, as if looking for some sympathy.

Or perhaps silently praying for him.

Felix would take the latter. He’d need all the help he could get to make it through this night.

The event room in question where the sleepover would be taking place was one of the hotel’s executive suites. There was a central room as well as two side bedrooms and a separate kitchen area. Not that Felix expected there to be much cooking if the laptop Haprele was opening up to the selection of a nearby pizzeria was any indication.

Lavillant and the younger Couffaine were already present and arranging the food and plates. Kubdel seemed to be setting up the television for various video games and movies.

Which left…

“Sorry I’m late!” Dupain-Cheng’s arrival was announced with an apology and a bang as she tried to open the door while holding several boxed of what he reasonably assumed were various pastries.

And with that, the gang was all here.

“Oh, let me help you with that, Marinette!” Agreste offered.

Felix prepared to step in himself. Knowing that girl’s crush, him coming closer to her would make her more likely to drop her cargo than help.

But he hadn’t needed to.

“No worries! I’ve got it!” Came a cheerful voice as another girl came in from behind her. She had tan skin and short red hair. And she seemed muscled, so the multitude of packages alongside her own bags were no trouble to her.

“Thanks, Odine!” Dupain-Cheng said, looking relieved.

Oh right. He remembered now. That girl was Le Chein’s girlfriend, Odine Soares. But why was she there?

As if sensing his confusion, Cesaire smirked. “Odine was invited to our party since she was also left out of the boys’.”

Soares settled the cartons on the table with a huff. “That was a real jerk move of the boys to make excuses to bail on their commitment, and I didn’t appreciate Kim using our swim sessions as a part of their excuse.” She turned to the others with a smile. “I do appreciate the invite though.”

Felix held up his hand. “Well, if this counts as an additional person for a party with limited room, it would be remiss of me to not give my place to someone more deserving—”

Cesaire grabbed his sleeve to keep him from his less than casual move for the door. Thankfully not his arm or they would likely have had a problem. “Oh come on, Felix!” She said, her grin a bit too wide to be innocent. “There’s no need for that!”

“I beg to differ. You just have fun and—”

The door closed behind him. The slam as clear as his own death knell.

“We insist.” Cesaire stated, her words clearly a warning.

Felix sighed and reluctantly moved to place his bags in the side room designated for the boys. When he returned, he found the girls in a discussion over horror movies or video games. With little option and wanting to open himself up to as little drama as possible, he chose to sit next to Agreste and Merot on the couch. His only allies for this mess of a night. 

“This is going to be fun!”

“I know, right?”

…

…

…

…it seemed his allies had already fallen.

Felix was on his own.

___________________

The sleepover started simply enough.

Pizza was ordered. Soda was poured. Popcorn was popped and promptly somehow simultaneously fought over and used as ammo. Candy was shared.

They started with some Mecha Strike which all of them played—except for Dupain-Cheng, who was apparently banned due to her “mad skillz”. They played in teams that eventually came out with Lavillant and Felix as the winners—which he wasn’t at all smug about no matter Cesiare’s claim.

Then the girls insisted on a dance game. Felix, understandably, chose to sit out. To his surprise, Dupain-Cheng chose to sit out with him as well.

Or maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise, given her natural clumsiness. No doubt it would be exacerbated due to the presence of her crush.

Still, that she chose to keep him company in his “dark and dreary” corner of the room (Cesaire’s words, not his) was…kind.

“Enjoying yourself?” She asked, polite and considerate and everything he absolutely did not need right now.

He looked away, irritated. Seeing his expression, she frowned and sat next to him.

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this.” She said quietly. “I know this isn’t your idea of a good time.”

She wasn’t wrong. Felix’s idea of a good time was probably the exact opposite of the current situation. Somewhere quiet and alone. Likely his room with a book and some tea.

It was nice that someone at least recognized that. Not that it made a difference.

“I don’t blame you.” He assured her, insomuch that at least it wasn’t her he blamed. She could probably tell that much from the glare he sent towards Cesaire at her place on the couch and cheering on Agreste and Merot’s tag team in the dance game.

Oh yes, HER, he did blame. 

As if feeling his glare on her, she turned to look at him and wagged her eyebrows in his direction.

He resisted the urge to make a profane gesture.

“Honestly, I think they’re just trying to stick it to the other boys for ditching us to throw a party where we’re specifically not invited.” Dupain-Cheng explained. 

It wasn’t necessary for her to try to explain it away. Maybe she could convince someone who didn’t know better, but Felix knew full well that this was more than vengeance against the rest of their male classmates. Cesaire was taking full advantage of the opportunity to vex him as well.

But he would be magnanimous and refrain from pointing that out because she sounded a bit miffed about the whole prior incident and he wasn’t about to try and deny her her right to her fury over the matter.

Dupain-Cheng continued, smiling at him. “Since you at least stuck to your word and told us the truth about what was going on, this is kind of a reward.”

“But for whom? Because from my perspective, this is simply a punishment all around.” He bit out.

Marinette smiled. “But Nino and the guys won’t see it that way.”

Ah, yes. The adolescent male mind would no doubt see entry into this event as a privilege and something to envy.

That’s because they didn’t know better.

No doubt they simply thought of it as scantily clad girls sleeping together or whatever else their hormone-driven brains could imagine.

The truth was that it would be more embarrassing and aggravating than anything. Humiliating. Potentially traumatizing. And may very well end in death—most likely his own.

Felix wondered if letting the other males keep that foolish image would make this night worth it.

…it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t. But he would still keep quiet about it because he blamed them almost as much as he blamed Cesaire since they started this mess in the first place.

And Felix deserved something today.

In his ruminations, Dupain-Cheng had left him to his thoughts, though only for a short time. A little while later, she had returned with some hot herbal tea.

It didn’t make him feel better about what this night would bring.

But it helped.

___________________

It wasn’t long before the group had gotten worn out from the more active video games and had turned to less active and more personal time.

The girls had sat in a circle, back to front. For���simultaneous hair-styling, apparently. They had a number of hairbands, clips, head pieces, and decorations with which to adorn each other while they talked and gossiped. Agreste and Merot excitedly joined them in the circle as well.

“Felix! You should join!” Agreste invited.

“Yeah,” Cesaire said with what could only be an evil smirk. “There’s a spot for your right here!” She patted the space in front of her.

Felix gave her a dry glare. “You’re not subtle, Cesaire. I know better than to trust you anywhere near my hair.”

She pouted but turned to Dupain-Cheng instead.

Felix watched in some limited amusement at the mixture of decent styles and outright monstrosities that were born of the styling circle. Agreste ended up with his hair covered in pink clips by an overly enthusiastic Lavillant. Merot ended up with wild streaks from Kubdel and…wow, he was glad he didn’t join. He hadn’t thought they’d bring hair dye.

Cesaire, much to his vindication, ended up with her hair looking somewhat akin to a hydra after Merot separated her hair into a number of separate mismatched asymmetrical ponytails and then used hair spray to keep them in place. Whatever hairstyle the boy had been going for had failed atrociously, but they seemed to get a good laugh out of it…and only convinced Felix all the more that he was right to avoid it altogether.

If only he would be able to avoid the next activity.

Because then came THE game. The one Felix knew was coming. The one he dreaded.

“Truth or Dare~!”

Was it too late to jump out the window?

He glanced over, seriously considering it. They were only a few floors off the ground. Just 10 or 12. It wasn’t that much, right? He could make it.

Or he would fall into the sweet, sweet embrace of death and never have to experience another night like this.

Unfortunately, Kubdel and Lavillant blocked the path to the window—likely the former knowing more of his plan than the latter, who just smiled at him innocently and asked if he wanted to sit next to her for the game.

“Of course he would!”

Before he could even speak, Cesaire had reached an arm around his shoulders and “guided” him to the circle where everyone was now facing the center and preparing to play.

“I can escape.” He hissed to her. “Don’t think I wouldn’t.”

“Oh sure, you could.” She whispered back in agreement.  Then she smirked. “And what a shame that would be. Marinette would be disappointed. I guess this would leave me with no choice but to distract her from your absence and use this opportunity to continue Operation Adrinette and all of us would be free to ask Adrien so many questions about who he likes.” 

Something about that struck him as more distasteful than remaining at the party and taking part in the game.

And given the way she was looking at him, Cesaire knew it, too.

“Plus you’ll have to go home sooner or later.” She added with a smirk. “And your mother is going to want all the details of her son’s ‘first sleepover’. Imagine her disappointment if she finds out you ditched us?”

…vile girl.

“Fine.” He hissed, moving to join the ‘Circle of Friendship’.

Most of the group seem elated as he sat among them. Kubdel was snickering. Lavillant looked on the verge of squealing. Agreste and Merot smiled at him with their ignorant, oblivious, innocent eyes.

Dupain-Cheng looked nervous. Understandable, given the nature of the game they were about to play and her history of embarrassment at the hands of her so-called ‘friends’. Something that a game like this would only open her up for in spades.

If nothing else, he supposed he could at least try to help spare her the death of embarrassment. If only to spare himself the same.

The first rounds were simple, silly things.

“What was your worst akuma?”

“I dare you to impersonate Hawk Moth!”

“Try to pun like Chat Noir!”

At least Cesaire was keeping to her word with him there, as she had yet to try any of her silly matchmaking shenanigans. And the other girls seemed to be following her lead, as none of them did anything of the sort either.

Then of course, came the inevitable…

“Felix! Truth or Dare?” Lavillant asked cheerfully.

He immediately felt his back straighten.

She was cheerful. And out of all the classmates, the girl was the most kind—seemingly. But also the most naive and impressionable. Cesaire could have put her up to something.

But she wouldn’t willingly make him do anything she knew would hurt him, right?

He felt a grin from the side and resolutely chose to not look at Cesaire.

“Dare.” He said. Against all better judgement.

“I dare you…” Lavillant said, drawing it out as she seemed to be trying to think of something.

“To style Juleka’s hair!”

He blinked.

“Come again?”

“You didn’t get to take part in the hairstyle circle so it’s only fair!” She insisted.

“Yeah!”

“Style something for us, Felix!”

“Use your modeling skills!”

…well, that wasn’t so bad, at least.

“Fine.” He agreed, rolling up his sleeves. All the better to get this over with quickly. And with as little fuss as possible.

“You okay with this, Felix?” Dupain-Cheng asked. At least she was kind enough to have some concern for his comfort. He wasn't fond of touching people, after all.

He shrugged.

“It could be worse. They could have me shirtless and serving them drinks.”

A pause.

A long pause.

“Can I change my dare?”

“No.” He replied immediately.

[s-brant]

Over Again

As a socialite in Manhattan, Y/N had the perfect life— wealthy parents, a tight-knit group of friends, and talent as a world renowned figure skater. But, everything changed when she decided to end her life after witnessing a traumatic event. Someone pulled her back when she tried to jump in front of an oncoming train. Newly released from inpatient psychiatric care, Y/N gets more than she bargained for when the man who saved her life reappears. (or the fake dating figure skating au)

22k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, suggestive themes, mental illness, depictions of obsessive compulsive disorder, described suicide attempt, described murder, described anxiety-induced starvation, and substance use.

-

June was the month of suffering.

The open, fresh air—well, as fresh as it could be in the city that never sleeps nor picks up garbage—was a shock to her system. Two weeks passed since she last got the chance to be outside and breathe fresh air, and it was even more overwhelming than she imagined it to be.

The facility is two miles from her apartment building, so she didn't let them call her a cab on her way out of the door. No, she walked out onto the street with pap bags filled with her personal belongings hugged to her chest and refused to look back. That proud bravery quickly dwindled the closer she came to her apartment, and now...

She stands frozen at the front steps of her building.

No one prepared her for how hard this would be. Not truly. Simply being able told, "The adjustment back to being home may cause some breakthrough anxiety," was not enough. Even as she forces her feet to take one step after next to the front door, she doesn't know if she'll ever be ready.

Familiar faces pass in her periphery with polite smiles pasted onto them on the trip up to the apartment that has been paid for by her parents in the time since she ditched her job a month ago. A month. Such a short span of time yet an eternity in the prison of her fractured mind. June was the month of suffering. July, however, has yet to reveal the full extent of its plans for her.

The unlocked door to the two-bedroom apartment slams shut with a kick of her foot against it, and she is instantly hit with a heart-clenching wave of pain at the sight of the home that is little more than a tomb to her in June's aftermath.

"In and out," she reminds herself.

All she needs to do is drop her clothes off on her bed, change, and leave to go to the pharmacy in a matter of moments. Knowing how brief her time here is might be the only thing keeping her from turning right back around and going back to the facility she just left.

So, she makes it quick.

She doesn't even bother with putting away the old clothes her father brought to her. She cannot resist the urge to toss them in the trash.

Ruined, ruined, everything is ruined—The wastefulness brings a grimace to her face, but it's not like she can help it. What happened in here, in these rooms, and these clothes...wastefulness be damned, she'll do what she wants.

Her hair, still damp from her earlier shower, is quickly swept from her face in a clip to keep the summer heat from consuming her when she leaves for the local pharmacy whose address she gave the doctor for her prescriptions. She paused for a second before the mirror to consider her appearance, but what she finds is almost unrecognizable.

Her skin has paled in the weeks she spent in purgatory, starving and half-wild with madness as well as sleep deprivation. It leaves the dark circles beneath her eyes far more visible to the naked eye. Those lovely, once full cheeks of hers have gone gaunt, likely from the weight loss, and she can hardly stand to look at herself long enough to dot some concealer under her eyes and turn to go to her dresser.

These clothes, she thinks as she dresses in a simple pair of navy shorts and a white eyelet top, are good. They're safe, not ruined by her wearing them in the four weeks she suffered like so many of her pajamas and other comfortable clothes are.

With that, she slips into her sneakers, picks up her purse, grabs her sunglasses, and flees the rotting tomb before she can allow it to spread its deadly touch to her again.

-

CVS is surprisingly packed with people for a Friday morning when most of the population is either working or sleeping off the night shift.

She walks between the aisles, picking up random objects and setting them back down on her way to the pharmacy in the back of the shop. The small cart cradled to her side is filled with all manners of things—little trinkets, stuffed animals, face masks, and snacks that she doesn't need but desperately wants to provide herself with a much-needed dopamine rush.

She secretly prays for a long line, but once she turns the corner at the last aisle, she is only met with disappointment and anxiety.

No line.

Her chest sinks with a sigh as she steps up to the counter and unloads her cart. The worker behind the register doesn't greet her, he simply asks, "Are you here to pick up any medications?"

"Um, yeah," she says. "Full name is Y/N L/N. Date of birth-"

There's a lull of quiet during which she stands and watches him type her information into the computer. The sound of his fingertips tapping the keys is all there is to fill the silence back here.

"So, it looks like you have Prozac, forty milligrams, Seroquel, fifty milligrams, and Vistaril, fifty milligrams. Is that correct?"

Shame curls in the pit of her belly like a wriggling eel. Her eyes turn down to watch the carpeted floor, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, sounds right."

"Copay is five bucks," he says in answer.

The small black Prada bag slips from her shoulder and into her waiting hands to allow her to search for her wallet inside, but the sight of her right wrist halts her in her tracks. There it is, that blue and white plastic bracelet with her name, birthday, and further personal information inscribed on it.

Oh.

She forgot to take it off. After having it stuck to her wrist for two weeks, she didn't notice its presence upon exiting the threshold of the facility that became her home and salvation. It's ripped off and stuffed into the pocket of her shorts in a matter of seconds.

"You said five bucks?" she asks, hoping to distract the employee from her fumbling embarrassment.

He hums, which she takes as a yes and holds out a crinkled five-dollar bill plucked from her wallet.

"Here you go."

As soon as the rest of her items are ringed up separately, Evan, whose name she noted from the tag on his shirt, scurries off to the back presumably to search for the various medications waiting for her. With him out of view, she reaches into her right pocket for the wristband she stashed there a moment ago and tosses it at the trash bin behind the counter. Except, right when she throws it, Evan is coming back around the corner with three paper bags stapled together with side effect pamphlets. The plastic wristband hits the dead center of his chest. His eyes follow from where it rolls onto the ground up to the woman who threw it at him.

All she can do is shut her eyes for a long two seconds as if not seeing his perplexed expression will somehow remedy the conflict and stop her from flinging herself from the top of the nearest tall building.

Her eyes flutter open, and she says softly, "I was aiming for your trash can."

He deadpans at her.

"Sure."

Taking the medications from him and putting them in the bag with the rest of her purchases, she offers a quick, "Sorry," and practically runs out of the store.

The people walking the streets of the Upper East Side of Manhattan are, mercifully, uninterested with her frantic face and swiftly moving feet. They're far too engrossed in their conversations, walks, and work phone calls to spare any energy for a frazzled young woman such as herself.

She makes it all of ten steps before her phone's shrill ringtone interrupts the symphony of passing cars, mindless chatter, and chirping birds. With one hand, she unzipped her purse and fishes the device out, but, of course, it slips out of her hand and clatters on the sidewalk before she can answer it. Her head tilts back to face the vibrant cerulean sky, decorated sparsely with clouds, and a heavy sigh falls from her.

There's a second or so where she considers letting it go to voicemail and finding herself a nice, tall building, but the name on the screen indicating who's calling is too alluring to ignore.

She crouches down and picks it up, sliding her thumb across to accept the call.

"Ella," she says by way of greeting. "How'd you know I got out already?"

The sound of her best friend's giggle makes the smile on her face a little less fake. Ella is the only one of her friends that she told about where she went for the past two weeks, if not because she trusts her with her life, then because she would've gone insane without a friend to call amidst the boredom.

Y/N spent a half hour on the phone with her once she was on the better half of her recovery and stifled a giggle when one of the nurses scolded her for staying on the line for more than ten minutes. Needless to say, she didn't hang up. She just pressed her back closer into the wall of the alcove where the phones were mounted to beige cinderblock walls quite reminiscent of a college dorm.

"Your dad texted me," Ella says as though it's obvious.

This causes Y/N to take a second of pause.

"Wait," she says, brows furrowing even though her friend cannot see her expression shift. "Did he put you up to something?"

The silence on the other end of the line speaks volumes.

"Ella!"

She can practically see the bright smile splitting open Ella's face by the specific sound of her deep belly laughter, finding it much harder to fake annoyance in the wake of it. This is always how it's been—Ella and her dad conspiring together to find a way to brighten her darkest nights.

"We may or may not be going to a male strip club with Anna and Rosemary to celebrate your freedom tonight," Ella whispers as if she fears her best friend jumping through the phone to chase her around her apartment.

She asks, incredulous, "My dad told you to take me to a strip club?"

The following gasp almost makes her face crack into a smile much like the one that crossed Ella's face seconds ago. God, she missed her so much. Just the sound of her voice erases the bad June memories that haunted her on the way out of her building.

"Absolutely not." There's the sound of her husky barking for attention in the background. "He just told me to host a girl's night to welcome you back to society." To answer the question Y/N is sure to ask, she says, "Don't worry, they don't know. I told them you went on a long vacation."

"Long vacation, my ass"—this draws out another boisterous laugh—"more like I went fucking crazy."

"Eh, they don't need to know that."

The trees planted in the small, iron-wrought cages along the sidewalk are lush with hues of green, in full vivid bloom in the mid-July climate, and she can't help but notice how the heat makes her throat close up. Fall, spring, and winter are far more preferable in her opinion. All that the sweltering summer heat does is keep her trapped and nervous, looking over both shoulders in search of the phantom hands that hold her hostage. Then, there's the new, open wound that was June, and it provided her the ultimate negative association with her least favorite season.

On one hand, going out with her friends sounds inviting. On the other, she has to be back on the ice training with Coach Godnev and Chris, her partner, in two days. Perhaps it wouldn't be the best idea to spend what little time she has partying.

"Okay, I'll go," she says, "on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"You let me sleep over tonight."

-

Needless to say, Ella has managed to drag Y/N, complaining and yawning due to her nighttime dose of meds, out to meet their other friends at a hole-in-the-wall male strip club. It's ten at night, and she pulls at the short hem of the dress her best friend picked out on her behalf in hopes to potentially "entice a hot stripper for the night." All that was given in response was a scoff.

The club opened thirty minutes ago, so, as far as the crowd filing into the front door goes, it's rather small. Which, she supposes, could also be a result of it not being a popular strip club. Part of her wonders how Ella even found this place.

To its credit, it's quite clean, the staff has been friendly, and the virgin jalapeño "margarita" clasped in her hand wasn't too pricey. Not that it matters much to her. Having lived her whole life in this city, even staying behind when her parents retired to Charleston, South Carolina to live a quieter life without their freak daughter, she is accustomed to outrageous prices for cocktails. Although, now she doesn't have to worry about it seeing that she cannot drink on her meds. Some people at the facility said they do so anyway, but her stubborn brain takes anything it's given as a hard rule, so she ordered herself a virgin cocktail instead.

Fluorescent purple lighting bathes her hot pink mini dress in its bright tones, leading everyone's eyes down the length of her legs.

That's another thing about her—she has never had issues with getting men to hit on her. It's not as if she ever truly invited them to do so. She, much to her parents and Ella's dismay, has never had nor wanted a boyfriend. Sure, she's made out with and done a little over-the-clothes touching with men before, but it has never crossed that line into sex or a real relationship.

A high-pitched squeal rips her from her thoughts to notice Rosemary running at her, full speed, with her arms out while Anna trails behind her, smiling. Her bottle blonde hair bounces effortlessly around her gorgeous face on the rush over, and Y/N is nearly tackled with the force of her embrace once Rosemary reaches her.

"I was gone for two weeks," she exclaims through a giggle, "not two years!"

Rosemary, most affectionately called "Rosie" by Y/N, pulls back and cups her face between her hands, plump lips pulling back to reveal her straight teeth in a wide grin that could warm the coldest people to the bone. The cool texture of the gold rings decorating her fingers is a stark contrast to the summer heat that chased them inside.

"And it was still too long! You know me, I'm a clinger. You can't leave me for that long."

Rosie stands at a height significantly shorter than most and stands up on her tip-toes to press a kiss to her cheek. It leaves behind a lipstick mark that she doesn't dare wipe away within her bubbly friend's line of sight. No one would ever dare to shun a lovely woman like Rosie's public display of affection, especially not her.

A long arm curls around the shorter woman's shoulders and tugs with a gentle force that brings Rosie's full cheek to Y/N's breast, and her willing captive makes no attempts to escape from the loving half-embrace.

She reassured her, a lump forming in the base of her throat, "I'll make sure my next vacation is just a week long."

This earns a hum of approval from Rosie, who slips out of her arm at the insistence of a pair of prying hands belonging to none other than Anna Romanus. And where Rosie and Ella come from new money of their parents' own hard work and making, Anna, much like Y/N, comes from a family whose fortune runs a century deep. But with Y/N's ancestors having founded an upscale department store chain, Anna's were oil tycoons, so her wealth is practically bottomless when compared to that of her friends. She fits the title "socialite" far more than the rest of them, and she knows it too.

She takes pride in her parents making lists in Forbes magazine and breaking barriers in businesses long owned and gate-kept by upper-class white men and, more recently in history, women.

Y/N's smile is radiant as she extends her arms to beckon her other friend into a hug, saying, "Come on, bring it in."

Ever the portrait of class and poise, Anna doesn't tackle her in an embrace as Rosie had, but she would not judge their friend for it. That is something she adores about her—her open, kind heart that doesn't pass judgment on others the way many others with her class and social status would. Her lips, coated in lip gloss rather than lipstick, kiss one cheek at a time as they wrap their arms around one another. A lingering sigh of her mother's French heritage, perhaps.

"I missed you so much," Anna pulls back to look her in the eyes as she says it.

"And I missed you. Remind me to call more the next time I leave the country."

This causes Anna, Ella, and Rosie's matching grins to widen, and the latter of the three takes her hands in her well-manicured one to drag her in the direction of their reserved table with their friends walking by their sides.

Rosie squeezes her hand and says, "I need to see pictures! I wanna help you plan your photo dump."

Her stomach drops into the pit of her abdomen.

Fuck. How had she not thought that out? Who goes on a vacation, even a solo one, and doesn't take a single picture of where they went? Her thoughts begin to race as she searches for something, anything, to say as an explanation for why she didn't take a million photographs as she always does no matter where she goes. They're going to know. They're going to put two and two together and figure out about her illness, about what happened two weeks ago when she—

"It was a spa retreat, actually," Ella swoops in to offer an explanation with unwavering confidence. "They take your phones and computers. It's supposed to connect you with nature and increase productivity or some shit like that."

The weight of the entire world is lifted off of her shoulders at this. Thank God for Ella. Who knows where she'd be without her quick wit and warm disposition? All she can do is nod along with a stupid smile on her face and pray that it's convincing enough to fool the people who know her best in this world. It feels slightly wrong, like not telling them about such an important event in her life is somehow a great betrayal they may never forgive her for should they discover it.

Once again, shame threatens to eat her alive.

"Come on," she says, jerking her head in the direction of the reserved table. "Let's go have fun, ladies."

That's all that needs to be said for Rosie to continue dragging her along, weaving in between the tables near the front of the small stage. The girls urge her to take the seat directly in front of where the men will dance once the lights dim down more and the show begins. Once they're seated, the three of them catch Y/N up on everything she missed on her "no technology allowed retreat", most of it consisting of petty family drama and someone who went to their private school that announced their pregnancy online. And, of course, she does her best to listen and nod along as though any of it matters to her, but she can't bring herself to truly care.

Before what happened, she loved going out and gossiping over drinks with her friends, but, now, she feels removed from it. Despite hearing and responding to everything being said, she could quite easily fade away from existence and disappear into the night without putting up much of a fight. But what else can she do except sit and allow it to occur? It's not like she can do anything to help it at this point. Her intake appointment for outpatient care is scheduled for two days from now, so she'll be at the mercy of her swaying moods until then.

She does pick up on the tail end of Rosie's story, though.

"...and I told him I didn't do that kind of thing. Like, I'm not a side piece, and if you're gonna disrespect me by assuming I'd be down with that, then fuck you," she says, shaking her head and raising her drink to take a sip. "Why the fuck would I take part in you cheating on your girlfriend? Who raised these men?"

Y/N offers a quiet, "That's fucked up," at the same time Ella says, "Not their dads," which makes Anna laugh so hard, she needs to stop drinking her Cosmopolitan.

"Oh, you're right. They were technically raised by mommy who thinks they're a perfect little angel who can do no wrong, but they're actually raised by the nanny who tries their best to teach him to be a good person, but all the money and privilege gets to his head and makes him think he can do whatever the fuck he wants—"

Rosie's rant on pampered, upper-class men is abruptly cut short by the music that turns louder from the DJ booth across the room. The lights dim so the only lighting is that of the fluorescent purple LEDs, and there's a chorus of high-pitched cheers from every table in the building, including the table they sit at. For the sake of entertaining it and pretending to be having a good time, Y/N cheers alongside them enough to convince them before settling back down into her seat and taking a swig of her virgin cocktail to soothe her as though it's an alcoholic one.

Another thing about the past month that has sucked: her sex drive is non-existent. Coming to a place like this or even watching pornography does nothing for her. Her mind is far too concerned with its various fixations and anxieties to allow her to feel something as trivial as lust right now, but, for tonight, she doesn't mind pretending for the sake of making Ella feel better about her current state of mind.

Behind the curtains hiding backstage from the patrons of the club, she sees the movement of multiple feet scuffling on the floor, then, a second later, a man comes through. For a split-second, the cheering and clapping from her friends almost makes her smile as he walks down the stage to where they're seated, but she can't. Her face goes still, frozen in time, when she sees him up close.

She'd remember that face anywhere.

The curve of his nose, his pink lips, and sea-foam irises that were burned into her memory when she first saw them two weeks ago. Not just his face either but the tattoos; patchwork style down the length of his bare arm, the arm that reached out and—

Those familiar eyes meet her gaze, and she can sense the recognition in them. Oh, God, he remembers. He remembers, and it's going to ruin the whole night if she doesn't

"Bathroom," she blurts out and stands from the table with a shy, placating smile to keep Ella from following her.

Somehow, she doesn't know why, it works. It works well enough that Ella gives her a single nod and allows her to turn on her heels to walk off toward the restrooms that, conveniently, are placed beside the front entrance to the club. She pretends to be the calm, confident woman she once was before her little death, meeting the eyes of everyone who looks her way, until she turns around the corner and allows herself to break down. The expression on her face falls the second she is out of view of her friends, and she doesn't bother to answer the bouncer who asks her what's wrong on her way out. At this point, everything else around her has collapsed and turned to debris that clutters her mind to an extent that prevents her from thinking clearly.

The fresh air hardly even helps because it's too hot. It's stifling. It wraps around her throat and puts pressure on her windpipe, sucking the air from her lungs until she's sobbing and heaving in front of the innocent passerby's that stare in horror at her freakish display. One hand braces against the brick wall, not even caring in the midst of her panic that it is very likely dirty, to keep herself from slumping over into it as her balance begins to waver.

Anxiety is as much a physical thing as it is an emotional one for her. Her chest muscles tighten up involuntarily and feign the feeling of not being able to breathe, her body flushes with heat, and her stomach churns with discomfort. It opens its bloody maw and tries to swallow her down, bones and all, but she has refused to let it. Other than the one time she tried to surrender to it, she has been steadfast in maintaining her resistance to it and will do anything to escape. She'll claw her way out until she has fangs and talons suitable enough for the job, and it won't destroy the feeling, but it surely will abate it.

She hasn't a clue how many minutes have passed by the time she begins to breathe deeply, purposefully making them last three seconds on each inhale, pause, and exhale as she'd been taught at the facility. Whether it has been ten minutes or ten hours, she isn't sure, but it had to have been some decent length of time because of whose hand reaches out to tap her shoulder.

Y/N whirls around, stumbling a little, and finds the man on stage looking at her through furrowed brows and concerned eyes. Fully clothed.

"I—"he falters on what to say at first, then offers, "M'sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, and I know I'm probably the last person you wanna see right now. I just wanted to know if you're okay. We have water inside. I can take you in through the back so your friends don't see if that's what you're worried about."

Her head is spinning. She doesn't even know what may come out of her mouth, but all she knows is that he's right.

He is the last person she wants to see right now. Every glance she makes at him brings memories rushing back; the sound of the train's whistle, the toes of her sneakers hanging off the edge of the platform, people too far away to stop her screaming in shock, and, at the last second, a pair of strong arms wrapping around her waist and hauling her to safety. The body to which those strong arms belonged was so warm against the frail frame of her body that often shivered from the extent of her malnourishment. And only once the train passed had he loosened his grip and allowed her to turn to see him, to take in the unforgettable face and tattoos that identified him tonight.

Right when most people would've screamed or swung at him for ruining everything, she just stared. She started with wide, watering eyes until her knees gave out beneath her and sent her body forward into his to seek shelter. His hand cradled the back of her head, rested on his shoulder, as she sobbed hard enough that both of their bodies shook from the sheer force of it. And he didn't only allow it to happen, he made an effort to soothe her. The hand holding her head to his chest stroked her hair as he murmured soft words she can no longer remember.

There's a lightning strike of anger within her sparked by the sight of his face, but her words don't match her feelings. The need for safety, for the same security she found in his arms two weeks ago, outweighs her will to be stubborn by far. Humans are programmed for self-preservation above all, so when she sees him standing there, she can't do anything but nod. He holds his hand out to her the second she does.

And she takes it.

-

The man who saved her life guided her around the back of the strip club with his hand in hers. Harry—he told her his name—asked before he took her hand, but the contact was still as jarring to her as it would've been had he not. The reason he was holding her hand, he explained, was to get her into the employee area without security stopping her, assuming she was following him inside. Which, he said matter of factly, had happened to workers here before.

At first, when she allowed him to lead her down the dark alley between the two buildings, she almost began to question her judgment based on her mom and dad's teachings for her to be vigilant and always prepared for men to take advantage of her, but, she figured, he saved her life. If he wanted her dead or worse, he probably would've done it already. It was proven by the time that he opened the back door to the club and held it open for her that he wasn't, in fact, an axe murderer.

Nobody stared, either. When he walked by hand in hand with her, none of the other men getting ready or resting between dances looked at her tear-stained face or make faces at the sound of her panting breaths. They simply kept doing what they were doing without paying them any mind, providing them with privacy as he led her to a more secluded part of the room.

It's an alcove with a comfortable lounging chair fitting perfectly into it, and she sighs in relief as she sinks onto the cushion, taking the bottle of cold water he procured from thin air in the short time it took her to sit down.

"Take small sips and keep breathing. The cold helps a lot, I've found," he says as he pulls a stool up in front of her chair and settles down onto it. Those unforgettable eyes remain fixed on her, watching the rise and fall of her chest even out. Watching her take a tentative sip from the chilled breath plastic bottle that soothes her nerves to hold, let alone drink from. "Good. Just like that."

She doesn't know if it's because of what happened the last time they were together or not, but the sound of his voice relaxes her tense body. It crawls along the muscles of her chest and wills them to stop contracting, and they do. They listen to his request, providing her with a sense of relief now that the worst of the panic has been overcome. Still, Y/N slips her bag off her shoulder and finds the pill she dropped inside, just in case, to take with the water given to her.

There's a beat of silence, then—

"Um. Y'can stay here as long as it takes to feel better. I have to get back out there in ten minutes, but I can leave you alone now if you'd like."

Despite how badly she wishes to respond with words that will chase him to the other side of the room, her mouth will not cooperate. She cannot bring herself to banish him when he's being so kind. Not to mention, even though her mind urges her to isolate, his presence alone is calming, so it couldn't hurt to keep him around for a little while.

"It's okay," she says, "You can stay. Thank you..."

From his perspective, she doesn't look much different than she had two weeks ago. Her hair frames her face with a beauty that verges on being otherworldly. A weeping angel, he thinks to himself before it can be helped. It's the same thought he had when she sobbed in his arms on the subway platform, wondering how the poor girl ended up in a situation like that. Right now, she hugs her knees to her chest like she had once hugged him, trembling like a leaf in the wind and using him as her lifeline. Her sole remaining connection to the universe she once thought had forsaken her.

The sound of her voice speaking again so soon stuns him to silence.

"I can't believe it's you." She looks at him without balking from his gaze this time, head tilted to the side a little, and he can feel himself surrendering to her in response to the commanding presence that emanates from her. What he doesn't know is that she too is shocked by her honesty. "I don't even know how to thank you for it. Sometimes, I don't even want to." Her head shakes at this as if the action will clear the negative thought she voiced. "Sorry, that was dark. You're not my therapist. You don't need to hear these things."

He's already shaking his head.

"No," Harry says, eyes softened with a sympathy she interprets as pity, "I mean, I almost saw you do it already. Hearing about it doesn't bother me." A pause. "And y'dont need to thank me."

To this, she scoffs.

"You literally saved my life, how could I not thank you for that?"

His response stuns her to silence this time.

"And y'said yourself that didn't want me to, so you don't have to thank me. I don't need you to. If you wanna hate me for it, that's fine too."

Y/N shrugs.

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I haven't really decided yet, but I guess I must wanna be here if I haven't done anything like that again," she says softly, then glances up from the floor to look at him.

"Good."

There's a strange, built-in sense of honesty and vulnerability already established between them due to the nature of how they met, and neither of them knows how to feel about it. There's a level of comfortability that shouldn't exist between total strangers, yet here they are, bonded together by the trauma she inflicted on the both of them, and he can't seem to blame her for any of it. Nor can she blame him for deciding to stop her from jumping. It's not something you blame or thank someone for, it's a moral responsibility.

The sounds of the other men talking around the corner bring her out of the haze the eye contact with Harry has put her under, and she realizes, after everything they've said to one another, that she never formally introduced herself to him.

Her arm extends to offer him her hand.

"Y/N L/N."

For the first time since they've met, his lips curl into a smile at her. His hand is warm in hers when he takes it in his larger one, fingers wrapping around the side of her palm to give it a shake.

"Harry Styles."

Their hands go up and down even as she tilts her head in curiosity. It hasn't even clicked with her that he's succeeded in distracting her from the overwhelming panic she initially felt when seeing his face. No, she's far too caught up in analyzing him to pick up on it.

"Interesting name," she says, then corrects the hypocrisy before he has the chance to do so himself. "Although, I don't know any other Y/N's. The same could be said about me."

Still shaking her hand, he says dryly, "We could start a club."

"We could, couldn't we?"

At last, their hands drop back to their laps, and they're stuck this way for another few seconds before snapping out of it again.

He stands from the stool and picks it up in one hand to move it to the side, out of the way of her path should she get up to leave in his absence. Her eyes track every movement. They pick up everything from the subtle flexing of his biceps when he moves the chair to the way he fiddles with his rings once his hands are free again. His foot taps to the beat of the song thumping in the front of the club too, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind before she can stop herself.

"Do I make you nervous, Harry?"

Based on the expression he makes alone, she guesses he didn't expect her to notice. Or, at least, he hadn't expected her to comment on it even if she had. His brows are raised enough to bring a crease to the middle of his forehead as he looks down at where she sits, perched on the chair with one leg now crossed over the other. That stare lingers a touch too long on her legs, but she pretends not to notice. That is something she will let him get away with. That is something she doesn't want to get into because she will lose the upper hand if she does.

He laughs nervously, shaking his head. A tendril of wavy brunette hair falls onto his forehead with the jerking movement.

"No, you don't."

A lie. They both know it. He knows she knows he knows it.

Y/N then stands from the chair, smiling at him, and squares her shoulders as if in preparation. Their height difference when she stands shifts the power dynamic that lived between them while he stood and she sat. He's one inch taller, so with her standing, neither of them truly has the advantage, and with how she's put him on the spot, he can't deny how intimidating she is. It's intriguing, to say the least.

"Well, good," she says. "Cause I need you to walk me back to my table and pretend to be into me so my friends don't suspect anything." In response his brows raising after he'd just relaxed his face, she explains in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Only one of them knows."

The bold request catches him off guard, so much so that he cannot do anything other than nod and lead the way to an entrance that isn't the one to the stage.

As they pass through the door, he takes her hand in his not only to guide her but to play into the facade she wants to put on for her friends. It causes her stomach to flutter with butterflies even though she knows it's all pretend. She's human, after all, and he's an amalgamation of every lovely trait and feature human beings can have. She knows, due to her celibate and secluded nature, that her friends will be too excited to see past their careful performance.

He feels her hand squeeze harder with every step they take toward her table and turns his head to say to her, "Relax. Just go with it."

And, somehow, that works.

The walk to where her friends sit is shorter than she expected, so when he steps her a few feet away, she's too overwhelmed to do anything but follow his lead.

Harry drops her hand to cup her flushed face in his, and her breath hitches in her throat at the cold feeling of his rings digging into her cheeks. Their faces are close enough that she can feel the heat of his exhales, their noses almost brushing as she instinctively leans into the warm, solid body in front of her, and he's kissing her before she can get a single thought in.

The music goes in time with the thunderous beat of her heart that is pushed into a swift pace the second their lips meet. His mouth tastes of mint, gin, and citrus, likely from the drink he was indulging in backstage before he left to check on her. Beyond the pleasant flavor coating his lips, as well as the tip of the tongue that pokes out to prod teasingly at her full bottom lip, it's one hell of a kiss. The only other time she's been kissed was with a boy from school, and she didn't quite like that, so Harry is the defacto winner without having to try.

Y/N chases his mouth without meaning to when he pulls away, and he is quick to offer another peck to her lips before pulling back from her entirely, holding her at a distance with a casual strength that pleases her more than she'd like to admit. Her eyes open to see his face a few inches from hers, and he smiles. It's a sensual smile. The kind she's never gotten from a man and taken pleasure in rather than resented until this very moment. Looking into his eyes, she doesn't even remember that her friends are sitting at the table nearby. Her blood echoes the feeling of the kiss with each pump of her heart that brings it flowing around her body. She feels it everywhere.

His thumb brushes over her lips in a calculated move that aims to show a certain degree of intimacy to their audience, and he says, "I'll see you Wednesday."

She nods along like the dumb, hopeless fool she is and tries not to regret asking him to do this for her. It seemed a great idea backstage, but with a kiss like that and a face like his, her friends will never stop hounding her about the handsome stripper who broke through her previously impenetrable heart in less than fifteen minutes.

Blind to the three women gawking at them behind her back, she waves him goodbye and says, oblivious to the fact that she has now lost the upper hand, "See you Wednesday."

-

"Tell me!"

Y/N groaned at the sound of Rosie's voice, begging her for what must've been the thousandth time, to relay every detail of what happened between her and Harry.

Shortly after she sat down, they all pounced on her and asked millions of questions that she said they could talk about later. Well, later arrived and she still didn't know what to say. How would she explain to them how she went to the "bathroom" and ended up going backstage with him somehow? The story made no sense as she thought it over, but they bought it nonetheless. She forced herself to wield the confidence she felt in every other aspect of her life to spin a lie that wouldn't unravel under the slightest bit of pressure.

"I was coming out of the bathroom and almost got run over by him," she said. "He helped me up and let me sit backstage for a few minutes 'cause he felt so bad about it."

Anna leaned forward with her pillow clutched to her chest, anticipating some great rom-com moment. And she gave her one.

"We hit it off, and he asked me out on Wednesday." It's said that lies are most believable when there's a hint of truth to them, so she tested that theory out. "I definitely didn't see that kiss coming but I'm not complaining about it."

The thing is, she hadn't expected the kiss at all, nor was she feeling the urge to complain about it.

But one thing was clear to her as she tried to fall asleep beside her friends in Ella's bed: she needed to keep up the facade she created with Harry to have a cover for why she isn't working or skating full time, yet has a busy schedule every week. The intensive outpatient program she had her virtual appointment with this morning is going to be three days a week from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, so she needs an excuse, and a new boy toy is the perfect one to distract them.

With her therapy program beginning soon, she needed to get to work at securing her alibi quickly. It needed to be believable, so she made a list of things that needed to be done in her head, and the first thing on that list was to find Harry again.

After leaving Ella's place, she took an Uber and arrived at the front entrance to the strip club. Not wanting to be caught she walked around through the small alleyway between buildings and found the back door he escorted her in through the other night, and, now, she's summoning the nerve to knock.

The wind blows her hair gently from her shoulders, a cool kiss brushing against her skin to combat the summer heat that closes in on her. It provides the push she needs to raise her clenched fist and pound on the metal door hard enough to alert anyone inside of her presence. Her hand keeps banging on it for another twenty seconds before it swings open into the hallway to reveal a tall, muscular man with a scowl worn on his face.

His arm props the heavy door open as he asks, "Who are you?"

She smiles.

"Y/N. I'm just here to talk to Harry. We have a date that I need to reschedule."

The door slams in her face.

Her feet automatically shuffle back a few steps at the sound of it hitting the door frame. It's a booming sound that seems to echo despite the fact that she's presently outside, camped out waiting for a man she hardly knows in the alley behind his place of work. And though she has no right to feel such a way, disappointment floods her at the rejection. Why was she being so stupid? Of course, none of them would let her in. It's not as if they know her, and even if they do recognize her face from last night, they don't know whether Harry wants to see her again or not.

The sun beats down on her from overhead, and, while she turns to walk away, she pulls her hair away from where it crowds her face and ties it up with the scrunchie on her wrist. Much better. At least it won't stick to the back of her neck with sweat like this.

She makes it all of five steps before the sound of the heavy door opening halts her in her tracks, and when she hears his voice coming from behind her back, her lips twitch into a slight smile.

"Don said y'were asking for me?"

When she turns to look at him, she is struck by memories from that day on the train platform. His arms around her, his body pressed to hers, the sound of him yelling at her to stop before he intervened—she shakes her head as if it'll help dispel the sinking feeling that comes along with her recollection of that day. Instead of making this internal distress apparent to him, she plasters a polite smile on her face and walks back to the opened door he holds open with one tattooed arm.

She steps up as close as she can without invading his personal space, head nodding in confirmation of what he was told by his friend/coworker/whatever. Stray strands of hair dangle down to frame her face. In the sunlight, he notices how her hair seems to glow.

Her hand holds tighter onto the strap of her purse for support as if it'll do anything to aid her in navigating this odd situation.

"Yeah, I was. I wanted to talk to you about something..."

Harry's brows furrow just enough to form a crease in his forehead between them.

It takes a lot longer than she expected to work up the courage to purpose her plan to him. Not only is it an audacious idea, but he also intimidates her a little bit now. She'd never tell him that or allow him to pick up on it, but there's no denying that the man who saw her at her lowest point and deemed her worth saving is someone she wants to like her. How could she not? Even if he hadn't been the one to save her, she imagines he'd be overwhelming all the same. It's something about him—the persistent eye contact, the easy-going flow of his voice from one word to the next, or the type of work he does. It requires a confidence and thick skin very few people have.

She avoids his gaze for a second by looking down the alleyway, then to her feet, then back up at his face. Rip the bandaid off, she thinks. That's the only way to have these potentially awkward, embarrassing conversations. When she locks eyes with him again, she forces herself not to look away again.

"I wanted to thank you, actually," she says. "You really helped me last night, and I couldn't have made it believable without you. My friends won't shut up about it, so good job."

The confusion on his face regarding what she came here to discuss melts away at her appreciative words, but when he opens his mouth to tell her there is no need to thank him, she strikes again and sends him reeling.

"That's why I came here to ask you to come out with us on Thursday night. As my date."

Immediately, his head begins to shake as he tries to comprehend what's happening. He steps out into the alley completely, leaving the door to slam into its frame and offer them privacy from his coworkers listening inside. The metal is scorching hot against his back. Enough so that he can feel his skin tingle from the burning sensation before he steps away from it.

"Listen," he starts, eyes softened in a way they only are when delivering bad news. "It's not that y'aren't gorgeous, and cool from what I've seen of you, but I didn't mean the date thing literally. I have someone." Upon seeing her raised brows, assuming he cheated when he kissed her, he corrects the miscommunication. "Well, no, not someone someone. Just someone I like, and it's complicated, so, no I can't."

At first, she simply stares at him.

Here he is rambling and being apologetic while trying to let her down easily, and she stares as though she can see right through his body. What's going through her mind should be evident to him based on her face alone, but he's too wrapped up in his thoughts about Lola now that she's been mentioned to notice. Ever since he can remember from the time he met her to now, Harry has pined for her. It never mattered that she was always in another relationship with a guy completely different from him. No, all that mattered was that he loved her, and, sometimes, in the rare instances when she was single, she would do or say something that'd give him hope that she'd reciprocate that love.

Almost every girlfriend he had became jealous of her, not because he did anything to betray them, but because of how he looked at her whenever they were in the same room. And, just like clockwork, they would break up with him and cite their reason as his obvious infatuation with his friend. It was that infuriating type of repressed feeling that was strong enough for his girlfriends to sense it but not to outright accuse him of any wrongdoing. So, he hasn't had a girlfriend in months because of this. Every woman who has tried has failed to rip his attention away from her, and he has begun to suspect that he'll never feel this way about anyone but her.

Breaking him out of his daze, Y/N scoffs and makes a strange expression at his attempted rejection.

Her arms cross over her chest, head tilting to the side, and she asks, incredulous, "You think I wanna date you? I hardly even know you."

All of it—his thoughts of Lola, the memories of the day he saved Y/N, and the awkwardness felt in the wake of having to reject a beautiful woman for no reason other than his stupid, persistent crush on his friend—stops. He can't help but offer her the same strange, confused expression she gave him now that he's had a few seconds to process what she said. Harry is silent, looking at her like he'll be magically granted the ability to read her thoughts if he does it long enough, then speaks.

"Y'just asked me out..."

To this, she just shakes her head.

"No, I didn't ask you out for real," she says, almost sounding offended that he'd think she's desperate enough to track him down and beg him to give her a chance. "I don't date. It makes things too messy."

"Messy?"

"Yes, messy. Someone always loves the other person more, and it creates this weird power dynamic thing that keeps the other person trapped. Not to mention, all relationships end. Who would willingly put themselves through that just for the person to leave them in the end?"

He cannot keep himself from showing how appalled he is by her take on love and relationships. Being a romantic at heart who has believed he is destined for the one woman he's never been able to stop thinking about, he refuses to allow this to pass without debate. He simply shakes his head at her the way she had at him and leans back against the brick building, careful to avoid the metal door.

"That's bullshit," he counters. "All love ends 'cause we end. Some people stay together until they die. And, even if they don't, that doesn't mean the whole thing is pointless. It's better to have felt it at all."

She lets her head fall to avoid his gaze, and when she lifts it again, there's an amused smile spread across her face. It enrages him. To have his thoughts on love treated like they're childish or naive, like she somehow knows better than him despite never opening her heart to the experience. Those arms crossed over her breasts, clad in a thin, cropped shirt for the sake of keeping cool in the heat. Her hands smooth down the shorts she wears the second they leave her chest.

"Well, okay, we can just disagree, but let's get back to the point. I don't wanna date you because I don't date and you don't wanna date me because you have feelings for someone else. That's great!"

He stares at her with an utter loss for words.

"M'so confused..."

Her head tips back with a frustrated groan, and she steps up close to him in order to grab him by the shoulders to force him to keep his eyes on her.

"I want you to pretend to be with me."

Before he can open his mouth to ask why, she begins speaking again.

"Only one of my friends knows what happened to me this summer," Y/N, her voice quieting when she speaks of the incident that caused their paths to cross. "None of them but her know, and now I have to attend this therapy thing three days a week when I'm not busy training, so I need an alibi. Last night, you kissing me stopped all their questions about where I've been lately, so we should keep up the act."

Part of him wants to retort something snarky at her for just assuming he'll be willing to drop everything to be her fake boyfriend whenever she goes out with her friends or goes to therapy, but the kinder side of him hesitates. This woman is the same person he held on the train platform, who refused to let go of him when the paramedics arrived to the point where he had to tag along in the ambulance upon their request to keep their patient as calm as possible. In the end, the petty urge to talk back wins.

"That arrangement sounds perfect for you, but what do I get out of this? Some of us have to work for a living, and I have actual important things to do other than being at your beck and call. Just 'caused we kissed doesn't mean y'have to get attached. Find someone else."

His harsh words strike her where it hurts, but, more importantly, at the current moment, they set her blood on fire with fury. How dare he insinuate that she has grown attached to him, like she's a pathetic little girl with a crush, from what happened last night? The ego of this man needs to be studied by psychologists and neuroscientists.

She drops her hands from his shoulders and takes a few steps back to create a comfortable distance between them.

"First of all, I'm not attached to you. I know you're a romantic, but one kiss didn't make me fall in love with you. Secondly, I wasn't going to offer you nothing in return." Her eyes flicker back and forth between the entrance to the alleyway and him as though she is plotting her escape already. "If you have to work every day, I can pay your bills in exchange for your time. I have money, I won't pretend that isn't true, so I can cover your expenses while we keep up the ruse, okay? It's an economic proposition, not a relationship."

Right when she expects him to calm down, he surges ahead at full throttle, looking like he's ready to punch a wall if he were the type of man to do that. His cheeks are flushed with color as he shakes his head and turns to knock on the back door to be let in again. Before any of his coworkers can answer, he meets her gaze and speaks the words that damn her to find another excuse, another lie to push onto her friends to prevent them from knowing the truth of what happened this summer.

"I'm not a product. You can't buy me, Y/N, and I'm honestly offended that y'think you can." The door swings open behind him, and he walks through, only stopping to say over his shoulder, "Don't come back."

-

The brutal rejection she faced when trying to enact her fake boyfriend plan with Harry left her in a sour mood all night. No matter how many times Ella tried to cheer her up, she wouldn't budge. It took her best friend putting on her favorite movie, bribing her with snacks, and offering to let her rant about it to bring her down a few notches. Eventually, after talking it out and spending the night laughing alongside her best friend, what Harry said to her held little power over her mood. Her friend had been quick to say that he had a point, which he did, that she wouldn't deny, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

This morning, however, she didn't think of him much at all.

Executing her typical morning routine before a day of practicing on the ice helped soothe her nerves, making her return to it feel less like an event. It didn't feel the same as it used to, however, and, as she made herself protein pancakes for breakfast and listened to Ella rambling about her latest workplace drama, she began to fear that it never would.

This strange headspace she was pushed into by what she witnessed in early June feels permanent. It feels like her life could be divided into two distinct categories—before and after. It has been difficult as of late to grapple with the knowledge that nothing may be the same again. Grieving for an old version of yourself is nasty work, and it's lonely as well. Sometimes, she feels like she's standing alone on the edge of the universe, teetering there to see how far she can push it before she goes over.

The rink's low temperature soothes her now as she bends over to lace up her skates. Her throat can't help but tighten up at the familiar feeling, and she feels like an imposter as she goes through the motions of what her life used to be. Coach Godnev is already on the ice waiting for her with Chris standing with his back to Y/N, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, likely regaling the two-week break they've been forced to take due to her hospitalization.

She stands up and enters the rink through the propped-open door.

It feels strange. That's a fact she cannot deny as she floats across the ice in the direction of Godnev and Chris as though she never left in the first place. Outwardly, no one would ever think she took time off, but, on the inside, she could never let herself forget it. That voice in the back of her head, the one that is always nagging and scolding over the smallest things, whispers to her that she isn't worth it. That if she's not better now, she never will be. But, she tries to ignore that voice. It's a little bit easier knowing that she has hours of focused exercise to do as well as people to talk to. Where most people pry and ask questions, Godnev allows her space to breathe.

Being a stoic, strict ex-figure skater from the era of the Soviet Union, she tends to keep personal questions and details of their lives out of things. She focuses with tunnel vision on the work, on the artistry, and Y/N has never been more thankful for that than right now. The only time she ever showed emotion toward her was when she was sick during a competition as a child, sniffling and suppressing coughs every other moment. When asked if she was okay, Y/N nodded and refused to let the illness get her down, and she could tell how proud her coach was of her resilience.

That is why Y/N doesn't worry about what the older woman may ask. While her parents, therapists, and Ella may treat her like a delicate glass vase that will break under the slightest pressure, Talia Godnev has unwavering faith in her ability to overcome whatever obstacle is thrown her way. And that feels good. It feels nice to know that someone in this world has faith in her. God knows she doesn't.

"Sorry," she says, projecting her voice at where her two collaborators stand without her. The cool air blows against her face, yet it doesn't disrupt the hair she meticulously styled into a bun with gel and pins. The last thing she needs is to have her hair come out when she's doing jumps. "I didn't mean to be late. I missed the subway and had to wait like ten minutes."

Coach is the first to greet her. The smile on her face is wide enough to create wrinkles around the edges of her eyes, and she opens her arms in an invitation to hug her—a rare display of affection on her part—so Y/N wastes no time skating into her embrace. Thin but toned arms curl around her shoulders, squeezing tight for a good five seconds before releasing as a silent way of telling her to pull away.

"I'm so glad you're back," Godnev says.

They both pull back from each other enough to maintain their typical areas of personal space, and it isn't until she detached herself from her that she realizes she skated right past Chris without greeting him.

"Oh shit, Chris, I'm so sorry," she says, turning around, "I blew right past you—"

Her heart drops into her stomach at the sight of the man standing before her.

"Oh."

The word leaves her before she can stop it. Her body freezes, her chest tightening involuntarily in panic and her shoulders tensing up.

The first thought she has is that this shouldn't be happening.

It feels inherently wrong, like whoever controls her universe has played a sick joke on her by taking a person from one, separate area of her life and dropping him off into another. Why would she have expected to see Harry here instead of Chris? Chris has been her partner for years. They were paired when she was eighteen, so why would someone else be here in his place? And, more importantly, why would the man who stopped her from jumping in front of a train be his replacement?

Despite this internal debate waging war within her, she is stunned to silence and cannot do anything but stare at him in awe. At least, she thinks with some semblance of relief, he looks equally as shocked as she is.

Godnev, likely sensing the energy shift but not wanting to acknowledge it, puts a hand on the small of her back to comfort her, rubbing up and down like her mother once did to her as a child when she became nervous about competing in front of people. It's the type of thing only she could get away with doing to Y/N. Not because she holds any special power over her but because she has always been a secondary mother figure to her since they first began working together.

While she and Harry stare at one another in abject horror, Godnev decides to explain what everyone other than Y/N must already be aware of.

"I wanted to tell you before today, but Chris thought it would be best to let you settle in once you got home..."

Y/N's arms, raised with goosebumps both from the chill and situation at hand beneath the sleeves of her Lululemon jacket, cross over her chest. It takes less than two seconds for her to look back and forth between the two people in betrayal. Because, to her, it is betrayal. Even though her coach couldn't possibly have brought Harry here on purpose, the reminder of what happened to her, what she's always trying to flee from, hits her like a punch to the gut.

"What is this?"

There's a certain look in Harry's eyes when their gazes meet, almost as though he's trying to communicate with her through it somehow, but she is quick to look away.

She asks again, this time more demanding, "What the hell is this? Where's Chris?"

The mere mentioning of his name seems to rattle Godnev, and she has to take a breath to steady herself before answering either of her questions. That's the odd thing about having a breakdown and going into inpatient psychiatric care. To her, the world stopped spinning. Everything became confined to the limited space she was allowed to traverse in the hospital, and, without her phone, she had no connection to the outside world. But the world didn't stop spinning for everyone. Just her.

Those deep brown eyes soften at the mixture of emotions smeared across Y/N's face, and she says, gently, "Chris is back with his family in Norway. His mother is sick, and he said he didn't want to waste his time here...he wanted to be the one to take care of her."

They both pause to carefully monitor her face for a reaction.

"So what does that have to do with him?" she asks. The news about Chris saddens her beyond belief, but it's impossible to ingest the information without questioning Harry's presence. Deep down, a part of her recognizes where this is headed, but she doesn't want to believe it. Not truly. "I"—she shakes her head—"And, I mean, how am I gonna compete without a partner?"

The looks Godnev and Harry respectively give her confirm the suspicion that was lying in wait in the back of her mind like an asp readying to strike.

No.

"Harry's partner quit a few weeks ago for personal reasons, similarly to Chris, so when his coach reached out to me for advice, I offered to make him your new partner," she says. A second later she goes on, "He's very good. You know that I wouldn't waste your talent on someone who isn't."

"We have to compete in a month to qualify for nationals...I'm sorry, but this is crazy. After all these years, all this work and trust built with Chris, how am I supposed to just let it go?"

And although Chris would have quit anyway to care for his mother, she blames herself. If she hadn't taken time off to recuperate from what happened to her, from what she saw June 1st that sent her down this road, perhaps none of this would've happened. No amount of logic can stop her from blaming the chaos of last month for this as well as everything else that has gone wrong since then.

"I know it's a big adjustment, but I've already begun training with him. You two just need to practice and work through the routine." Before she has the opportunity to interject, Godnev pushes further. "Now, let's go. We have a lot of work to do."

-

Having to pretend that she's never met Harry before today's practice has been unbelievably difficult. It's not like their coach would pry, but she'd likely make a comment on it if they seemed familiar with one another already, so they came to a wordless agreement to pretend they'd never met when formally introduced to one another. They shook hands and exchanged polite smiles like they hadn't kissed days before. And now that they're working together, they haven't said a word to one another. Not with Godnev lingering within earshot.

Thankfully for Y/N, their coach had been training with Harry for a few weeks, and he already knew the basic choreography of the free dance she practiced with Chris all year. So, they ran through the program countless times, excluding the lifts, to get a rough idea of what skating together would be like. The song she chose for it, (I've Had) The Time Of My Life by Bill Medley, has been played enough times with the paired movements of the dance that it didn't take long for her body to snap back into it, give or take a few mistakes.

It's a passionate dance. A romance based on one of her favorite movies.

Due to the nature of being someone's partner, she and Chris spent all of their time together, and even though he hated Dirty Dancing, he gladly let her make it the inspiration for their free dance for the sake of seeing her excitement. With him, the dance was fun and carefree. Although they didn't have feelings for one another, they were able to lose themselves in the routine and feign undying love for the duration of it.

Oftentimes, they'd have a difficult time not smiling ear to ear at one another and giggling throughout the whole thing, especially the part at the end where they end with their lips a hairs-width apart to symbolize that happy ending of the lovers they portrayed. The thought of them kissing had been hysterical, and it took Godnev scolding them countless times for them to take it seriously.

With Harry, it couldn't be more different.

For one, they hardly know each other and have never skated together, so the first few times they ran through the routine were fumbling and awkward in a way she hasn't been since she was a teenager. Then, of course, there's the history between them. Having to pretend to fall in love with the man who fought with her in the alley behind a strip club the day before is an impossible feat.

No amount of pretending can hide that they are uncomfortable touching each other and almost kissing at the end of the program, but they try because they have no other option. Both of their partners quit on them around the same time. The fact that their coaches managed to pair two people of equal training and talent was a miracle in and of itself. Neither of them wants to be the first to complain about what would otherwise be a gift from the universe if it weren't them specifically.

In the middle of the song, Godnev pauses the music, and they're both sent reeling, trying to stop turning for long enough to look to the older woman for guidance as to what went wrong. When Y/N meets eyes with her, she already knows what she is going to say.

"You will have to get more comfortable together." She shakes her head. "Take a five-minute break. You dance with her like you're dancing with your grandmother."

That's all she leaves them with before she spins around and skates toward the propped-open door to the rink, disappearing somewhere to get a quick drink of water or snack before the break is done. With her gone, neither of them says a word.

It's funny. The entire time they practiced up until now, she wished their coach would leave for a moment to allow her to say everything she's imagined since yesterday, but now that they're alone, they're terrified to break the silence. They feel that if they do, they'll be forced to confront reality and accept that this is real. That their lives will be intrinsically entwined as a result of this partnership from here going forward.

In the end, it's he who ends up speaking first.

"I didn't know it was you," he says after a moment.

It almost sounds like he's going to continue after that by the deep breath he takes at the end, but he doesn't. Instead, she is left to find the words on her own and find a way to make this the slightest bit professional despite, well, everything. When it comes out, it ends up sounding the polar opposite.

"Neither did I. I mean, I thought you were a stripper who moonlights as an undercover suicide prevention worker," she says with a shrug, "so I never expected to see you here."

To her surprise, despite the bad start they got off on yesterday with her offering to pay him to be her fake boyfriend, he laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. It's a sound that makes her lips twitch up with the urge to smile, which is far too rare for her as of late.

He stands a foot away, his hand on his hip, and doesn't balk from her stare as he ceases his laughter to continue speaking.

"I strip to pay rent and for this." A knowing look is cast in her direction before he turns to the direction of the door Godnev left out of. "It's an expensive sport, and not all of us are living off daddy's money."

She scoffs.

Soon, she's approaching him from behind and following him off the ice to where his water bottle is stashed alongside his tote bag, watching as he takes a sip. From his peripheral vision, he can see her sizing him up like prey, and he wonders briefly if anyone has ever spoken to her like this before. It wouldn't surprise him if they hadn't. A beautiful, rich ice dancer. Not many people would want to get on her bad side if they could help it. With people of her social and financial status, he has noticed that most people who leech off of them never say the word no.

The instant he swallows the mouthful of water, she's retorting, "Okay, first of all, the wealth is from my mother's side of the family, you sexist prick"—he laughs at this too, knowing that she is only joking to get back at him—"Second of all, I'm not ashamed of being privileged in terms of wealth. We donate every year to charities, and I'm not the kind of trust fund kid who pretends they came up the hard way."

Harry flicks a bit of water at her much like a little boy teasing girls on the playground, tilting his head in analysis of her as she leans back against the boards.

"And by we, you mean your parents, who get a nice tax write-off for all of their philanthropy, right?"

"Oh, at least play fair," she hits back in the same, childlike way he had. "So giving back to my community doesn't count cause I get tax write-offs?" Her brows raise at him in question. "I volunteer at a shelter for LGBT kids who are on the street because of their shitty ass parents. All of the prize money I get when I win goes to them, so get off your fucking soapbox and give me a break."

There's a stretch of heavy silence, then—

"You're right, I don't know you," he says softly, then meets her gaze again, "M'sorry."

This makes her pause for a second. It makes her mindful of what happened yesterday now that she has time to reflect...

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

She hadn't expected him to concede. Most men she's met and argued with, albeit playfully, refuse to back down no matter how backed into a corner they are. They are correct no matter what. Even Chris was like that sometimes, but, she must admit, there's something admirable about someone who will admit when they're wrong. It's a behavior she could practice more than she currently does lest her pride not get in the way.

"For trying to pay you to be my fake boyfriend. You were right. I didn't think about how insulting that must come across since I met you at your club," she says, then tries not to shudder at how she misspoke. Technically, she didn't meet him at the club, and they both know that, but he'll never correct her for avoiding such a painful memory. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just desperate."

The entire room is quiet save for their conversation. With Godnev off doing God knows what, there's no one here at the private rink to eavesdrop on their conversation. It suddenly hits her as she looks at him, struck by how he smiles with his two front bunny teeth, that being alone with him doesn't make her nervous like it does with other guys. Every guy she's met on Hinge, or who has hit on her on a night out, has made her viscerally uncomfortable, but he doesn't. It could have something to do with how they broke the ice the first time they met. Or it could be him. Maybe he's the type of person who sets others at ease without ever trying to.

It's easy to tell that he's about to say something in response, but the sound of their coach coming back into the room silences him. It causes his mouth to open and close like a fish, then open again to say to her at a low volume, "I'll do it."

This time, it's her turn to act confused.

"Do what?"

He watches for Godnev out of the corner of his eye to make sure she isn't watching, then leans against the boards beside her to allow them to talk in secrecy. They don't have much time before they're back on the ice, so he doesn't waste it.

"Date you," Harry says, and she thinks he's fighting back another smile when her eyes widen. "Your friends will know I'm your partner soon anyway." He shrugs. "Might as well."

It takes him and Godnev calling out her name to get her back on the ice and out of her trance after he leaves her there, speechless, on the side of the rink.

-

Balancing hours of therapy with hours of practice with Harry has been a challenge, not only because of the physical exhaustion she feels when she comes home and falls into bed beside Ella every night but because of the emotional exhaustion too. Every time she leaves the building where she spends most of her day listening to clinicians teaching skills and trying to work up the courage to talk about what happened to her in process groups to no avail, she feels as though she just ran a half marathon. But she can never rest. No, instead, she has to spend the rest of her day with Harry on the ice, pick up dinner on the way home, and try not to wake Ella when she enters the apartment.

Her leg bounces up and down incessantly as she waits for her clinician to come back from the bathroom for their one-on-one session while the rest of the patients are in an art group.

She busies herself by inspecting the small office. Framed photos line the walls, and on top of the desk are a multitude of fidget toys and plastic eggs of kinetic sand for patients to borrow. By the time the clinician, Tara, comes back to the room, Y/N is already paying with a pocket-sized container of putty.

"Sorry about that," Tara says with a smile, "I just wanted to make sure I didn't have to get up in the middle of the session."

Her high-pitched, lilting voice with a concerning about of vocal fry helps to soothe her nerves, coaxing her bouncing left leg into a slower pace as she watches her take a seat in the rolling chair. Blonde hair, highlights, perhaps, falls to the curves of her waist. It's the first time she's seen her with her hair down rather than the usual bun. Considering the brutal summer heat and humidity, it's not like Y/N can blame her for not wanting a blanket of hair running down her back.

"It's fine."

Tara's long nails tap away at the keyboard of the desktop computer, quickly documenting that they are meeting like they're supposed to.

"So, I know we've talked a bit, but I'm just gonna ask how your first week home has been so far?"

Those soft blue eyes never stray from her face now that their full attention is on each other. Eye contact like this would typically freak her out, but not this time. Not with her. They have talked once or twice, that's true, but they have yet to sit down and work through everything that haunts her. Until now.

Y/N shifts in her seat, crossing her legs to get as comfortable as possible while trying to do the unthinkable—open up to someone. It isn't by coincidence that Ella is the only one she told about this, or that she has never been able to have a romantic relationship. Every time someone she likes too much gets too close, her mind defaults to panic. The idea of someone knowing her, truly knowing her, the way she knows herself, is her biggest fear. It's so primal, rooted deeply in her system, that the urge to isolate herself and ghost anyone new who tries to care for her is something she acts on unconsciously.

But, with Tara, she has no other choice but to sit with that visceral discomfort rather than flee. If she ever ghosts her and skips program, they'll do a wellness check on her and send the police to her apartment, which is the very last thing she wants.

Not having a choice, Y/N says, "It's been a lot. I can't stand being in my apartment because all I feel when I'm in there is fear. You know, that was my prison. That was where my body shut down, and I stopped eating and sleeping."

The whole time she speaks, Tara nods along, only looking away to jot down a note. Her white and gold pencil gleams in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window as it glides across the blank page. Once the note is taken, she allows it to slip out of her hand and onto the notebook, rolling until it becomes wedged in the divot between pages.

"Do you think it would help to go in there with someone you trust and try to tolerate the fear?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe. I don't know. I went back once to get my stuff and have been staying at my friend Ella's place."

"And is Ella a big part of your support system?"

"Oh, a huge part. She's the only one other than Harry who knows."

Tara's head tilts in curiosity at the mention of Harry, someone she nor any of the other clinicians heard her mention in the few groups she speaks in. Obviously, if he's one of the only people who knows about her breakdown, he must be someone of significance, and that isn't wrong. Although they hardly know each other, he may be the most important person in her life. She wouldn't be here without him, and whether she loves or hates him for it, she doesn't know.

"Who's Harry?"

A heavy sigh escapes her in the wake of that question. In preparation for what she's about to tell her, Y/N focuses on the putty being kneaded in her hands to avoid eye contact. She fears that if she looks at her when she says it, the words may evade her.

"He's the one who stopped me from jumping," she says, then shakes her head through a nervous laugh. "And now that my ice dance partner quit, he's my new partner. Isn't that so fucked up? Like, if there's a God, I wanna bare-knuckle box that fucker for doing this to me!"

For the sake of making her feel at ease, Tara chuckles softly at that last comment, and she's thankful for it. It's precisely what she needed to avoid allowing the discomfort to consume her. No more being treated like she's made of glass. Like she's broken. That's the best part of being here, she thinks. The staff and patients have all heard and lived through hellish things, so nothing can surprise them anymore.

Her leg begins to bounce at the same speed and intensity it had before. It's all she can do to release the anxiety bubbling up within as she is brought closer and closer to revealing the parts of herself she can't even share with Ella.

"Do you mind if I ask what triggered this whole situation to begin with?" Tara asks with the pencil back in hand. "It's okay if you aren't ready to, though. We can do it next time."

The following silence seems to echo in her head.

June 1st. The second-worst day in her twenty-four-year existence.

As a melodramatic teenager, she couldn't imagine anything being worse than the day she and her high school best friend ended their years-long friendship. At the time, that felt like the greatest tragedy she would experience, but, now, she would relive that day twenty times over rather than relive a single day of June. The most persistent obsessive thought she has relates to that. It wouldn't matter what the circumstances were. If she had to endure it again, she would make sure there would be no one to stop her from jumping from the train platform this time. And that terrifies her. The power these memories hold over her is immeasurable.

​​Y/N's head drops to let her stare at her lap as she tries to work up the nerve to say it out loud for the first time since being discharged from the hospital. The faint sound of screams, buried deep into the recesses of her mind, resurfaces more quickly than she is comfortable with. She had never seen a panic like she had that day in the bodega when she stopped in to purchase a bottle of water and found herself saddled with a lifetime of trauma.

"I was walking to catch the subway to the rink where I train, and it was hot, so I wanted a water bottle," she explains. At first, it sounds steady. Strong. Then, her voice can't help but soften once she gets to the hard part. "Someone was arguing with the clerk, but I didn't think anything of it. None of us in there knew what was gonna happen until it did, and, unfortunately, I turned around just in time to see him pull his gun." Her eyes glaze over with the imminent threat of tears. "He killed him. Shot him in the head two times, and I hid behind one of the fridges before he could see me. But, he didn't want any of the customers. He just shot the guy a few more times to make sure he was dead, took the money, and ran out."

The expression on Tara's face, torn between shock and secondhand heartache, tells her that she hadn't expected that to be the story told today. People's minds and bodies can shut down like hers had for many reasons, whether they appear big or small, but this was serious. This was something that she'll never be able to forget witnessing, and they both know that. Their only hope is that maybe, once time has passed, it'll be easier for her to live with. It already is to an extent. Now that she has been put on medication and attends therapy for the illness she ignored her whole life, she can eat and sleep again. Not exactly as she had before but close.

She sniffles and wipes her nose on her hand to avoid having anything drip out of it in the presence of another person. Most of her crying over this has been violent in its vehemence. Snot-oozing, head-pounding, full-body sobs that left her shaking where she lay with her legs curled up to her chest.

"At first, I thought I was okay, and I was for the first night. I went to practice after that, but I don't even remember being there. It was the next day that it all started. I wasn't able to leave the house, and I became so anxious, so obsessed with the idea that I wasn't safe, that I stopped eating. I went to the ER because I thought there was something wrong with me." She takes a deep breath, trying not to let her bottom lip quiver as much as it wants to when pausing between words. "I suffered in that room, starving so much that it hurt, for two days." A tear slides down her cheek, and she has to wipe it away with her fingertips. "The people treating me told me there was nothing physically wrong with me. They told me it was psychosomatic and sent me home."

It's a period of time she couldn't forget if she tried, and she did try. She tried so hard, but whenever she lay in her bed or tried to eat something, anything, her mind took her back to those two days. It was the reason why she stopped sleeping. Whenever she would jolt awake to the darkness of her bedroom, she wasn't awake enough to know where or when she was.

"For the next two weeks, which felt like a month, I had to force myself to learn to eat again, and, at first, I was sleeping. But it was because my friend let me have some of her Xanax to take to help me at night. What I didn't realize was that my body would get used to taking it, and once it did, I couldn't relax. I couldn't let my guard down long enough to fall asleep," she says. "So, I started doing things, I guess compulsions, not knowing why I was doing them."

This time, Tara nods and writes something down on the page of the notebook with her lip bitten between her teeth in thought.

"What were your compulsions?"

Her mind flashes in a supercut of memories from June—her hands wiping down the kitchen counters, bottles of nail polish on her kitchen counter, and the sight of her hollow face staring back at her in the mirror every day. She's almost too ashamed to tell her, to go into what she was doing and why she thought it may help, but that's why she's here. The whole reason for being here is to work through it, so she does.

"Um." Her voice wavers. "Well, I started to clean my kitchen from top to bottom every morning. I didn't have a specific reason, but I think it was because I needed something to do to pass the time since I was too weak to skate." The eye contact she makes with the floor has yet to break, and she tries not to focus on Tara's purposefully subdued reactions in her peripheral vision.

Pretending like she isn't there, like she's telling this story to the empty room, makes it bearable. "When I was little, my mom used to put my hair in two braids on each side of my head when I was sick. It was just a simple style to keep it out of my face when I blew my nose and coughed, but she always did it. So, I started keeping my hair like that. I had to braid it like that every day, or else the day was going to end badly. I know that makes no sense, but it did to me."

The other woman is quick to shake her head.

"No, I understand," she says softly. "Every time you were sick, your mom braided your hair, and when you get sick, you always get better, so you did it to self-soothe."

It nearly makes her cry to hear her say that.

Most people without in-depth education about these illnesses would think her crazy for believing that braiding her hair could prevent things from going badly, but she gets it. The staff at the hospital, as well as the other patients she bonded with over countless card games, all got it. It makes her feel a little less crazy when people react like this. It's not as if she expected a mental health professional to act any other way, but she feared it nonetheless.

"I also felt like I needed to change my nail polish whenever something bad happened." She holds up her newly manicured fingers sporting almond-shaped acrylics. "That's why I went and got these. So I wouldn't be able to keep doing that now that I'm out. Also to stop me from picking at my skin."

The sound of Tara humming in agreement with the decision brings a sense of warmth to her chest. There's something about the clinician that disarms her entirely, bringing her down enough to lay herself bare before her with less difficulty than she would have with others. Part of it, she thinks, is that she knows no one else will hear what's said here. It isn't Rosie, Anna, or anyone she doesn't want to see her in a different light. It's someone meant to hear these things without any emotional labor given in return.

She goes on.

"The last thing I did, or I guess it's what I didn't do, was avoid the bracelet I was wearing the day of the shooting. I almost wanted to burn it."

Finally, she looks up and meets Tara's kind eyes.

"Why did you want to burn your bracelet?" she asks despite already having an idea of the reasoning behind it.

The softness in how the question was asked, paired with the unspoken understanding and never-ending compassion beneath it, makes Y/N break down at long last. Her shoulders shake with the cries she tries to stifle, wiping her nose and her wet cheeks as she shrinks into the seat like a scared little girl.

Her voice is so soft, so ashamed of the truth being spoken, that she barely hears it over the sound of her cries.

"Because I thought it was cursed..."

No one but the psychiatrist at the hospital, not Ella or Harry or her parents, has been told of this part. Because it's this that she is the most embarrassed of. If her mother were here, she'd tell her how illogical it is, and she knows that. It doesn't make any sense and never had, but she believed it regardless. Every time she passed by where it sat on top of her dresser, her face twisted into a grimace. On June 1st, hiding behind the refrigerator stocked with water, she remembers how she clutched the edge of it with her right hand to keep herself from falling to the floor, and she didn't look out at the killer or the deceased clerk again. Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto the bracelet given to her for her twenty-fourth birthday days prior and never looked away until the door to the bodega opened and closed again. When she wore it home, it sat heavy around her wrist, and when she laid in bed those two days, starving, she felt it brush up against the bottom of her pillow whenever she moved her hand.

The second she got home from the emergency room, she ripped it off and threw it on her dresser in a rage.

Y/N whispers, "I just felt so stupid."

She rubs her eyes with her hand as if that will do anything to stop the tears from falling, and when her hand falls back to her side, she notices that a box of tissues has been placed on the end of the desk closest to her. With a quiet, "Thank you," she takes a few to blow her nose, then two more to wipe her eyes before discarding the handful in the garbage bin.

"I know you already know this," Tara says propping her chin up on the palm of her hand, "but what you did is normal for people with OCD. Especially when you're undiagnosed and unmedicated."

Her face softens at the new tears falling from her eyes, now smudged with runny mascara that ruins the look she painstakingly crafted in the bathroom with Ella before practice for the sake of passing time.

"You weren't stupid, Y/N. You were just sick."

And, for once, it feels good to hear that coming from someone other than the people who have every reason to be biased toward her. If she were to tell Ella or her parents, they would shake their heads and tell her to stop being so hard on herself, but she has trouble believing them. When you love someone, you'll do anything to take the burden of pain off of their shoulders and onto yours. Hearing it from someone whose job is to be as objective and tactfully honest as possible is far different.

The sound of her sniffling as she begins to calm down, no longer wanting to take tissue after tissue to wipe her runny nose, is the only thing to be heard in the room surrounding them. No footsteps in the hallway, no group conversation getting loud and excited the next room over, and no judgments. Just sniffling and heavy breathing that soon evens out into a steady rise and fall of her chest.

It's ten minutes later that she finishes up with Tara and exits the room to see the rest of the patients leaving. A glance at her watch shows that it's three o'clock, meaning everyone but the clinicians who work until five documenting and talking to the others about treatment plans for their patients is free to go home and do as they please for the rest of the afternoon.

Y/N is the last person out of the building, and when she steps out into the sun, she feels a little bit lighter than she had before. The emotional weight of what happened to her was cumbersome to bear alone, and even though one conversation would never cure her, it does make her feel less alone.

Before she can overthink any of it, she's going through her contacts and presses Harry's number. They exchanged information on their first day of practicing together, both for the sake of their work as well as the ruse.

After three rings, he picks up.

"Hello?"

-

The subway is her least favorite part about living in the city.

Not only is it annoying to stand shoulder to shoulder with strangers, packed in like sardines, but it's unbearably hot down here, especially in the summer, and the heat worsens the anxiety she feels surrounding what's to come tonight. But with the anxiety medication she took before leaving Ella's place to meet up with Harry before the time they're supposed to arrive at the bar with her friends, it's easier to cope with. Rather than it being an overstimulating nightmare of panting breaths and frantic, racing thoughts, it's slowed down. The anxiety is still present, yet it doesn't hinder her ability to function.

Part of what she enjoys about this city, though, is that no one pays attention to her. There are too many people and too many things going on for anyone to bat an eye at what she is saying or doing, or if she appears to be anxious or not. It allows her to have a certain freedom within herself to dress however she wants and talk loudly, taking up space without fearing the reaction of others.

The bottoms of her thighs stick to the seat with sweat where they're exposed by her mini dress, and she keeps squirming around every few seconds in discomfort, trying to wipe the perspiration away to no avail. Beside her, Harry is messaging someone on his phone, so she tries not to look over his shoulder and gives him privacy until he's finished.

Once he is, she shifts in her seat to face him with one long leg crossed over the other.

"We need to make some ground rules."

He looks up from his phone with raised brows, his thumb pressing down on the button on the side to shut the screen off. The white shirt he wears is unbuttoned just enough for his chest tattoos to peek out from beneath the edges of the fabric, and she already knows that her friends will lose their minds when they see them together.

They were already told in the group chat on Instagram, titled dream blunt rotation with numerous celebrities that will never accept the chat invite, about her going out with the stripper they met over the weekend. She and Ella played it off well. They played into the shock felt by Rosie and Anna at the fact that Harry is her new partner. It's a small world, they all said. But Y/N knows that if they knew everything, it would appear even smaller.

"Like what?" he asks.

His legs are pushed together by the person next to him being careless with their personal space, stretching out as though they own the place, and he scoots a little closer to her as a result of it. Her bare thigh presses into the side of his clothed one.

"Well, I feel like the first rule should be that neither of us can talk about how we actually met."

He nods.

"Obviously."

Her arms hug her purse to her chest to free up some space beside her for him, giving him the room to comfortably relax his right arm without having to fold himself in to fit into the seat between her and the other man. When their hands brush, her breath hitches in her throat, and she prays that he doesn't notice. She may not be one to date people, but she isn't blind. Every woman sitting or standing near them steals glances at him, likely wishing they were the one pressed up against his side. Like it or not, there is a part of her that takes pleasure in being seen with him.

"Second rule..." she trails off, tapping her fingers against her knee. "We have to figure out what kind of PDA we're okay with."

He goes quiet for a second, then says, "I'm fine with anything."

Anything, her mind echoes in equal parts excitement and fear. What does he mean by anything? Apparently, it must be written on her face, because he is quick to explain himself.

Laughing, he says, "Calm down. M'not saying we have to go fuck in the bathroom or something, I meant holding hands and a kiss maybe."

This causes her to giggle nervously at first, but once the words are fully taken in, the smile on her face begins to soften. Kissing, holding hands, and touching are all things she can hardly stand the thought of doing. The first and only time she kissed a boy was in front of their school in the seventh grade. He had a crush on her and asked her out. Not being able to say no because she didn't want to upset him, she said yes and they were "dating" for a few weeks. One day before she had to walk home, she kissed him, and the moment their lips touched, she became overwhelmed with discomfort. All she could hear in the back of her mind was her parents saying she was too young, that boys will only want one thing from her, and she ran off without another word. Later that night, she texted him to end the relationship.

But, she realizes, this isn't real. If they're simply pretending to be doing these things because they have feelings for each other that don't truly exist, there is no reason to feel like she's doing something wrong. No one is taking advantage of the other in this situation, and she'll never have to introduce him to her parents as her boyfriend and endure the awkward tension with her overprotective father.

Y/N worries her lip between her teeth as she turns over the thought in her mind.

"That might not be a bad idea."

His head whips around to look at her again, his eyes widened in disbelief at what she's implying. It isn't until he's been staring at her for a good five seconds that she realizes the miscommunication.

"Oh, no, not like that," she says, "I mean we could pretend to go to the bathroom and make it look like we did something."

An elderly woman sitting across from them pauses what she's doing on her phone to side-eye them, but they don't pay her any mind. The rest of the people around them don't make it known if they're eavesdropping but, honestly, even if they are, she doesn't care. These people are strangers who are owed nothing by them, and if they want to judge them for the web of lies they're weaving for her friends, then so be it.

Harry runs his hand through his hair to push it back into place. The jolting movement of the subway knocked a few strands onto his face, so he takes the time to fix it for the sake of looking good when he meets her friends. Well, technically he already has met her friends, but this time will be different. It won't be a fleeting moment in which he kisses her to distract them, it'll be his formal introduction into her life as her "boyfriend". Even though he knows it's not real, he doesn't want to let her down. After all, he's her partner on the ice now, and that's reason enough to want her friends to like him.

Before he can respond, the sound of the next stop being announced brings their attention away from one another, and they both stand with one hand holding the pole for support.

From what little she knows about him, Harry was born and raised in northern England with his mom, but he came here to train with one of the best pairs ice dancing coaches the world had to offer and has lived in the city for four years. His previous partner was an up-and-coming favorite of many, but she quit the same week of the bodega shooting due to a career-ending injury sustained in a biking accident.

Once they ascend the stairway onto the street the bar is located on, he asks, "If these are your friends, why are you going this far to keep it a secret from them?"

Her heels click on the sidewalk as they walk, hand in hand in case her friends are walking in at the same time, down the block together.

The suddenness of the question, as well as the brutality of it, catches her off guard and silences her for the next minute or so. Truth be told, the decision not to tell Rosie and Anna about what happened wasn't intentional. After the shooting, she went to Ella for support, and she was far too distressed in the following weeks to reach out to the others beyond basic greetings and posts shared on social media. Now, it seems foolish to tell them. No matter how she explains it, she's certain it will hurt their feelings that she didn't go to them in her time of strife.

"Um, I honestly don't know," she says, staring ahead at the family walking before them. Anything to avoid the judgment she anticipates from him. "I didn't mean to lie, but I didn't tell them, and once I went into the hospital it felt like it was too late. It all just...happened."

Although distracted by watching the people around them, she can feel his eyes on her. It's hard to act casual when someone like him—someone so gorgeous and simultaneously critical in her recent life—is staring. And even though she knows this isn't real, that they aren't dating and everything is fake, she can't help how her heart races faster the longer he stares.

For the rest of the walk to the bar, both of them remain silent. The sole thing to steady her is the warm feeling of his hand in hers, and, even then, there's a degree of discomfort mixed into it as well. Her friends have teased her about her commitment-phobia and fear surrounding dating, so she expects the worst interrogation of her life upon arrival.

The bar Rosie chose for their first official outing as a "couple" is an exclusive rooftop one that her new boy of the month frequents. Her status alone would get her in, but with him at her side, there was no question as to whether or not she belonged among the rich and famous. It's this same exclusivity that causes Harry's eyebrows to raise as they're guided into an elevator with the bald bouncer.

He whispers to her on the way up, "I know I was taking shots at you for being rich, but I didn't know you were this kind of rich."

A soft huff of laughter leaves her, and she thinks she may see his cheeks flushing a deep pink color at the sound of it.

"My parents are this kind of rich, actually. But I get what you mean," she says and leans against the back wall of the moving elevator. "My family has always been wealthy, but I was an introverted kid growing up. When Ella and Rosie first met me and took me out, seeing places like this for the first time was pretty overwhelming."

The tidbit of information about her childhood makes him smile to himself at the thought of her all those years ago, content with standing on the sidelines and daydreaming about being on the ice while her peers played outside. It's strangely endearing. His first impression of her at the club was that she was an entitled, rich party girl who was used to getting everything she wants, and while part of that may be true, there are other qualities of hers that shine brighter.

Her hand squeezes his tighter when the elevator comes to a gentle stop at the top floor of the tall building.

This is it. Soon, they will be hanging out with her friends and lying to them, having to touch and flirt and maybe even kiss as though they're together. A small amount of dread rises within her at the thought of it. The concept of a man touching her and kissing her is both nerve-wracking and thrilling. She thinks that if it were another man, she wouldn't be able to stomach it, but it's Harry. Even though he's little more than an acquaintance, there's a sense of safety felt when she's around him. It could be a result of how they met that day on the train platform, but, either way, she's thankful to have him by her side.

The elevator doors open with a ding, and she's already shifted into friend mode. Her hand holds onto his tightly as she feigns confidence and drags him through the groups of people to the place Rosie told her to go. They enjoy hanging out by the edge of the building to the left of the bar where you can look out at the skyline.

He can tell by the looks on their faces that they hadn't truly believed they'd seen him here.

One of the friends he recognizes from the club, the one with pretty brown eyes and bottle-blonde hair, is the first to greet them. Rather than tackle her in an embrace as per usual, she gives them space seeing that they're holding onto each other already.

"Y/N, you look radiant! I love that dress," the woman says, then looks at him. "And you must be Harry?" He nods, and she holds out her hand to shake his free one. "Rosie. It's nice to meet the guy who's stealing allll of her free time from us!"

His throat bobs with a thick swallow as he remembers the true reason he's here. To give her an alibi for the time she spends at therapy during the week when she would otherwise be hanging with them.

He takes her hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Guilty as charged," Harry says.

The next friend comes up and offers her a hug with one arm, bringing her in close to cradle her head on her shoulder like a mother would to a child. Ella, he thinks without room for doubt. This woman is the only one who knows about Y/N's breakdown as well as their ruse. She doesn't feel the need to say anything. Words aren't needed with them. All they need is a quick hug to convey their feelings and thoughts to each other before pulling away to allow their last friend a turn with them.

Anna stops in front of them and reaches out for Y/N's free hand. Giving it a few squeezes, she can't help but smile and say, "I've missed you too much."

Her gaze then shifts to him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says and looks back and forth between the two of them. "I never thought our sweet Fi would find a guy she'd go crazy for."

He was briefed on this too—the shock that'd be a common theme among the group of girls due to her never having shown an interest in dating before. It would mean they'd be protective too, he realized earlier today, so he tries to be as friendly and nonchalant as possible. The last thing he wants is to give them a reason to dislike him.

"It's nice to meet you too. She's told me so much about you guys," he says.

This seems to please them enough. From behind Anna's back, Rosie makes eye contact with Y/N and raises her brows in pretend shock at how much they like him. The sight of it makes him breathe a little easier as the seconds go by, knowing that the hardest part is over now that they've been introduced. All of them stare expectantly at them for the next few seconds, then Y/N breaks the silence.

"We're gonna go get drinks. Be right back!"

He's being dragged around again before he has the chance to wave goodbye to Rosie, who was waving excitedly at him like a puppy faced with a potential new friend. People move out of her way without anything having to be said, and he finds that quite intriguing. The power she wields without ever saying a word is wild to him. All it takes is a smile and a confident stride for everyone to make a path for the gorgeous woman in a little strapless dress. Its shade of midnight blue shimmers under the dim lighting of the bar, bringing out the subtle aspect of the glitter mixed into the fabric.

The line at the bar is merely a few people long, so it doesn't take more than a couple moments for them to reach it. Her fingers curl around the edge of the bar to steady herself against it as she leans forward to tell the bartender what she wants over the volume of people chatting throughout the room. Music plays over loudspeakers on the other side of the room, a DJ positioned behind a computer, and the song is decent. At least it doesn't make him want to rip out his eardrums.

Once she's finished ordering her virgin cocktail, a tap on his shoulder brings him out of his people-watching trance and back to her face. The coral blush brushed over her cheeks gives her a demure, coquettish look, and though his heart beats for another, not even he can resist the gravitational pull she has on everyone around her.

"Want anything?"

He shrugs.

This causes her to turn back around to face the man behind the bar and ask, "A Jack and Coke for my friend here, please?"

The second the bartender turns to make it, she leans back against the bar to face him and holds his hand in both of hers for the sake of appearing as couple-y as possible for her friends watching across the room.

"How'd I do?" she asks. "Was I even a little close to guessing what you drink? You kinda seem like a Jack and Coke guy."

He shakes his head.

"I don't mind Jack and Coke, but I'm more of a tequila man."

"Neat or on the rocks?"

"Neat."

She nods in approval, toying with the rings decorating the hand connected with hers. The softness of her touch is something he never expected to enjoy, but he does. Even if it isn't real, it feels nice after years of loving Lola from afar with nothing in return.

Without looking over his shoulder to check if the girls are looking in their direction, he steps forward to invade her space, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her body flush against his. He can tell by how she stiffens against him that she hadn't expected it, but she adjusts rather quickly and throws her arms around his broad shoulders like she would with someone she's actually dating. Their lips are inches apart, so close that they can feel the heat of each other's exhales.

Harry brushes his nose against hers affectionately, and it's such an intimate, tender gesture, she doesn't know what to do other than savor the thrill it sends down her spine.

"You're good at this," she whispers after a second. "I guess I should just follow your lead since I don't do this a lot."

Ever, actually. The correct thing to say would be that she doesn't do this ever, but it's far too embarrassing to admit it aloud. It's hard not to feel like a failure of sorts regarding her pathetic attempts at finding a romantic partner. At one point, she did try. She downloaded dating apps and met a few guys, but every time she wanted something real with them, she heard her mom scolding her in the back of her head. She heard her dad accusing her of being pregnant when she was fifteen because he caught her holding hands with her middle school boyfriend.

The differences between how she and her brother were treated regarding relationships and sex growing up affected her more than she thought it had, and it wasn't until she began talking about it in group therapy at the hospital that she realized there was a reason behind her discomfort with intimacy.

Sensing some sort of conflict in her, he says softly, "I won't kiss you unless you ask me to, Y/N. Don't worry." A pause, then a slight chuckle. "You don't seem like the making out in public type anyway."

The smile drops from her face.

"Is that a challenge?"

And, with that, the confidence evident in his expression slowly fades at the pressure of being put on the spot. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like the experienced one between the two of them. Y/N has a way of doing that, of making him flustered and bashful like a touch-starved virgin. He rationalizes it, though. He reasons with himself and thinks that it's merely a physical reaction to an attractive person, not anything real. It's nothing to feel guilty over. It's not like you can betray someone who isn't even dating you, so it's nothing to lose sleep over regarding his love for Lola. He's slept with plenty of people despite having feelings for her, so what's a little kissing?

Slowly, they begin to inch their faces closer and closer until she can almost feel his lips brushing hers. He's about to close the remaining distance between them and kiss her like he had at the club on Sunday, but the bartender taps her on the shoulder before he can.

"Okay, one virgin Pina Colada and a Jack and Coke," the man says, setting the two glasses down on the bar top. "Your total is forty dollars even."

Y/N turns around in Harry's embrace to face him, giddy at how his arms remain around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. Her friends don't stand a chance at all. He's laying it on quite thick, and it's a wonder she doesn't bust out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

If this is how Harry behaves around someone he's dating, his eventual partner is a lucky person. She has come to find through her friends' adventures in dating that so few guys are so open with their affection unless it's in a sexual connotation like dancing or grabbing a handful of their asses. He, however, doesn't grope her anywhere or push at the limits of what's decent. He just holds her, and she knows Rosie will never let her hear the end of it.

She holds out her credit card between her index and middle finger for the bartender to take with a polite, "Thank you."

They take their drinks and sip from them as Trent, if the name tag on his shirt is to be believed, swipes her card and slides it back across the countertop to her with the receipt folded around it. It's stuffed back into her small shoulder bag before she's too enamored with her drink to forget it.

The sweet flavor of the mocktail is heavenly on her taste buds, and she has to let her head roll back onto Harry's shoulder in overdramatic appreciation of it. Pina Coladas used to be her drink of choice when she indulged in substances. Anna would tease her for never switching up her order or trying something new, but she paid it no mind. She sat at whatever table or bar they went to and sipped it happily until she was giggling from being tipsy.

"I'm assuming it's good?" Harry asks sarcastically. "You're literally moaning."

She turns her head to look at him with furrowed brows, saying, "Yes, it is amazing, and you can't blame me. My love affair with this drink has been long and passionate. You wouldn't understand 'cause you go for straight tequila and don't like fun drinks like me."

The burning stares of her friends watching them from the corner of the room are felt by them both, and it suddenly hits her what they're doing. Is she a terrible person? Lying to them like this, keeping them in the dark, and bringing Harry into it too—does this make her morally unjust? It's hard for her to distinguish the line between self-hatred and criticism, so as she thinks it over, she can't help but batter herself bloody for doing something wrong.

From the feeling of her body tensing up in his grasp alone, he can tell that something is wrong, and without having the insight of knowing her thoughts, he fears that he's taken things too far. Maybe he should've eased up on the physical contact, maybe she hadn't fully thought it through. After all, she did say she doesn't date. What if this is making her uncomfortable?

He murmurs to her, "Are you okay?"

There's a heavy sigh sinking her chest.

"I guess," she says, "I just—Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Everything—his train of thought, the hammering of his heart in his chest as he wondered what he did wrong, and how he sips on his drink—stops short.

"What are you talking about?"

The way she asked it snapped his heart in two. It doesn't matter that he barely knows her, or that he did, in fact, initially think she was a bad person after their interaction in the alleyway, the guilt present in her voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, he feels the strange need to look after her. Not for any reason other than the fact that he can see how broken she is, and there's only one other person in her life who knows what's happening with her. She needs him, he realizes. She needs someone to talk her out of hating herself. Because if she continues on like this, if she keeps berating herself to the extent where everything becomes her fault, she'll revert right back into the state of mind that made her want to jump in the first place.

She ignored him for a second in favor of taking another sip of Pina Colada before saying, "I don't know. I wasn't just thinking about how I'm lying to them, and I don't know if that makes me a bad person."

Y/N takes this as her chance to wriggle out of his grasp to walk back to her friends, but he stops her. His arm around her waist tugs her back, and he doesn't let her leave until she hears what he has to say. If she asked for his opinion, then let her have it.

"Look at me," he says, and she does. Now that he knows he has her attention, he has no issues speaking his mind. "Don't do that to yourself. I know I don't know much about you or them, but it's not your fault that you were put in this situation. If they love you, they'll forgive you, even if you are a stuck-up rich girl."

This stuns her to silence.

It's hard for her to think, let alone speak, a response to this because of the unashamed honesty in the statement. It's the type of honesty only someone new in your life can have when speaking to you, and she's surprised to find that she likes it. He's not treating her any differently than someone unaware of her situation would, and she could kiss him for it.

She smiles softly.

"I may be a stuck-up rich girl, but I'm your favorite stuck-up rich girl, so I feel kinda accomplished there."

The sound of him letting out a huff of laughter widens the smile on her face, and he slides his arm out from around her waist to take her hand in his.

"Would my favorite stuck-up rich girl like to dance with me?" he asks, then his voice quiets for a second, a touch more serious. "Not because your friends are watching. Just 'cause we're friends and I want to dance with you."

The words echo in her mind on repeat. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you—

Downing the rest of the Pina Colada in a few big mouthfuls, she sets the empty glass back onto the bar top and gestures for him to chug the rest of his drink as well. He does so without protest and tries to ignore the fact that he's not savoring the twenty-dollar drink. Although, it's not like she loses any sleep over spending twenty dollars at the bar. As she starts to pull him off in the direction of where people dance together, the empty glass is placed beside hers and left for the bartender less than a few minutes after he served them.

He follows her through the small clusters of people, and his eyes follow from their connected hands up the length of her arm, admiring the beauty of the bare skin exposed by her strapless dress. The song switches once they're midway to the area where a few couples and groups of friends are dancing, and the second Y/N hears the new song, she stops and faces her friends with a slack jaw.

She calls out to them from across the room and lures them over with her arms making grand, sweeping gestures begging them to come over. Rosie, as expected, is the first to follow them out to the middle of the room, and it doesn't take long before her other friends follow suit.

Madonna's voice croons at them over the speakers as the girls, with Harry standing behind Y/N's back, sing along and dance together. It almost makes him smile. To see her having fun and laughing with her friends is a gift. It's a long way from where she was when they met, if only for the moment. Tomorrow, she could easily revert to the state she was in a moment ago, but not right now.

"I close my eyessss," Rosie sings to Anna, face cupped in her hands, "Heaven help me!"

Anna sings the next lyric back to her, "When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees"—she sinks to her knees dramatically for the sake of making the girls giggle—"I wanna take you there!"

Ella holds Y/N's hands and raises them above their heads as they swirl their hips to the rhythm of the song, and he can't do much other than watch from behind her back. He reaches to grab onto her hips with his hands, but, before he can, someone reaches between them to tap her shoulder.

She whirls around to see who it is, and as soon as she sets eyes on the man standing there, Harry has a bad feeling. That wasn't a warm, inviting look. It was more of an, "Oh shit, I didn't expect to see you," type of thing. When Harry first sees him, he isn't intimidated. The man looks younger than him, as well as shorter, and has the overall demeanor of a high schooler with an overinflated sense of self-importance.

"Owen," she says with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "It's so funny running into you."

The other girls continue to dance, but they both can feel them eyeing him up out of the corners of their eyes. If the way they regard him has anything to say about it, Harry would wager a lot of money on everyone hating Owen. Those beady little eyes of his are locked onto Y/N's cleavage, and it becomes all too clear to him what the issue is without needing anyone to say it aloud.

If this isn't the perfect opportunity to prove himself as her fake boyfriend, he doesn't know what is.

His arm curls back around her waist and sits comfortably, his hand resting on the southernmost point of her back to the point where he's almost grabbing her ass. It's a gesture he saw many times with Lola and her ex-boyfriends whenever someone came over to check her out, so he figures it'll work in this scenario.

"S'nice to meet you," Harry says with a smile and extends his hand for the man to shake. "I'm Harry."

In her eyes, he can see the relief and the gratitude she has for him saving her from this. It tells him that she'll explain later, but thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The other man doesn't even take the hand he offers, so he lets his fall back to his side without another word.

Owen says, "You're really going out with this dude? C'mon, you can't just lead a guy on and then ghost him."

On the tip of her tongue are the words she doesn't say, words telling him that the reason he was ghosted was due to that traumatic day in June. She wants to throw it in his face so badly, but she doesn't. Anna and Rosie are too close for her to do it without them hearing and asking questions, so she simply stares daggers at him for a second or so before deciding what she's going to do.

"Actually, I can."

She turns her back on him.

Two soft hands flatten against Harry's chest to push him away from where the other man stands until they're on the other side of her friends, who're all quick to build a wall between them and him. It makes him laugh when she ignores him so bluntly, not even deigning to offer anything more than those three words. But he doesn't get the chance to look at Owen's face for a reaction. His face is behind turned away by the guidance of a smaller hand grasping him by the chin, and he has little time to think before her lips are on his.

This time, he is the one who stands there in shock for a second before kissing back. Perhaps it's payback for the unexpected kiss at the strip club, but, even if it is, he enjoys it. He likes this form of payback more than she'll ever know, not because he loves her the way he loves Lola but because of what it's doing to Owen. Putting men like that in their place is always a delight no matter how the job is done.

The bridge of the song explodes into the joyous sound of a choir parroting the lyrics sung earlier during the chorus, and he quickly goes from standing still in shock to kissing her back. Fervently. His hands squeeze her hips hard enough to bruise the soft skin beneath the fabric and uses them to bring their bodies closer together. If she thought that the kiss at the club where he worked was dizzying, then she was in for a shock. That was the least of his capabilities.

She hears her friends, likely all of them if she has to guess, whooping and cheering as they kiss one another as though they'll die if they don't. His tongue brushes against her lower lip in a request for permission, and, just like that, her lips fall open for him. The flavor of the Jack and Coke lingering on his tongue as it invades her mouth is pleasant. It makes her kiss him harder and push her tongue into his mouth for a better taste, using it to pretend like she's desperate and needy for him.

They keep kissing, blind to everything around them, until long after Owen has left. Feeling her body pressed up against his stirs the sensation of arousal in between her thighs that she has never felt so strongly when seeking pleasure by herself. This is what inevitably causes her to force herself off of him, hands braced on his shoulders, to look over at the empty spot where Owen once stood.

As soon as they part, Ella and Rosie are grabbing them by the wrists and pulling them into the group to dance. Anna shouts over the thumping music to tell Harry how amazing it was to see someone put "the stalker" in his place for once, but he doesn't respond with anything other than a laugh she hardly hears. The other girls are too busy trying to dance with them to allow them a spare second to speak.

His hands never leave Y/N's hips as they sway and sing along together. Ella is in front of her, as per usual, and her arms are draped over her shoulders to dance with her from the front while he moves behind her. Smushed between Harry and Ella's bodies, she grinds her ass against him and matches her friend's movements flawlessly, which, she thinks, is one perk of being an ice dancer. She never fumbles when it comes to dancing with her friends on nights out.

She throws her hands up in the air as she chants to the song with the rest of them, "Just like a prayer, I'll take you there!" and allows her arms to then fall back around his neck. It keeps him from pulling away, not that he wants to, and he guides her hips to move similarly to how he's supposed to for the salacious choreography of their free dance.

At this moment, she smiles—a genuine, true smile—for the first time in weeks, and it's all because of tonight's success. Because of Harry and how well he's doing with her friends. So, she lets herself be happy for now.

Even if it is a lie.

-

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

[mariacallous]

Eric Adams wanted to see the world, to see it in style. But he wasn’t a rich man, just a former cop and rising politician in a largely ceremonial job, Brooklyn Borough President. Luckily for him, there were a number of benefactors who federal prosecutors say were ready to help him travel in a manner benefitting the position he was angling for: mayor of New York City.

According to a sprawling, 57-page indictment unsealed on Thursday, there was the chairman of a Turkish university; a promoter “whose business includes organizing events to introduce Turkish corporations and businesspeople to politicians, celebrities, and others whose influence may benefit the corporations”; and a senior official in the Turkish government, who, prosecutors say, “later steered illegal contributions and improper gifts to Adams to gain influence with and, eventually, to obtain corrupt official action from Adams.” 

Adams in the summer of 2017 went with his son and a staffer to Nice, Istanbul, Sri Lanka, and Beijing, flying business class the whole way. In October, he went again to Istanbul and Beijing, and then on to Nepal. Those tickets were, all told, worth $51,000. But he got it all for free. 

The relationship deepened from there, as Adams began to run for mayor in earnest. The Turks allegedly funneled money to his campaign through false entities, or “straw donors.” Accepting such donations is against the law — and Adams allegedly received public matching funds based on these contributions. Adams allegedly returned the favor, in part by pressuring the fire department to allow the opening of a $300 million, 36-story glass tower to house the Turkish consulate, just off of First Avenue and 45th Street, without an inspection and “in time for a high-profile visit by Turkey‘s president” — a diplomatic coup for a man who’s functionally a dictator.

Adams has vigorously denied all of the charges. And at least one Adams ally I spoke with in the immediate aftermath breathed a quarter-sigh of relief — this person was expecting even more, and more serious, charges. “It’s obviously not great but this is weaker than I thought it would be,” the source tells me.

But that exhale assumes that the federal charges against Adams begin and end in this document. They almost certainly do not, with at least four more federal probes reportedly targeting his inner circle and FBI agents searching the mayor’s residence shortly before the indictment was announced. It also assumes that the Turks were the only government to allegedly turn Adams into an unregistered foreign agent. That, too, could prove to be a dangerous supposition — especially given the U.S. Attorney in Brooklyn’s pursuit of Chinese influence in New York. 

In the last four years, that federal prosecutor’s office alone has charged a dozen separate criminal cases of covert Chinese government interference in U.S. politics, business, and civil society. An aide to New York’s governor was indicted as a foreign agent on Sept. 3. An ex-corrections officer got 20 months for harassing an artist who lampooned Chinese leader Xi Jinping. Two more men were arrested for operating a secret Chinese police station out of the Manhattan headquarters of a group for expats from Fujian province. 

The examples spiral out from there.In July, a federal jury in Manhattan convicted Robert Menendez, a Democratic U.S. senator from New Jersey, of taking bribes and acting as Egypt’s agent. In August, federal prosecutors in Brooklyn charged a hitman with trying to assassinate Donald Trump, allegedly on Iran’s orders. In September, prosecutors in Manhattan revealed an alleged Russian plot to funnel $10 million to MAGA influencers. This is a partial list. A snippet of a list, really. And all of these developments happened in just the last few months, just in and around this one metro area, where a wide array of foreign actors are looking to turn New York into something like Spy City.  

The 20 experts, officials, and activists I spoke to couldn’t agree on whether these cases represent a major escalation in this covert activity, an increase in Washington’s willingness to combat it, or both. But they all agreed that such efforts are widespread and being directed by countries across the globe. And while it might be tempting to speculate about what this says about the various foreign policy strategies in foreign capitals, the clear takeaway is that malicious actors around the world see America as pliable, and influence as something that can be bought on the cheap. In other words, the most disturbing part about these covert foreign pressure campaigns is what it says about our politics, our society. About us.

ONE OF THE MORE disturbing foreign influence cases to recently come to light begins 35 years ago, in Beijing. Yan Xiong was a student activist there, jailed for being part of the big Tiananmen Square protests. When he got out, he made his way to America, enlisted in the U.S. Army, and eventually served two tours as a chaplain in Iraq. By 2021, Yan was running for Congress in lower Manhattan. He could tell that something was off. He’d show up to candidate forums, and then wouldn’t be allowed to speak. He’d try to raise money, no dice. There was an old man who wouldn’t stop taking pictures of Yan’s campaign. Yan would go out to his driveway late at night and find a car there, headlights blazing. It was unnerving, but Yan was used to looking over his shoulder.

Nevertheless, Yan was shocked when, in March of 2022, federal prosecutors revealed that he was being targeted by the Chinese government. The goal: to surveil and sabotage the chaplain’s long-shot campaign. “Go deep and dig up something. Right? For example, past incidents of tax evasion… if he used prostitutes in the past… if he had a mistress,” a member of China’s Ministry of State Security allegedly told a private investigator here in the U.S. If the private investigator couldn’t come up with — or make up — any dirt, the P.I. was encouraged to use other means to take Yan out of the race: “In the end, violence would be fine too.” 

In the end, Yan’s campaign netted him only 750 votes — not great, but 50 percent more than former Mayor Bill De Blasio received. The P.I. hired by the Chinese government never found any dirt on Yan, or physically attacked him. But the attempt to ratfuck Yan’s campaign continues to leave a wound. Yan’s getting ready to move for the fifth time in two years — in part “for safety, for psychology.” In August, prosecutors unveiled another layer to the alleged plot against him. The old man who’d been taking all those pictures? He was a former Tiananmen Square veteran, too — one who was now accused of working as an unregistered agent for Beijing. To Yan, he’s another “victim” of a regime that’s all-too-willing to extend its reach here. “It’s a tragedy, that’s my opinion,” Yan tells me.

And Yan’s case isn’t the only one in which there seem to be shadowy figures just out of frame. Shujun Wang, another longtime Chinese dissident, was convicted in late August of working as Beijing’s spy. The other day, I called his lawyer to ask about a member of the defense team, a man listed in court documents as a paralegal, who was, in fact, a Florida realtor, recently acquitted of rape. What was he doing there? Who was he? “He is nobody,” the lawyer answered.  

These influence campaigns by foreign governments, prosecutors allege, reach all the way down to the lowest levels of state and local government. Take Linda Sun, who started in 2012 as one of the more junior aides out of 200 or so in Governor Andrew Cuomo’s office. The former beauty pageant contestant and Barnard grad, who had come to New York from Nanjing when she was a kid, put in the work as a liaison to the borough of Queens and the state’s Asian American community. She’d help connect constituents to government services, make appearances at Lunar New Year events, write up proclamations, and liaise with foreign consulates. Over the years, she gained leverage. Cuomo’s communications shop — described by one former colleague as “95 percent Caucasian” — relied on Sun to tell them how a state proclamation or press release might resonate in Asian communities.

“She did her job. She went home. Didn’t cause any trouble, never caused any drama. But in hindsight, [there was] a lot of trust in that particular position. Because when you ask her opinion about how something plays, we were asking how it plays in, you know, [the Chinese American neighborhoods of] Sunset Park and Flushing. Not how it played in Beijing,” that source tells me.

By 2015, Sun had a willing ear in Kathy Hochul, the new Lieutenant Governor, who was iced out of Cuomo’s inner circle — and eager to build up her own political constituency. Hochul made sure to attend Chinese American community celebrations and events to promote trade with Beijing. (A Hochul aide notes that she interfaced with all kinds of foreign officials, including a half-dozen such meetings just with the Canadians in 2016.) Sun made sure there were all sorts of meetings Hochul wouldn’t take, wouldn’t even know were offered. For example, prosecutors allege, when officials from the rival government of Taiwan tried to get together with Hochul in D.C. in mid-2016, Sun scheduled talks with Beijing’s representatives instead — and then bragged to the Chinese consulate about what she had done. Hochul began to be quoted favorably and often by Beijing’s official state news agency. Sun started to receive gifts from Chinese officials, prosecutors say: tickets to Carnegie Hall, then a wire transfer for $47,895 for travel expenses. 

As Sun’s responsibilities increased, her profile grew. She worked with legislators when Korean American nail salons were revealed to be serially underpaying their workers. She helped steer money to Asian American groups as threats to them rose during the pandemic.

By 2021, Hochul was governor. Sun had a bigger title, deputy chief of staff, and was displaying sharper elbows. “She felt very emboldened with making sure that there was a focus [on] protecting mainland China’s agendas,” State Assemblyman Ron Kim, who previously held Sun’s community liaison job, recalls. “That was universally understood, because when myself and other[s] carried certain resolutions to celebrate U.S.-Taiwan relations, I got calls from the governor’s office letting me know that the Chinese consulate is very upset with you, and they would prefer if I don’t do such resolutions again.” (Sun has pleaded not guilty to charges she acted as an agent of the Chinese government, and her attorneys declined to comment for this story.) 

This might seem arcane and sort of small-ball. Who cares if some local pol doesn’t issue a Taiwan proclamation? But it’s part of a strategy, says Bethany Allen, author of Beijing Rules, echoing the sentiments of several U.S. officials. “If this is done extensively, consistently, quietly across many states, many state capitals, many state governments, local governments,” Allen tells me, “it can shape the debate. Have a strong downward pressure on the things that China wants to quiet.” 

And it’s a strategy that Beijing is willing to pursue over the long haul — to influence people at the lowest levels of local government, and let those folks rise over time. Back when she was a reporter, Allen broke the news of a suspected Chinese spy in California who cultivated relationships from the political to the romantic with city councilmen, small-town mayors, and at least one Congressman. The spy’s true motivations weren’t uncovered until that Congressman, Rep. Eric Swalwell, was on the verge of joining the House Intelligence Committee and gaining access to some of the nation’s better-protected national secrets. (Swalwell denied any romantic relationship, and a House ethics panel decided to take no action against him after a two-year investigation.)  

Linda Sun’s case never reached that kind of crisis point. But her value to Chinese officials was clear. The wire transfers were in the millions by 2021. The Chinese Consul General in New York — a sharp, genial diplomat named Huang Ping — sent Nanjing-style salted ducks to Sun’s parents, a half-dozen at a time. According to one source, she started showing up with a fresh tan and a new, high-end handbag to every community event. “People were definitely talking about how she went from rags to riches overnight,” Kim tells me. “Her parents lived in a one-bedroom apartment… She was trying to get a mortgage to buy a condo in Flushing, and she could barely get that. But all of a sudden, now she’s living in a mansion.” And in a sweet vacation home, too. Around the same time Sun and her husband bought a $3.6 million home in Manhasset, New York, they also, according to prosecutors, purchased “an ocean-view condominium on the 47th floor of a high rise building in Honolulu, Hawaii, currently valued at approximately $2.1 million.”

SUN AND ADAMS ARE the first local officials to be charged with acting as agents of a foreign power. They probably won’t be the last, or even the last in New York. (“What you saw with the governor in New York, that’s going to be scratching an itch that tickles in a lot of different places,” Bill Evanina, who spent seven years as the federal government’s top counterintelligence official, tells me.) The place has long attracted spies and clandestine power brokers, and not just because of the UN, or Wall Street, or all the corporate headquarters. America’s best city is, not coincidentally, also its most diverse; more than three million of the eight million-plus people living here are foreign-born. Those diasporas are often of intense interest to the countries from which they spring, especially if the countries in question are ruled by authoritarians. The revolutionary movements that took down the Czar, the Chinese Emperor, and the Shah were all incubated overseas. 

These diasporas also can wield outsized power in local politics, too. New York’s election laws are so labyrinthine and complex, with elections held on off-years and on strange dates, that they’re practically designed to keep people from voting. (Ron Kim has 115,000 people living in his district in Queens, for example; fewer than 3,200 of them voted in his contested primary race, which is the only race that matters in a one-party town.) So if any one group gets behind a single candidate, or gins up turnout, or dumps in a lot of money, it can swing an election. Kim faced off against a primary opponent backed by a well-known local community leader who is openly supportive of the Chinese Communist Party. They each poured more than $600,000 into that tiny-turnout primary race. “I felt this was a clear effort to get a political seat for a person who is loyal to their agenda,” Kim says. “This isn’t about lawmaking in [the state capital of] Albany, but it’s about being the power broker of Flushing that will give them credibility and access.”

This is all happening in a place where the politics are — there’s no other way to put this — corrupt as fuck. The five federal investigations reportedly swirling around Adams and his closest associates involve everyone from the police commissioner to the schools chancellor to his top fundraisers to a pair of deputy mayors. Adams’ immediate predecessor, de Blasio, dodged indictment for violating campaign finance laws, but not by much. After leaving office, former mayor Rudy Giuliani took money from a North Korean gangster and then worked with a man he admitted was likely a Russian spy. Long Island’s George Santos was expelled from Congress after less than a year; he recently pleaded guilty to identity theft and wire fraud. One of Santos’ bigger Republican critics on the Island, Rep. Anthony D’Esposito, was just exposed for giving Congressional jobs to his lover and his fiancée’s daughter. 

You get the idea: plenty of politicians with their hands out; elections practically designed to be swayed by small groups; those small groups susceptible to foreign infiltration and pressure, because they’ve all got family back home. “New York would be at the top of the list in terms of foreign governments, foreign regimes wanting to target,” says Casey Michel, author of the newly published Foreign Agents. “Especially New York City. I don’t think it’s any surprise that the major investigation into a municipal authority as a target of potential foreign influence is Adams.”

So let’s talk about the mayor. Adams has been ducking corruption allegations — and playing diaspora politics — for more than 15 years. According to the New York Times, a grand jury in July issued subpoenas related to Adams’ ties to six different countries: China, Qatar, South Korea, Israel, Uzbekistan, and, of course, Turkey. In his role as Brooklyn Borough President, Adams attended almost 80 events connected with Turkey, and at least 50 more celebrating China. Some of those events actually upset his Turkish government contacts, according to the indictment. In 2016, a Turkish official told Adams that a community center he used to visit “was affiliated with a Turkish political movement that was hostile to Turkey’s government… If Adams wished to continue receiving support from the Turkish government, Adams could no longer associate with the community center. Adams acquiesced.”

Adams also met multiple times with Huang Ping, the Chinese Consul General who prosecutors later identified as Linda Sun’s handler. And the politicking seemingly continued overseas. Adams took 13 separate trips to Turkey and China, which is a lot of travel to those two specific nations, considering borough presidents don’t really have foreign policy roles. “It’s totally appropriate,” he said after the first of the trips to China, in 2014. “I’m not going to be a MetroCard borough president — I’m going to be a passport borough president.”

City Hall won’t say what all of the trips were for. (They didn’t respond to requests to comment for this story.) The alleged purpose of the Turkey trips, at least, is now less murky after the indictment’s release.When it comes to the others, here’s what we can say for sure: We know that one of Adams’ China travel partners, his longtime Asian community liaison Winnie Greco, had her former campaign office and several of her homes raided by the FBI. We know that Greco and another Adams crony met separately in Fuzhou, the capital of Fujian province, with the man later indicted for operating that secret Chinese police station out of a Fujianese expat society in Manhattan. We know that Adams and Greco appeared onstage at a gala for that charity — the American Changle Association, named for a famed neighborhood in Fuzhou — shortly before it was exposed as a secret police front bythe New York Post. We know Adams was with Association bigwig Lu Jianwang days before Lu was arrested in the secret police affair. We know, thanks to local news outlet The City, that 121 workers at the New World Mall in Queens, the site of Greco’s 2021 campaign office, made donations to Adams of precisely $249 each, one buck below the limit for eight-times public matching funds. Several donors said they were reimbursed in cash, or had no idea they had been listed as contributors at all. This has all the hallmarks of illegal straw donations, as Adams’ team surely knows.One Chinese billionaire who gave money to Adams (and hosted his 60th birthday party) recently pleaded guilty to such charges. 

MAYBE ALL OF THESE connections were on the up-and-up. Maybe Adams’ trips to China and extremely odd donations from his campaign office in Flushing were no more nefarious than the 70-plus flag-raising ceremonies for various countries he’s attended in his two-and-a-half years as mayor. Maybe it’s an accident of scheduling that Huang Ping, the Chinese Consul General, asked him to blow off a banquet with the Taiwanese president and Adams wound up doing just that. Adams may have rubbed elbows with people who were later indicted as foreign agents in groups like the American Changle Association, where voters gather for an old-country meal or speak in their parents’ dialect. There’s hardly an elected official in New York who didn’t make such a visit, or get his picture taken at some point with Huang. Of course they did. Huang was a gregarious, effective, charming diplomat. He may be accused of secretly handling alleged agents like Linda Sun, but chatting up local politicians was most definitely Huang’s job.  

You don’t have to be some kind of simp for Beijing to find this kind of criminalization of foreign influence a little hypocritical, given all the governments the U.S. helped overthrow in the past century. You’re not necessarily an abolish-the-police type if you think the feds have gone overboard in their hunt for Chinese agents. “We’re not China. We’re supposedly a free country, and the government should take more care in prosecuting and, in turn, persecuting people,” John Liu, a state senator from Queens, tells me. This is personal for him. While he was gearing up to run for mayor more than a decade ago, the FBI ran a sting on him and his donors, part of a straw-donor probe he says was oh-so-subtly named “Operation Red Money.” They did find some straw donors, and a top aide did go to jail. But Liu himself was only fined $26,000 — proof, he says, that the whole investigation was overheated. Nor is it a one-off. Liu points to cases like Baimadajie Angwang, the cop accused of spying for China, only to have the charges dropped without explanation. By that time, the NYPD had fired him. “You know what? It wouldn’t be so bad if the government pursued these cases, made them as visible as they intentionally make them, and actually had a pretty good record of success,” Liu says. “It bothers me that there’s no accountability of any kind. You know, the government does this, and it doesn’t matter how many lives are ruined [or] the impact on the wider community.” 

There’s no question there’s been overreach, including horror stories of Chinese Americans interrogated by the FBI, seemingly for no reason at all. “We should absolutely oppose any effort by any foreign government to undermine our American society, our way of life, our democracy,” says Rep. Grace Meng, who hired Linda Sun when she was in the State Assembly and now represents a large part of Queens in the U.S. Congress. But “there’s a lot of fear right now in the Asian American community,” she adds. “Every day, young, professional Asian Americans are really scared that these harmful stereotypes are being fueled… [by] questions that are asked only of us.”

As overzealous as some prosecutors may have been, though, and as ugly our recent turn toward anti-China and anti-immigrant politics, there are too many of these foreign influence cases, tied to so many different outside actors, to brush off. A former Republican Congressman is under indictment for covertly working for Venezuela’s dictator. A major Trump fundraiser pleaded guilty to doing the same on behalf of the Chinese and Malaysian government officials, in a case so weird and sprawling, a member of the Fugees wound up with a foreign agent conviction as part of it. Things are so bad, the guy that’s supposed to be leading the investigations into these cases in New York — the head of the state’s FBI counterintelligence division — was himself sentenced earlier this year to federal prison for doing the bidding of a sanctioned Russian oligarch. The MAGA crowd can whine all they want about the #resistance obsession with “Russia, Russia, Russia.” Folks on the political left can roll their eyes at what feels like a Trumpy obsession with Chinese influence, or another red scare. It takes a kind of willful blindness not to see a pattern here. Liu, for one, called on Adams to resign after prosecutors unveiled their indictment which showed just how deep the mayor’s ties to Turkey went.

“This isn’t a Republican problem or a Democratic problem — it’s completely bipartisan,“ Michel tells me. “And as we’re now seeing, it’s not just one level of government these regimes are targeting. It’s everyone.”

For half a century, the American government hardly bothered to enforce the Foreign Agents Registration Act, which requires influence-peddlers to disclose their overseas clients, at least. That changed after the 2016 election, when Trump recruited the O.G. of scummy foreign lobbying, Paul Manafort, to run his campaign and publicly begged for a dictator’s help to win. The Department of Justice went on to prosecute Manafort and so many others — from the Russian troll farm to the white-shoe law firm Skadden, Arps — for breaking that law. Brandon van Grack, who oversaw many of those prosecutions as head of the Justice Department’s Foreign Agents Registration Act unit, says the apparent surge in cases we’re seeing, eight years later, is a result of that 2016 wake-up call. He credits “greater resources and tools to identify and disrupt those influence operations than an increase in the operations themselves,” adding, “Foreign influence is not novel.”

It’s not exactly dying down, either. A few years ago, you might have thought that prosecuting folks like Manafort would at least serve as a warning shot. The sheer range of regimes trying to influence the 2024 election paints a different picture, and I don’t just mean the fact that Manafort is a free man and doing Fox News hits from the Republican convention. “I would say that a couple things are true in this specific situation. Yes, there are more investigations, because there are allowed to be. And I think our adversaries are more brazen than they have ever been,” Evanina, the former counterintelligence chief, tells me. 

There’s a good argument that the number of prosecutions isn’t even the right metric to gauge foreign influence. Registering as an overseas lobbyist — dodging a FARA charge — that’s the easy part. More than 1,000 foreign principals have done so since 2016, spending more than $5.5 billion to whisper in lawmakers’ ears. At least 90 former members of Congress have registered since 2000 to push another government’s agenda. Scores of U.S. generals and admirals have taken jobs with foreign governments in the last decade, with Saudi Arabia alone hiring 15 retired flag officers. Biden talked in 2020 about banning former officials from lobbying for foreign powers. It was just talk.  

The Supreme Court in recent years has radically raised the bar on bribery cases, and functionally removed any restrictions on campaign spending. That’s allowed Americans closely aligned with foreign governments to make enormous investments in shaping U.S. policy. The best known of these are the lobbyists pushing the agenda of Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu, who gave over a million dollars to the now-convicted Sen. Menendez, even after he was indicted, and spent millions more on successful primary campaigns to knock out two of Israel’s few critics in Congress. None of this violates any laws. But maybe that’s beside the point. The real foreign influence scandal, Michel tells me, is how much of it is “perfectly legal.” 

If you’re mad at outside actors for exploiting America’s system, don’t be. The United States is still the world’s biggest power; of course every other nation is going to try to pull us in their direction. Try directing your anger a little closer to home. All of these politicians on the take, we voted for them. The bullshit China or Iran pumps out on TikTok? It’s downright factual compared to the nonsense we Americans push one another. And if you think a guy like Eric Adams is an outlier with his, shall we say, open-minded approach to campaign finance and outside influences, allow me to introduce you to the Republican nominee for president and his inner circle. The Congress we elected has bottled up nearly every attempt to close these foreign-funding loopholes. The campaigns we supported went along with the Supreme Court’s decision to make elections a feeding frenzy. This is a choice. Collectively, we made it.

IN THE HOURS AFTER Linda Sun and her husband were charged as Chinese agents on Sept. 3, Gov. Hochul urged the U.S. government to expel Sun’s alleged handler, Consul General Huang Ping, and a State Department spokesperson claimed that Huang had “rotated out of the position.” Yet on the night of Sept. 5, at Manhattan’s storied Plaza Hotel, Huang Ping appeared onstage at the China Institute’s $2,500-per-ticket Blue Cloud gala, looking rather dapper in a well-tailored tuxedo. Pictures were posted to the consulate’s website two days later. “Consul General Huang Ping is performing his duties as normal,” read a statement sent out to reporters.

A few hours after he was indicted, Huang’s longtime interlocutor Eric Adams promised to do much the same. “My attorneys will take care of the case, so I can take care of this city,” he said. “My day to day will not change.” 

[palmtreesx3]

As my header states, I'm too old for this. But here I am anyway. If you're here you're gonna watch me embarrassingly lust over every version of Steve Harrington (who am I kidding, just Joe Keery in general) and while I mostly just react to other people's tremendously talented work, I occasionally dabble myself.

So if you are lurking, enjoy and leave some kisses 💋

(18+, don't be cunty, yada yada yada)

🔥 Spicy/Smutty 🚨 Cannon/Cannon Adjacent ❤️ Fluffy/Boyfriend-ism 😩 Angsty

Get Off (Series) 🔥18+ - SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC (7/9)

Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, within hours of arriving to the city, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved. Act 4 - Out Now :)

Prologue || V-Card || Act 1 || Act 2 || Act 3 || Act 4 || Act 5 || Act 6 || Epilogue

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King of Wishful Thinking (Series) ❤️ Fluffy but eventually 🔥 18+ and marked as such because I'm a hoe - Steve Harrington x Reader (2/?)

Summary: Steve has been in love with you for his entire life. He has always wanted to express his feelings and do nice things for you, but every time he tries to come up with new and creative ways to show you how much he cares, but it seems like fate is always against him. Even though he shallowly convinces himself that you’re just meant to be friends and despite these setbacks, Steve remains determined to keep trying. He still holds onto the hope that someday he'll be able to express his feelings to you and maybe, just maybe have them reciprocated. Paused but not forgotten

1974 || 1978 || 1980 (coming soon)

Joe Keery Photo Drop Support Group A place to gather when he sends us into a tizzy. This support group was started in response to the Behind the Blinds Photo Drops but can and will be revisited anytime this man rocks our world like that again....All are welcome. Judgement Free-zone. Cake ALWAYS served.

Birthday Cake Train 🍰 A communal space to celebrate birthdays and serve up a slice of Cake....you know which kind. Join the thread when it's your turn. There's enough to go around.

Seeing Stars 🔥18+ The crew finally decides it's time to start celebrating the 4th of July again, but Steve Harrington finds he can't stop himself from staring.

A Girl Like You (PT 2 to Seeing Stars) 🔥18+ In the aftermath of the 4th, embarrassment and emotions are flying, tables turn and shit gets figured out. Read Part 1 to see how exactly we got here.

Deeper for You 🔥18+ It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.

Jealous Friend One Shot 🔥18+ ask Watching your friend, Steve Harrington, go on Kamakazi Mission dates over and over again was getting kind of old. You’re always there to listen, comfort and pick up the pieces but what if this time it’s just too much? What if this time you’ve had enough and something that feels a little bit like jealousy rears its ugly head?

Firefighter!Steve One Shot

Taking Care of Steve (Road Head) Blurb 🔥18+ ask

Vampy Steve Blurb ask

Fool in Love Blurb (King of Wishful Thinking inspo) ❤️

Stevie Takes Care of You When You're Sick Blurb ❤️ ask

Joe Keery as Steve Harrington Micro expressions

Steve Harrington Smells Like head cannons

Cozy Cardigan Steve (Joe Keery Dork Mag inspo) ❤️

Ok maybe I'm being overdramatic, but please also consider reading these fics or series I feel like I'd lay down my life for because they have become a visceral part of me and changed the fabric of my being and I think about them all the time. They are all *chefs kiss* and written by amazingly talented people who also have deep Masterlists that also deliver. So wake the fuck up and read em! Again, most (okay fine, all) are 🔥 18+ ...again, because I'm a hoe

Into Open Flames 🔥😩🚨 on AO3

Midnight City 🔥 by @superblysubpar

We'll Call it Love 🔥😩 by @superblysubpar

If Tomorrow Never Comes 🔥😩🚨 by @sweetsweetjellybean

All I Really Want is You ❤️🔥 by @loveshotzz

Whatta Man (Steve's Night) 🔥 by @loveshotzz

New Years Eve (Steve & Eddie)🔥😩 by @loveshotzz

Beyond 🔥 by @abibliophobiaa

We Tried the World 🔥😩 @upsidedownwithsteve

And I Snuck in Through the Garden Gate ❤️🔥 @upsidedownwithsteve

Don't Call Me Baby 🔥😩 by @katyswrites

Aftermath (Steve & Eddie)🔥😩🚨 by @sweetsweetjellybean

Daisy 🔥 by @thyme-in-a-bubble

PSA: Don't steal my shit. Don't repost my shit. Don't steal other peoples shit. Don't use AI. Don't feed my shit into AI. Don't feed other people's shit into AI. Just come here, read about this sweet piece of a man and live on our fantasy island together in lust and in peace.