#and then they're brought out like that. almost unrecognizable.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

LOVE the trope of a captive finally getting ransomed back to their own side and they're brought out in front of their friends for the first time in weeks, maybe months, squinting in the bright light, pale and bruised and limping, and they're practically dragged towards their friends before being dropped unceremoniously at their feet, they try to tell everyone they're okay or even make a joke, but start to sway and then pass out before they can finish speaking.

#whump #honestly especially if we DIDN'T see what actually happened to them #it's been a mystery #where are they?? are they even still alive?? #and then they're brought out like that. almost unrecognizable. #and the trauma and recovery from it all ....hmm it's the good shit

[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 :)

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #fanfiction #one direction #tw suicide #tw mental illness

[hammerhead-jpg]

More new video spoilr

To expand on the implications of my last post, here's my predictions

From what we've seen, it really seems like it's setting up that Blake will turn into Hush

When I first started seeing people being like "_____ is actually Hush!" I just went "Hush is Hush he could've just been created out of nothing" but now...

People theorized that Avior might be Hush's brother, or that Avior is going to turn into hush, and while the first one was my idea at first based off of nothing but "it might be cool" I don't believe that that's it now

Yeah, a lot of people pointed out how the sounds that Avior is hearing sound like Hush's magic, but Avior said that it sounds like someone is trying to reach out to him and tell him something so it's less likely that the sounds he's hearing are a foreshadow to his foreseeable future, and more likely that at this point in time Hush has already been created and is trying to reach out to him for some reason

Also: Hush says that the first memory he has is his Brother trying to kill him, if Avior somehow for some reason witnesses the creation of Hush (which is already questionable since Hush was most likely created in the river of death), why would his first reaction upon seeing this unknown thing being created be to kill it?

What I think is more likely is: Brachium is Hush's brother.

Blake dies, goes down the river of death, but because Brachium made a deal with the Sovereigns, he must take him to them.

When Blake arrived, he makes a deal with the Sovereigns.

They promise him that they will bring him back to earth and let his lover live as long as he helps them fulfil their goal. Blake agrees right away, but the Sovereigns (because as Brachium literally said they don't have your best interest in mind, BLAKE) hide the fact that when he goes back he'll be different. He'll loose all his memories and his humanity and become nothing more than a tool for the sovereigns, and when his purpose is fulfilled he'll stop existing. The sovereigns use the water of the river of death and the silence in the spell song to create "Hush". Seeing this, Brachium, knowing that he will bring destruction to earth, tries to kill him, but because Hush is way more powerful, Brachium looses and Hush is brought to earth, wether as a new being or directly back into Blake's dead body I don't know.

This might be the crazy part: Doc is actually Bestie.

We know that Bestie is empowered, but we never actually learn what kind of magic user they are so they very well could be a freelancer healer.

I don't know what happens between the creation of Hush and the meeting between Hush and Bestie/Doc

It could be that close knit find Blake's body, somehow separate it from the shade (the shade is fully fed so I'm pretty sure it couldn't have escaped from the room) and descide that they can't tell the police/department that they're keeping a shade in their basement and dump his body into the nearest forest, potentially for him to be found and pronounced dead.

It could also be that Hush is brought to earth back into Blake's body and Hush escapes the close-knit building before the close knit members even realize that Blake is dead.

Whatever it is, Bestie/Doc is probably under the impression that Blake is either missing or dead.

So when Hush meets them, the strange fascination/almost care he has for them could be because of his subconscious memories of loving them and sacrificing everything for them in his past life.

You could say "well how doesn't Bestie/Doc recognize him as Blake?", well, it could be that Blake's appearance has changed enough that he's unrecognizable (and in this universe about 50% of the male population has very similar sounding voices), or you could even say that maybe they do want to believe that Blake somehow came back to them in a different form, but are not sure enough to outwardly go "Blake, what happened?!"

It makes sense that the Sovereigns would need a human vessel to create Hush. Before I thought that they used all the energy from the inversion to create him, which is most likely true, but if all they needed was a lot of energy and the silence of the spell song they could've created him a long time ago using the energy that the shades took over however many years they existed. They couldn't have created Hush before since human souls don't go to the sovereigns, the sovereigns had to make a deal with Brachium so that he could bring a human over to them.

There are a few things that don't match up though

I'm not sure how the timelines go, but Elliott is out of the basement on January first so it is to be assumed that Blake's death and the creation of Hush is at least two days after that. But Avior and Starlight's coffee shop date where he first starts hearing the ringing sound is most likely also probably January first, since Avior goes to Starlight's apartment for the first time after the date I'm assuming that they went to the coffee shop right after the inversion because really where else would they go if not their apartment, unless Avior just fucked off to Aria for a day which I heavily doubt he did.

So it seems like Avior was hearing messages from Hush before Hush was created? I don't know I'm probably wrong about this timeline since, despite the website being only the timeline, the timeline is very unclear

Also, my memory could be wrong but I remember that Hush talks about his brother trying to hunt him down, which is kinda hard to imagine Brachium hunting Hush down when they're in two separate planes of existences

Also also, didn't the Sovereigns say that Bestie needs to die so that it could "break" Blake? They haven't died yet so how can it break Blake when Blake is now Hush who has no memories or emotions? Will it be a dramatic scene where Hush gains the ability to feel grief once Bestie/Doc dies? Or was the Sovereigns original plan that Blake would khs to after Bestie died to try and commune with them and his request would be to bring Bestie back to life?

What has Avior have to do with it? Who knows really

Whatever it is, we might be seeing Scorpius in the next/second to next the Balance series video

Please Erik I need him Good Boy Audios is well and alive it's not like the William situation where the VA disappeared without a trace I need him Erik please don't do this to me

#watch me be completely wrong #my last theory was that Blake would drag Sunshine out ready to kill them as a peice offering to the gods #but getting interrupted by Vega and Warden showing up being like 'suprise you whore' with Scorpius half dead on the floor #so my predictions might not be accurate #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted blake #redacted hush #redacted bestie #redacted doc #redacted avior

[mollysunder]

I think the writers of Arcane have a chance to really solidify an interesting dynamic between Caitlyn, Vi, and their greater relationship with Zaun. I'm specifically thinking about what happens when Caitlyn finds out that it was Vi and her gang that robbed Jayce's apartment and caused the explosion. While Vi learns that her and the gang were actually fleecing a Kiramman property.

Caitlyn spent so much of the first season pulling back from lethal shots even with Jinx. All for her efforts to lead to the death of her mother by Jinx's hand. Then Cait learns that Jinx has been responsible for so much destruction for so long that has specifically affected her family, might completely send her off the edge. Cait would view her inaction, not firing at Jinx, as a her greatest mistake and she can never let anyone or Vi convince her to back away from a threat. . I can already see her become more intolerant to any threat or possible deviance, and let's face it, Zaunite culture is inherently deviant to Piltovans.

The revelation would also implicate Ekko in the heist because he was the one that stalked Jayce all the way to his apartment to case the joint. I can only see Caitlyn and Ekko's relationship further souring, for Ekko it would be because her plan put him in the line of fire against enforcers he stated kill his friends. But Cait might actually see how messily connected the Undercity's criminalty is connected to its citizens and how early it starts, in her perspective.

For Vi, the writers would finally have more time for her to respond about her feelings of herself before and after her imprisonment. It would be one thing for Vi to say she regrets that she did it, the revealing question is really why would she regret it. Because she almost hurt Cait and Jayce, her new allies? That it brought enforcers to the Lanes? That it's the reason her life was completely destroyed beyond repair? And would she apologize for almost hurting Cait without her knowledge? Or is she only apologizing because, with Powder gone and Zaun unrecognizable, she's one left and needs to hold on to anything that might still matter?

I'd imagine in the midst of conflict Caitlyn and the Medarda team might try to spin this as propaganda against Jinx as the one true source of the war. Jinx, an 11 to 12-year old professional criminal and master of destruction. It might work on Piltover, but it'd be a misstep in PR to get cooperatives Zaunites because everyone remembers the aftermath of the heist. Everyone in the Lanes would remember enforcers flooding the place, casually brutalizing their friends and families. How Sheriff Grayson's men would smash windows and shoot at children, and for what? Some stolen trinkets? For an accident where nobody died in Piltover, but everybody in Zaun had to be terrorized for it.

And after all that, it's not like the Kiramann's suffered any losses from the accident, in fact, they came out of better than ever in the timeskip. And now they're hearing from the daughter of the very Councilman who made a fuss and pushed with the rest of the council to have Zaun flipped upside down for 4 kids. One of whom is standing next to Cait. All in all, the whole revelation will serve to further alienate Cait and Vi from Zaun. the other Vi because And maybe Vi could learn more details about the aftermath of the heist, like

#arcane #arcane meta #arcane speculation #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #i can just see caitlyn taking the wrong lessons from what went down years ago #she was already biased and now the finale will only filter the enforcers actions at the time will only further confirm that bias #instead of seeing how the enforcers and the council's actions escalated everything she'd see the growing threats in the undercity

[puhpandas]

Take Me Home 1, 2

(2440 words)

Cassie becomes aware of the world around her slowly.

At first, all she can make out are muffled voices, one achingly familiar and right in front of her.

She wants to reach out to it, she feels like she needs to, but she can't do much of anything.

The others are all unrecognizable, and all she hears is muffled commotion, something like... like... she can't put her finger on it. She can barely think at all.

She can't find the strength in herself to move, but at some point, she feels something touching her arms, then her shoulders, then lifting her up to set her down on something soft, and when it jostles her arm, her eyelids finally stop feeling like they're welded shut as she let's out a sharp gasp.

"--assie!" The voices all become clear so suddenly; like she broke through water. "Cassie, you're okay! Oh my god."

Cassie can feel herself shaking and gasping and, her eyes are only able to open to slits as she takes in the image in front of her. A woman she doesn't recognize is typing away at one of the same portable security stations Cassie had used, and a certain animatronic is fighting the thing that Cassie ran from.

Hang on, Freddy Fazbear?

The poor guy looks like a patchwork quilt; casing different sizes and some pieces missing alltogether, with his colors and paint wonky and messy, but his signature lightning bolt and face paint flows in the dark, and it's some of the only light in the room.

Her head lolls, and she can barely find the strength to move, or even think, when she finally realizes shes laying on something soft, and not the cold, dirty, ancient linoleum tile.

"Its okay, Cassie." The voice says again, the one she'd felt the need to follow, to focus on, and she tries to look through squinted eyes at the source.

She realizes she's laying in someone's lap, and she can only acknowledge the color blue when a hand rakes through her hair as assurances are murmured her way, and she's just so comfortable that she can't find it in her to fight it, so she just succumbs, and let's her eyes slip closed.

"Damn it!" Cassie can hear the woman yell. "Gregory, I need you here!"

Cassies eyes re-open to slits when she feels herself being shifted, but she can't quite understand what's going on yet.

"Shit." The same soft, painfully familiar voice says above her, and something bothers her, like an itch she can't scratch. "Okay. I'll be right back, Cassie. Just sit tight."

Shes suddenly laying on the ice cold, filthy floor, and she cant help but make a noise in protest.

The voice does not respond with its comfort again. Instead, with her steadily growing awareness, she can hear the pitter patter of footsteps.

Its greatly difficult to open her eyes, theres some kind of buzzing in her head and an almost lag or stutter to her very thoughts, but she tries hard, really hard to force them open.

Her eyes focus in on the scene just in time to see a gray and red blur tackling the figure in front of her.

The same voice that had brought her comfort cries out, and he and the blur both land on the ground after sliding.

Cassie is suddenly very, very aware of what's happening.

"You!"" Roxy howls, pinning Gregory down by his arms and letting her teeth get very close to his face. "Don't touch her, brat! I won't allow you! Not after what you did!"

"Gregory!" Freddy yells, momentarily distracted from his battle with that thing, and it gets the jump on him, landing a worrisome blow.

Freddy staggers, but he recovers quickly, and it isnt long before he's back on top of the thing and pushing it towards the hole it crawled out of.

Freddy growls ferociously, sudden strength overwhelming the thing he's battling as it gets harder for it to fight back.

"Vanessa!" He yells to the woman Cassie still doesn't recognize.

"Shit!" Vanessa curses, leaving her station. "Hold on, Gregory!"

Suddenly, Cassies mind catches back up fully, and she tries not to let it reel too much as she scrambles off the floor, ignoring her twinging arm and leg.

"Wait, wait! Roxy don't hurt him!" She shrieks, falling to the ground after her leg gives in on her, and tears pool in her eyes, not only from the burning, scorching pain in her leg, but from Roxys sharp, broken, dangerous endoskeleton claws held high above Gregory, ready to strike.

Roxys ears wiggle, and she's distracted just long enough for Gregory to send a kick straight to her chest, that somehow sends her flying off of him.

Gregory is quick to scramble to his feet, hovering by Vanessa and taking over the computer they're at when she steps aside.

Roxy growls ferociously as she claws at the ground, scrambling to find surface.

"Brat!" She shrieks, voice box warbling and cutting out from the sheer volume and intensity. "How dare you!"

"Roxy!" Cassie yells, army crawling over to the shattered wolf and putting a soft, comforting hand on her cold endoskeleton forearm. "Roxy, please, calm down! It's okay!"

Roxy finally gets to her feet, and at Cassies voice, doesn't move again, just shifts to stay at her side, ears wiggling and she tries to understand what's going on in the room.

Cassie hears a sound next to her, a resounding beep that echoes across the room, and she can see Freddy finally shove the thing back in the dark, slimy hole it came from, and dig his claws in the metal of the door to slam it closed.

"How much longer?!" Freddy asks, and the thing starts banging on the door, leaving dents in the other side.

"Almost..." Gregory says, typing at the speed of light, and suddenly, with a flash, he pushes one finger into a button on the keyboard, and something latches on the other side of the metal door. A cement mixer Cassie never noticed was next to it begins spinning, and gray liquid begins filling it up from the tubes plugged into vats, and cement starts piling onto the door.

Freddy moves out of the way as wet cement buries the door under a thick layer, and everyone is silent when the thing's banging can't be heard anymore, and the cement mixer powers off.

She's still holding onto Roxy, and Roxy to her as well, and next to her, when she finally snaps out of it, she can hear Gregory and the woman panting next to her.

Everything only becomes apparent when the danger is over.

She suddenly becomes aware of the still wet tear tracks on her face, and it all comes swinging back at full force.

Roxy twitches when Cassie makes a noise, but Cassie isnt looking at her; shes looking just a bit past her, and to the left.

Gregory and the woman look over at her, but they only really seem to really see her when she starts crying.

Gregory looks right back at her, and it's like time slows down.

The room feels so still; like the very air has shifted and settled to let Cassie focus purely on this moment, only on Gregory.

She catches his eyes, amber colored (rare, he always said.).

And everything else falls away.

"Gregory," She sobs, and she tries to move, to get up, but her body is so sore, and she can feel herself trembling, and her leg burns and pulses with pain and shes pretty sure its broken along with her arm that she cant put pressure on.

"Cassie..." Gregory says, just as disbelieving as Cassie, and Cassie cant help but sob out a wet laugh, and let a grin split on her face when Gregory smiles at her.

He makes up for her lack of moveability and takes one step, then another, and it's not long before hes close, close enough to reach out to.

But something on her other side shifts, and she had forgotten Roxy was still there, and that her hand was still clasped firmly around her arm.

Gregory's stopped in his tracks by Roxy rising menacingly, and Gregory finally tears his eyes away from Cassie, looking wearily at Roxy.

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near her after what you did..." Roxy growls, fingers twitching as she readies her claws. "You're mistaken."

And suddenly, Cassie remembers all about what Roxys so upset about.

"It's not your fault. I know you did it for me. To save me. But... we can't risk being followed."

"I'm sorry."

Her stomach feeling like it was doing flips. Her head being slammed into the ceiling of the elevator as it plummeted to the ground. Everything spinning. Her hearing something crack when she was thrown to the floor when it finally landed before everything going dark.

Gregory's brows furrow from where hes standing, and Cassie can't help the deep, agonizing, hurt inside of her when his words echo inside of her head.

"W-what I did...?" Gregory mutters, confused. "Is this about your eyes? Listen, Roxy, I--"

"It should be, but it isn't." Roxy snarls. "You just cant stop hurting people, can you? Gregory."

Gregory's eyes flash with hurt from where hes standing, and Cassie can't help but feel like something isnt adding up.

"I-I dont understand..." He says, brows furrowed.

Roxy growls, as if she can't believe his audacity.

"The elevator, brat!" She yells. "You dropped her! All to save your own skin. Just like everything else you've done."

Gregory looks more confused than hurt, and then, his eyes widen.

"The elevator..." He mutters. "That-- Damn it! The Mimic must have-- fuck." He rubs at his eyes with his hands.

Cassie frowns. "Gregory?"

He whips up at her voice, and he looks a whole new level of concerned.

"Cassie." He says simply, and side-steps Roxy when Cassie reaches out to him.

Roxy whips around. "Gregory--!"

"Roxy!" Cassie interrupts, never tearing her eyes away from Gregory. "Its okay. I promise."

Roxy pauses at that, and with a warbling grumble, un-tenses her springs, and backs off.

"Roxy," Cassie can hear a robotic voice say, emotion lacing its tone, but Cassie isn't focused on anything but the person in front of her.

She's finally able to reach him, and he wastes no time joining her on the floor, and letting her wrap his arms around her.

She cries when he hugs back just as desperately, and she sucks in shuddering breaths, clinging onto his blue jacket.

"Cassie," Gregory says, voice soft but rough at the same time and exactly how she'd remembered it, and she just cries harder. "I didn't cut the elevator. I would--" He huffs. "I would never do that to you. It was The Mimic."

Cassie sniffs, and is just so overwhelmed with relief that Gregory didnt cut her off, leaving her to be trapped, and almost forgets to respond. "T-The Mimic?"

"That thing that's down here." He explains, and Cassie wants to break away so she can see his face, but she doesn't want to leave the cocoon of warmth and comfort yet. "But... we sealed it back up. Turned all the security back on. Its stuck again. For good."

Cassie is barely listening, just squeezing her eyes shut and burrying her face into Gregory's shoulder.

"I missed you." She says shakily. "You were gone for so long. I-I thought you--"

Gregory shushes her, but his own voice sounds choked up.

"I know." And she can feel him trembling against her as much as she is against him. "I-I missed you, too. So much."

"Um," Another voice says, a female one, and Cassie recognizes it as that Vanessa lady. "I don't mean to interrupt this moment, but we should probably get out of here."

Suddenly Cassie is thrown back into awareness, and she notices the freezing, biting cold sinking into her joints from being on the floor and the aching, pulsating pain from her left arm and leg.

Gregory finally pulls away, and Cassie is almost sent back into another crying fit when she sees his face. The same face shed missed so intensely.

She has more to say to him, so much more, but right now, all she wants is to go home.

"You're right, we gotta go." He agrees. "Its not totally safe here. Theres still danger out to get us."

Cassie tries not to let herself get too scared over that, shes so tired, but Gregory smiles a reassuring smile, and it works on her probably too well.

"Freddy?" Gregory asks the bear, who's been off to the side with Roxy for a while now. "Can you..."

Freddy nods, and goes to help Cassie, but Roxy beats him to it, and scoops her up ever so gently, holding her close and somehow just in the right position to not impale her on her broken casing or jostle her limbs.

"I've got her." Roxy says, and she sounds way less angry than before, just determined. "Let's get out of here."

Roxy strodes past Gregory and totally not very pointedly ignores him, but Gregory doesn't comment, just nods, and the Vanessa girl packs up that portable computer thing (were they all hers?) and follows behind them.

They all line up by the elevator, but low and behold, its sitting broken, crumpled, and totally, undoubtedly, unusable.

"What are we going to do?" Cassie asks, furrowed brows looking at the broken down elevator, and she looks away when she sees a bit of red on the inside. Her injuries twinge without her permission. "How are we gonna get out?"

"Dont worry." The Vanessa woman says. "We'll get out using the tunnels. They lead right up to the basement, and then we'll go from there."

Cassie want to ask about what tunnels? but shes exhausted, and her body hurts, and she feels safe for the first time (no, second time. First time was when Gregory was holding her.) all night.

So she just mumbles an agreement, and let's herself get comfortable in Roxys arms.

Going up the tunnels takes forever, and Cassie is left coughing up dust and dirt by the time they get to the surface, and her eyelids are already fluttering when they're not even at the second basement level yet.

"Rest." Gregory tells her. "You can count on us to get you out safe, I promise."

She nods, fully believing Gregorys words, and she only let's herself fall asleep when Roxy tightens her hold around her and Gregory let's her take his hand with her good arm.

2nd ao3 link

#gonna post the take me home chapters on tumblr too! #take me home #tmh #my fics #writing #fnaf gregory #fnaf cassie #fnaf ruin #fnaf fic #pandas writes #gregory and cassie #cassie and roxy #ruin

[ssaseaprince]

Writers and actors and directors will make up any excuse they can for why a character just couldn't possibly be queer, and then hurriedly say something about how they don't hate gay people, the character just isn't gay, as a way to cover up the thinely veiled homophobia of the sentament. The majority of these characters not once talked about their sexuality, it's just assumed they're straight based on who they dated. Yet queer people can be in straight relationships, so that truly isn't even a factor in the grand scheme of things. When people bring up that they view that character as queer, those writers/actors/directors just act so shocked and repulsed because their precious fictional character just couldn't possibly be queer. And they say things like "Yeah, ___ is completely straight. Sexuality just isn't something they think about, theyre just that way. Not that anything is wrong with being gay, but this character isn't." Just think about that for a minute. Being gay is such a big deal to these people that they couldn't fathom their character being queer. This characters sexuality was never brought up or confirmed, so why is people saying they think they're queer so shocking and wrong, but them saying that character is completely straight is just the natural accepted truth. Why is a character being queer an "other" or "special" thing? Why can't that character be casually queer? Why are they all so resistant to it? If it's not a big deal like they claim, why do they get so defensive when it's brought up? Why do they get so upset when a character with an unconfirmed sexuality is perceived as queer by fans? When their character is shipped with the opposite sex, they don't care, they laugh and joke about it. When they're shipped with a same sex character, it's "Oh that's definitely not true." They see straight as the default, and the idea that a character they feel connected to could be queer, is literally mind blowing to them and they immediately reject it. It's widely accepted homophobia that's almost never talked about. The immediate shock when being queer is mentioned is because society has drilled into these people's heads that being queer is big deal that makes someone wildly different and unrecognizable. To them, if their character was queer, it wouldn't be their character anymore. They hold onto their straight identity so tightly, that they see anything else as a personal attack. And they get away with it because they quickly try to cover it up with " Oh there's nothing wrong with being queer my character just definitely isn’t." Or "Oh it's actually an insult to real gay people to suggest my character is gay when they aren't." They'll find any excuse. So their character couldn't possible be gay, and neither could the next, and neither could the next, and neither could the next, etc. Because none of these straight people can cope with the possibility that someone they feel connected to could be queer. And I don't believe they're even aware of it, it's a knee-jerk reaction society has drilled into them and they don't even recognize they're doing it. And that's why we need to call these things out. Ask them, "Why is it so upsetting to you to imagine this character as queer, when they have no confirmed sexuality? Why do you automatically assume they're straight and find anything else inconceivable?" Straight is not the default, and the idea that a character might be queer does not change their entire identity, it is not the huge deal they are making it out to be. Queer people can exist casually. The truth of the matter is that they still view us as "other", and as different. The fact that we're queer is so unrelatable that the idea of their character being queer automatically ruins it them. Homophobia is alive and well in the intertanment industry, and we see it casually every single day from our favourite writers/actors/directors.

#queer #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq representation #lgbtq community #lgbtq discourse #lgbt discourse #bisexual #pansexual #character discourse #acting #actors #directors #hollywood #gay ships #wlw ship #lgbt ships #hilson #hannigram #hannibal #nbc hannibal #house md #destial #supernatural #johnlock #dr who #bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes

[so-long-soldier-writes]

I hated kai return in legacies it was just awful how stupid they continue to write his character it doesn't help I could care less about him being around his nieces or alaric

I've had the response to this in my notes forever, but haven't gotten the chance to actually reply 😭 so sorry about the delay!!

But yes, you're so right. (page break bc i talk too much)

They really did ruin try to his character. I also don't care about Alaric or his nieces; I certainly don't care about watching them water down Kai to be an acceptable villain for Legacies' standards. In TVD, they had no problem making these dangerous and scary villains that viewers actually feared (i.e. s1 Damon, Klaus, Silas, etc.), and even if the villains mellowed out over time, their introductions were still frightening. Kai trying to kill Damon the first moment we saw him was a shock to the audience. The reveal that he was the perpetrator in the newspaper added to his villainization, as did the baseball bat scene in 6x8, where we see him actually hunting his siblings. Throughout the season, even though he mellows out a bit, he comes back full force when Bonnie betrays him, and raises hell even after he's killed (via the heretics). But in Legacies, the villains aren't like that. I watched two seasons of it, and the antagonists aren't scary like they were in TVD and TO. It looks like a show made for kids, for whatever reason, and when they brought back Kai, they had to make him acceptable for kids to watch. Kai would 100% still want to kill his nieces, had he been in machete-distance of them like he was. They're only getting older, and he's only growing more restless in the prison world. But they didn't want him to be too violent, so they erased that storyline. They also made him much weaker, a lot less intelligent, and rather quirky. He became almost unrecognizable to the villain we saw in TVD, who was funny, but still very capable of causing panic, but in Legacies, became goofy and easy to defeat.

If they were devoted to keeping him as a fear-worthy villain (since they refused to give him a redemption arc in s6 and again in s8), I might not've hated his return so much. But I agree, if he's just going to mosey around and make jokes until Hope devises a plan to get another notch in her belt, I don't care about him interacting with his nieces either. It would've maybe been fun to see him interact with his nieces if the writing was better. Josie and Lizzie are both so much like Kai without either of them noticing it. It would've been great to see Alaric having to come to terms with that. But Legacies wouldn't have wanted to put in the effort in exploring this, plus it would be too dark for their audience. (The Gemini storyline in general is a rather dark plot; I'm surprised they address it at all.) They certainly wanted Josie like Jo, and Lizzie like Caroline, and although they gave them both qualities very alike to Kai, the showrunners seemed to ignore it entirely. [And, this of course, is a whole different discussion I have, about how TVDU likes to ignore the topic of mental health.] Regardless, I think it would have been cool to see Kai meet the twins. Would he remain a villain with them (is he still crazy Uncle Kai who tried to kill them twice?), or could the show have taken a different route with him (he's crazy and Ric hates him, but he's their only coven family left and the twins can't help but see similarities with him)? But instead, they did what they did with Kai - threw away his motive, made him weak and unintelligent, and let the Hope and Alaric show destroy one of the best villains that TVD had. It's honestly difficult for me to believe that the same person crafted these shows.

#i may have made some of these points before but i still strongly stand by them #also i'm so sorry if i talk too much #let me know if i need to stfu 😂 #but i have so much beef with legacies' writers #and what they did to kai #anon i'm glad we feel the same way about it lol #legacies #kai parker

[bluest-planet]

Language and Shape.

A bit taken out from this earlier part. Anyways onto cute, Flood Vanitas! Ft. Illiterate Yoruhua lol.

-

"Nothing's changed! I've done everything you've told me to do, and none of it works." Vanitas complains.

He pouts, arms crossed as he looks at them like they're some kind of traitor, which... Was technically true on multiple levels, but not here.

"This kind of thing takes time, Vanitas, you can't force something as personal as your body to shapeshift that easily."

A deep sigh escapes her, "Érebos, it might even take at the very least, a year. And that's looking on the extremely bright side, it took me years to properly develop a Clavat- eh, human, form- Over my years, I still am." Yoruhua replies, face still buried in their books and journals.

'Sol ardenti! Why does this have to be so hard?'

-

-

Why did language and writing have to become something barely unrecognizable? Thank Érebos, that Yoruhua was at least conscious and hearing enough within Void Gear to evolve and understand spoken speech over the eons. Enough time linked with their previous wielders was the only thing saving them now.

Trying to get back to their work- because if they were able to learn this, then Orichalchemi would have one less thing to worry about when they got her back- they paid no mind to Vanitas wandering around their space.

So Yoruhua buries himself in all kinds of syllables and scripts…

'So the characters are completely different here... And none of them are using glyphs anymore?! Until Ori can repair Quiet Regalia, I'll just have to learn this the hard way. Okay... This looks the closest to the descendant of my language…'

"-hua."

'The TL sound doesn't really exist anymore, I... Think. It's either a K or L…'

"-ruhua."

'This is.. entirely incomprehensible... Without glyphs they just use entirely different, unique words to describe something instead of adding suffixes and prefixes? Oh this'll take me centuries to understand-!'

"YORUHUA!"

She jumps in her seat, frantically trying to catch herself so she doesn't fall, "Ack-! What in Érebos' name, did something happen-?!"

He turns to see what all the fuss is about, only to not see anyone.

"Vanitas? Vanitas, where did you go?" Yoruhua rises from their seat, but yelps when something pushes up against their shoe.

"Hey, watch it! I'm down here, ogre!" A familiar, muffled voice yells.

"Vanitas! I'm so sorry!" He quickly lifts his shoe and back away, only to see a small dark red flood skitter away from them.

He kneels down to meet him, but even then Yoruhua is a lot bigger than the tiny Vanitas. If anything, this only made their jarring height difference worse, like comparing a lion and a housecat, downgrading Vanitas from lynx.

"Yeah, you better be sorry! You almost crushed me, freak! Now help me up!" Little Flood Vanitas hisses.

Sheepishly, they reach out for him to hop onto their arm and get a better look at him. Carefully bringing him over their desk.

"oh wow... Look at you! You did it!!" Yoruhua broke into a wide smile, "this isn't what I imagined when I first brought it up shapeshifting, but this is fine! Certainly intriguing for a first shift..." She muses.

Vanitas stomps his little foot and grumbles, "are you done gawking?! This isn't what I wanted-why am I so small- Tell me how to undo this!"

She coos, enamored by his transformation and little tantrum. He reminded her of some of the younger homunculi she cared for in the past. "aw...but you’re so precious, so soon?"

Vanitas screeches, "YES!"

"Okay! Calm yourself!"

"I AM COMPLETELY CALM!"

She smiles to herself wryly, "uh-huh... Of course you are. Ahem, just take a deep breath and blank your mind. Stop thinking so hard about what you look like." She tries to coach.

The little flood squirms under her gaze but eventually settles, "this better work."

Vanitas' chest rises and falls as his eyes close and he stills, Yoruhua intensely watching in bated anticipation.

They wait a few seconds, then about a minute before Vanitas growls and groans, "this is impossible! It didn't work, again, fix this!"

They shake their head, "it shouldn't be that hard to go back. Being calm and not worrying about appearances is key. Your body should just relax and go to the default you're used to. With the body you're most comfortable in."

"but mine never has been!" He yells.

Yoruhua's eyes widen, "what-"

"-my body has never been just mine! I don't..." Vanitas' tiny form crumbles, sinking into a pitiful puddle on the desk, "I don't- I've never had a body I was... Completely comfortable, in. I lost that a long time ago and I'm never getting it back."

They frown, "Vanitas…"

The puddle shrinks, "why did you think I wanted to learn in the first place...? This was stupid, and now I can't even go back. Nothing ever goes my way."

Yoruhua stays silent, unsure how to comfort him. Their own form was not one they were ever unsatisfied with, not when shapeshifting came so easily to them. And, despite the fact they technically shared and understood Orichalchemi's odd relationship with having an inorganic body- this was an entirely different issue.

Yoruhua, as a homunculus, going between a monstrous form and more 'human-like' appearance, not including sharing fusion with Ori, or even body swapping with her on one occasion... all were just him in the truest way possible. Just a reflection of who he's been since birth, changing with time. Unrestrained, chaotic, self expression, like any other form of Darkness.

How and why Vanitas didn't have a decent grasp on half of that as another homunculus-

"oh." She says audibly, hitting her palm with her fist when it hits her.

'He wasn't always made of Darkness, neither was he raised in the Realm of Dark for any of this to feel natural by Light's rules. That's a tricky one to handle...'

Red eyes open and peer at her from the puddle, "...what?"

He dips his hand into the puddle and dredges Vanitas up by the scruff.

He squawks, bunging around in her grasp, "what do you think you're doing?! Let me go!"

Yoruhua huffs, "oh relax, you used to toss me around like this all the time in Void Gear, actually, I'm sure you did worse than that on occasion." She cups him in her palms, scratching under his fuzzy, yet staticky chin with a thumb, "it's okay though, this makes it even."

He half-heartedly pushes it away, "I guess…"

"Listen, I honestly have no idea how to comfort you, nor do I know how to 'fix' you."

"Tsk, I don't need your pity-" Vanitas begins to argue, but Yoruhua cuts him off.

"-but! You're right, you don't need me to. If you were able to shapeshift in the first place, then I believe you'll be able to go back eventually. Let's just ride this out, don't give up yet and don't be so hard on yourself." They encourage.

He glares, "but I don't wanna to be stuck like this."

Yoruhua gently pets him with his fingertips again, soothingly tracing down his back, "I know, but trying to force yourself back will do more harm than good. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe and sound!"

Vanitas can't help but cringe as she babies him, but a small part of him embarrassingly rumbles at the nice petting.

His sister quietly laughs to herself, earning another glare, but she feigns ignorance, coughing behind her glove.

Vanitas crawls away from her hand, "Well, since I can't do anything-" and instead hops up onto her sleeve, till he reaches her shoulder.

He brushes up against her cheek and pushes past her surprisingly soft hair, drawing a ticklish snort out from her.

"-I guess I'll just have to help you with this, your handwriting is awful." He snaps, pointing a claw at her handiwork.

Yoruhua immediately frowns, "I'd like to see you try going from millennia old glyphs to modern written words! I'm doing my best, punk."

Flood Vanitas bristles, "oh I get it, think you're too good for my help?! I'm never offering to help you again, hag."

His sister's voice goes high with indignation, "hag? Hag?!"

Vanitas squeaks when he's pulled away from his comfy perch, immobile in her grasp, "H-Hey! Not again!"

Yoruhua flicks him upside his muzzle, looking very offended, "I'll have you know I was one of, if not the most sought after Prince of Night in my era!" She gestures at her hard work, "I was a master in calligraphy, languages, chaotics, and mathematics you couldn't even conceive of, zygote!"

Vanitas hisses, and manages to nip their bare arm and points at their journal, "you spelled 'realm' wrong right there, genius."

Yoruhua's face blanches at the mistake, "oh. Um. Right. Guess some help wouldn't be entirely unwanted. You know, because you're from this era, you're my best resource." And unceremoniously drops Vanitas back down again.

Flood Vanitas mentally rolls his eyes and skitters up to their head this time, nesting on her fluffy hair, "at least like this, I get a front row seat to your mistakes."

"Hey, rude."

He scoffs, "and you used a 'k' instead of a 'c'- stars, wait, this worse than I thought, how have you been navigating the maps if you're this bad?"

Yoruhua stays silent.

Vanitas stills, "Hold on- have we been running around blind this whole time?!"

"It's not blind if I'm following a trail! I, um, recognize most worlds from your travels anyways! You never said anything-!" She tries to defend,

He lets out a loud groan and leans over their head to berate them to their face, "STARS ABOVE, it's a miracle we haven't gotten lost- you suck at everything! Teaching, reading, explaining, and now directions?!"

She sheepishly tugs on her hair, "uhm. To be fair. Orichalchemi was always the better navigator… heh, ha, she was an actual caravaner, I only ever watched while I was in her shadow… or made plans on the map we had in the castle…"

Vanitas can't believe what he's hearing, "...I'm just going to pull a rat, and take the reins from here. I may not have my body back, but I can still tell you what's what if we're taking a break from shapeshifting."

She looks up at his beady, glowing red eyes and sighs, "alright, can you read over this for me?" Offering up their notes to him.

He perks up at the distraction and lays on his smug attitude, "of course, your majesty. Now, pay attention- time for the student to take the role of the master!"

Yoruhua hides a smile under the shadow of their head, letting Vanitas do exactly as he says.

'Let him have his fun, he can learn his lessons later.' He thinks. Unaware of his bad habit, indulgence, getting in the way of resolution.

But for now, he takes genuine joy in being taught something new for the first time in ages.

#kh #kingdom hearts #kh vanitas #kh oc #kh fanfic #starry stories #ugh this one really did not want to work with me. originally meant to be kinda angsty but i didn't want jt to be so it was editied #honestly maybe it should've stayed cut im not 100% with this one #but whatever its done and now ill take what i like and what i dont for good storry purposes #anyways FLOOD VANITAS #ugh so cute! maybe ill keep him like this lil #got another one cooking ✌️ had a mental health crisis but now im okay dbfbf #mas or menos that is #anyways Yoruhua is struggling out here. Ori spoke old greek & Yorhu has a mix of Nahuatl japanese spanish and latin so its all a mess to he #him* #anyways Yoru is struggling between being a good big sibling and their intinctual loyalty as a literal sword #like. that fucks someone up lol yoru has some issues and way of viewing vanitas that needs to be worked through #but at least its better than Xehanort like. theres hope for em both this time lol #they're at least both able to heal in their own way being nice and vulnerable to each other #and caring about someone new other than themselves #anyways later!!!!

[1ore]

ough. everything happens so much and i barely have the processing power to talk about the men who live in my brain that aren't real. this is unacceptable. how is a woman to work under these conditions.

byuuillggghhh i make an effort anyway.

yuri got his shit rocked in the mists. i still cant believe my dumb throwaway idea is canon. i dont think that man 'came back wrong' so much as he didn't come back at all. instead, an entity who has been transformed to the point of being unrecognizable (but still technically a continuation of the same person) came out of the mists. happy pride.  

i think the sheer need to kick balthazar's ass is what brought him back. not just his own desire, but that of everyone and everything around him. he forms around the collective suffering and vacuous emptiness left behind in his wake, and while he DOES recover some memories on the way up, all of them are of conflict and war. which. has some implications for his sense of self and how he relates with literally everyone around him.  

he is instinctively drawn to people with unresolved grief, righteous anger, or other wounds related to wartime. For a while, he's not really a person but a physical force that strongarms the cruel and powerful into paying their moral debts, whatever that means. (the Norn description of the six gods not as persons but as motive forces is bouncing around in my brain.)  

inevitably this leads him back to his old gang as they converge on Kicking Balthazar's Ass. yuri is drawn to their hurt and remembers most of them from his time with the Pact, but only in broad strokes-- the great victories and terrible losses. he remembers almost nothing of their actual day-to-day relationships. he is vaguely compelled to learn more, but he doesn't know how to be anything but a shambling wraith. so. emotional intimacy doesn't come naturally. that, and everyone else just thinks they're hallucinating him out of grief.  

idk if yuri even GETS to kill balthazar. i think it's fun if he's robbed of the chance to fulfill his purpose, and feels anchored to tyria out of this sense of unfinished business. my man is once again embodying the vacuous emptiness left behind by war.  

right now, in the aftermath, he's kind of just orbiting people and trying to be helpful in his narrow, ominous, vaguely upsetting definition of being helpful. he remembers 'Commander Atropos' and 'Marshal Trahearne' well enough to hold a stilted conversation. The Lastborn is a puzzle to him, definitely knows that guy, definitely has The Long Shadow Of War hanging over him, but cannot for the life of him pin down why or from where. hasn't met his daughter the vinetooth yet, but when he does, she Will force those memories back into his miserable brain like a square cube into a circular hole. biting him and biting him and biting him and b  

(Of all people the Lastborn is probably handling this the best. he's like oh we all have those days where we cannot continue to exist without annihilating everything that we were and everything that we could have been. you're not special. maybe if you eat some soup you'll calm down.)  

       

something something trahearne finally getting to reciprocate the patience and kindness that yuri showed to him while he was in the pits of his psychic mordremoth prison. at first he's being dragged kicking and screaming into this but then he picks himself up and dusts himself off and 180's on it, just like his wild hunt. anyway that's all thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#the problem with video game journaling is journaling ): #yuri six-cants tag #guild wars 2 tag

[ergomaria]

Shores of the Cosmic Ocean - Chapter 04

Revan's plan to end the Mandalorian Wars in a single, decisive day is successful. But it comes with a heavy toll. The Republic's greatest commander falls while activating the Mass Shadow Generator, a superweapon they personally approved of to win the war. Alek and Meetra survive. left with the daunting task of securing the Republlic's victory as decisively and efficiently as Revan would have. They can only hope that they succeed.

Four years later, Alek and his daughter are trying to live a peaceful life away from war and politics when a ghost from the past threatens to destroy the fragile life they've built...

Blinking rapidly to stop a wave of dizziness from overtaking him, Malak wondered, "So, there wasn't any reverberation? Revan was concerned about that, but it sounds like they had no reason to be."

"There was some. But, um…" Gently settling herself on the edge of the medical cot, Meetra placed a soft hand on her friend's thigh. It was the type of comforting gesture that the other Jedi had come to fear throughout the war, a sure sign that bad news was incoming. As foreboding gripped his heart he suddenly realized how quiet the room was, devoid of the bustle and shouts that usually filled the medical bay after a large battle. The silence was terrifying, only broken by the blonde carefully murmuring, "Alek… Squint… I wasn't the one to order the weapon's use. And it wasn't my ship that was in the blast radius."

The words were spoken plainly, but Malak could sense the dread filling each syllable. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly too dry. "Then whose was it? Nobody else in the fleet was authorized to know about the Mass Shadow Generator and only three individuals could give the command to use it. Me, you, and…"

"It was Revan. My portion of the fleet was swarmed by a vanguard of heavily armed Mandalorian vessels. They far outpaced their main fleet and our flagship so that they could reach me first. I'm not sure if it was a group of warriors still bitter over Dxun or if they had intel that I was in charge of a special weapon, but…"

"So, what the hells happened out there?"

The composure of a battlefield commander fell away as Meetra's eyes filled with tears. "Almost half of my fleet was taken out before Revan reached us. I was going to order the use of the weapon to preserve the rest of our vessels, but my ship was boarded. I was injured and… Revan brought the flagship around to act as a shield while their troops provided support to protect Bao-Dur. He… he needed time to prepare the Mass Shadow Generator."

"And where's the karking flagship now!?"

"Revan gave the order to activate the weapon. Due to their ship's defensive positioning, they were in the blast radius. Some of their crew managed to escape using the shuttles, but…"

The world was going black around the edges as panic seized Malak's mind and a high-pitched ringing echoed in his ears. "But what? Where the kriff is Phae?!"

"They weren't on any of the recovered vessels. We performed multiple scans of Malachor's surface but so far there have been no signs of life… which is exactly what they planned for."

A cold lump formed in the Guardian's gut, the sensation spreading out to his limbs. "But that's not… They can't be…"

"They might not be dead! But… but their ship was destroyed by the weapon, torn apart and slammed into the planet again and again…" Meetra shuddered at the memory. "We smashed Malachor into an unrecognizable graveyard."

"So they're down there somewhere! You and I both know they might be capable of protecting themself in a crash that severe, so you need to send out a search party now!"

"I can't, not until things settle." Swallowing hard, the Sentinel whispered, "Remember I mentioned that there was a… reverberation? Right after the Mass Shadow Generator was activated, I felt the Force scream with the pain of everyone caught in the blast. It was… I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't even think. And then everything went silent. It was over within minutes but for an instant, it felt like the Force died."

"...What!? I thought you said that you weren't affected by the damn weapon!"

"I said I was barely affected, which is true. I feel fine now aside from one hells of a concussion. But in that moment, I couldn't reach out to the Force. And that might mean that Revan…"

"No! They're stronger than both of us combined. If anyone could push past that sensation and survive…"

Read the whole chapter on AO3!

#star wars #kotor #kotor 2 #revan #the jedi exile #alek squinquargesimus #nonbinary revan #malak x revan #revan x malak #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #kotor fanfic #kotor 2 fanfic

[ask-spider-man-61610]

Darkness isn't exactly an absence of light. It's a consumption of light, a place where light has no escape. This revelation occurred to Emjay as she watched black, hazy tendrils slip their way under the barricaded door and feel blindly for her. Peter had encountered the woman on the other side twice now--he'd explained the power she had over shadows, an influence and manipulation that he'd never seen before, and tried to guess theories behind how she did it. Now, watching the shadows become prehensile and reach for her, Emjay suddenly knew. Pity was devouring the light.

Pity--or "the asset," as she was more frequently called nowadays--stood in the hallway outside the janitor's closet, her unearthly green eyes fixed on the door, the fingers of each hand outstretched to their limit. Shadows poured from her palms like smoke. Whatever the girl had put behind that door, it was sturdy enough to resist the efforts of six agents at once. But then they'd brought her out, given her the needed orders, and set her to work.

All she needed was to seize and restrain the girl, and then she could go back to sleep.

That was about the moment a gloved fist hit her in the jaw at two hundred fifty miles per hour. A normal human being would've lost the entire bone, the front of their throat, and a gallon of blood. It would've been utterly and instantly fatal. Pity was lucky that, along with her power over the dark, her mutations gave her a level of superhuman strength, because there was nobody on Earth Spider-Man would've pulled that punch for.

As it was, the asset's jaw fractured and her head whipped to the side fast enough to knock her out like a light. Her body went spinning across the corridor, crashing into a wall and tumbling to the floor in a heap. The black vapors that she had produced settled to the floor like a thick blanket and began to dissipate as Spider-Man slid to a halt on the corridor floor. For about a tenth of a second the vigilante stared at Pity's unmoving form, his fists clenched, his stance tense and battle-ready.

Then his spider-sense rose in pitch, tracing the shapes of handguns and suited men. It hadn't been just Pity trying to break down that door. He'd moved too fast to follow, but now the reflexes of seven CIA agents were beginning to catch up--heads turning in his direction, fingers curling around triggers and ready to fire. He cocked his head, feeling them move in slow motion as they tried to react to his appearance.

Seven CIA agents between him and his wife.

Within the closet, Emjay winced as she heard two gunshots, but she rolled her eyes to hear a sickening crack of bone. More gunfire, voices yelling orders, a thud against the wall like a body hitting it. In a matter of seconds the voices outside went from five to three to two. There was a scream of pain, a slam against the door, and a series of telltale thwips.

Then a set of knuckles rapped against the door. "They're down, hon. We gotta go."

It took her a few seconds and a grunt of effort to move the carpet cleaner and locked custodial cart away from the door. When she stepped out into the hallway it was to find a slightly gruesome sight, but one that she had long since grown used to in the time she had been helping Peter with his infiltrations. Bodies lay strewn across the hall--all alive, but none liable to get up anytime soon. Some agents had limbs bent at odd angles. Others winced with every breath. One unfortunate soul was hanging upside-down, his right foot glued to the ceiling with a glob of webbing.

In the middle of the scene stood Spider-Man. A bit of someone's blood had splattered across his suit; Emjay stepped forward and used her thumb to wipe a crimson droplet off of one of his shiny grey eyepieces. They made for an odd-looking couple: her in a charcoal-colored pantsuit and bogus ID, her features almost unrecognizable beneath layers of makeup; him clad head to toe in red-black spandex, a backpack hanging off one shoulder and a camera dangling from his neck. But even in the middle of a scene of chaos and tension, the two fit together like puzzle pieces.

"There'll be more coming," Emjay murmured. "What's the safest route out, Tiger?"

He hesitated. His skull buzzed with warnings of incoming reinforcements, of guns and flashbangs ready to be used against him, but in the next hall over he could feel an empty office with a large window. "Come on," he said, turning, but then his eyes landed on Pity and he hesitated again.

The asset was still unconscious. Drool had begun to leak from her crooked mouth and onto the floor. From the neck down she wore a skintight black jumpsuit, with specialized holes for IV injections and D-rings for restraint and transport. Her face was lined with age--years that hadn't been her own, a whole lifetime enslaved to Fiers and his successors.

If they left her, the Agency would no doubt stick her back in her holding tank. Frankly, he was surprised they had brought her out for this. But a flash of inspiration lit up Peter's eyes, even through the mask, and he said, "We're bringing her."

When an upper-story window of the Center for Intelligence shattered, Spider-Man had his wife in a piggyback ride as he leaped out. Under one arm he carried a roughly human-sized bundle of webbing.

#spider-man #peter parker #specs #spider man au #spidersona #story #odyssey arc

[chocolate-failure]

I almost can't believe it... part of me doesn't want to, but writing may have been the answer. Believing it and understanding it are different things, but they're somehow both mutually inclusive and exclusive. Like I couldn't bring myself to believe a philosophy I don't understand, but there are plenty of things we believe in and could never understand. God comes to mind, but I don't understand nor believe... perhaps gravity. Gravity can be my god. And while I understand that it exists and to some degree how it exists, it never quite ceases to make sense but still somehow becomes incomprehensible.

Is that possible?

Probably not. But I still find it unbelievable that the answer has been under my nose. When did things start going to shit with the big shrink? When I started trying to heal but not just that, when I started looking to the world to help me do so. I started therapy... I started taking meds. The meds. That shit quite literally ruined my life. I gained 80+ lbs in what? Maybe 4 months. It was abject hell for a minute there. Then I lost it all and tried to take meds again. Lather. Rense. Retreat. But what else did I do in the interim? I started trying to reengage myself with the outer world, all but abandoning my inner world.

I've never been scared of being alone, but losing access to my innermost thoughts made me terrified to be in my own company. I've become so unrecognizable to myself. The depersonalization is far worse than any derealization because I'm never truly alone if I'm with myself. Depersonalization is the antithesis of intrapersonality, self-disclosure, solitude... it somehow disrupts the peace solitude affords by making you into someone else, thus breaking the solitude. It makes no sense, but it is disastrously lonely when you become a stranger in your own mind. It's the only loneliness I truly comprehend.

I'm having an exceedingly difficult time distinguishing myself from the scenery. The scenery in a place I don't even what to fucking be. Is this even me? Like seriously, who tf is this?

But maybe if I write enough I can draw in enough edges that I can readily identify myself. Like it could entirely fail but it feels like the right thing to do. Cuz the second I stopped writing I started eating and eating has brought me a remarkable amount of pain. I find when I decide to think instead of stuffing shit my face I feel a lot less like the world is going to end. Like I might explode, but I'll at least be empty when I do. Even now, I don't feel packed to brim anymore, like I might throw up if I move the wrong way.

I feel possible. The world feels possible. And wasn't this always what brought things back to equilibrium? Purging. Sometimes it's good and you get everything out but purge is purge and less is always less, and if you're able to find a way to make it happen you're doing it right. Is it a crutch when it's otherwise empowering?

#journal #the big shrink

[yesitsmewhataboutit]

Poker Face

Mob!Tom Holland x Reader

You get a knock on your door, detectives wanting to use your apartment for a stakeout. Of course you say yes, little do they know you have a secret of your own. Little do they know you know more about their investigation then what they tell you that night

Warning⚠️: description of injury and surgery’s

»»——⍟——««A/n: I held this captive in my drafts for a few days just to make y’all suffer🌝

Masterlist

Prologue // Chapter 1

This chapter is brought to you by Greys Anatomy 🩺🩹

Chapter: 5

Sam. His leg's broken, the bone completely snapped and pushed out of his skin. If they leave it, it could get infected. It can easily get infected in his state, and if it gets infected, they might have to remove his leg altogether. The biggest concern is his neck. However, or whatever he landed on caused a bad injury. Some of his skin ripped off, and it's been actively bleeding for a concerning amount of time. If there is an internal bleed, it could reach and damage his spine. He could get paralyzed from the neck down.

Harrison. His nose got broken, many injuries to his face, a high possibility of needing plastic surgery. He's almost unrecognizable. Plus, there's a gash, a large gash on his stomach. It's an open wound waiting, basically waiting to get infected. The only good thing is that it stopped bleeding not long ago, but the remains of his suit sit against the wound, and the doctors know if they move it, it could make it bleed again, but if they don't, it increases the chance of infection.

Tom. He got impaled with glass from the windows at the warehouse. It's a large piece that went through and through, in his abdomen and out through his back. There aren't many shards or pieces that ended up in the wound, but they're there. The worst part, he has forced trauma to the side of his head. If they don't treat him soon, he might have a crack in his skull and bleeding to his brain.

Contrary to what you thought, his ear wasn't gone. It's still attached but basically ripped off and hanging from his head. That's an almost definite internal bleed. But they don't know where. It could be in his spine, it could be in his neck, or worst, it could go to his brain. If the bleed is in his brain, which it's likely, not only could it paralyze him, it could cause a lot of brain damage. He could end up brain dead.

The doctor explained this to Harry, wanting his help on what to do. Tom is his brother, Sam is his twin, and Harrison is one of his closest friends. How would he pick who has to suffer? "S-so um, what's the best option? What- what do you think is best?" he asks.

Possible brain damage, death, or paralyzation, yeah, none of the options was best. From now, each action had to happen with purpose. Moving them without knowing what they were planning to do could cause piles of problems. The worst part, the part the doctor hated to tell Harry, hated seeing the way his face fell, is the fact they could all already be gone.

The doctors can't touch them without a plan. It could cause more damage or mess up the possibility of another option. They didn't know if their hearts were still beating. They didn't know if they were responsive. Sam might be already permanently paralyzed. Harrison might already have a fatal infection running through his body. Tom's brain already might be shut down. He could be dead.

Harry looks back into the room. His eyes fall to you. You're still in the chair in the corner, your knees pulled to your chest and your head sitting on them, tears flowing from your eyes as you look over all three of their bodies. How would he tell you? Harry knew he needed to stay calm. He needs to keep his head on straight. Right now, Harry is in charge. Paddy took Nikki to Tom's office, her not being able to bear looking at the scene.

Harry is the next person in command, the only one who can make these decisions. So he asks more questions, everything running through his brain at lightning speed, knowing his time is running out by the second. If they aren't dead now, they would be soon.

They could stretch supplies, and they already had people running to get another heart monitor. But beds, even if they had another bed, there is no room. The gurneys they were brought in on are bloody and not clean, they can't be put back on them, and they can't put together the supplies to clean them because that would take away from being able to sanitize the other things needed.

A thought crosses Harry's mind, and he knows it could cause problems, but it's not the only hard decision he'd have to make, nor is it the most important one. Harry is taking these decisions one by one, so as much as he didn't want to have to do this, he knew he had to ask.

Harry turns from the doctor, walking into the room and squatting in front of you. "Y/n. I need you to look at me." Your red bloodshot eyes turn to him, but your body doesn't move an inch. "Y/n, listen, things are not good right now. There are serious decisions I have to make, but right now, all their lives are on the line. I know you hate to see him like this, I know this is very hard, but I need you to promise me something." You continue to look at him, again not moving, but he can tell you're listening. "I'm going to send out for another bed, but it's no place for it to go in here, so I'm telling them to put it in Tom's room. If I do this, you'll have to see him like this constantly. Can you handle that?"

You blink a few times. If saying yes meant this' easier for Harry, or that it's a higher chance one of them lives, you near you couldn't say no. You slowly nod your head, watching Harry deflate with relief as he hangs his head for a moment. "Thank you," he says. He stands quickly, giving you a kiss on the forehead before hurrying back to the other side of the room to the doctor.

Now for the hard part, who gets care first? Tom is the mob boss, Sam is their brother, and Harrison is one of their best friends, plus Tom's second in command. There's no easy way to weigh who "deserves" a higher chance. The best thing Harry could do is think of the injuries. What's worse? What has the best possibility of waiting? What could they live with, what could he live with knowing he did?

Tom. Tom is the first one that comes to mind. All of them could end up dead, but Tom's injuries have the highest possibility that he could end up dead quicker. "Tom. Work on- work on Tom first," Harry's voice stutters as he nods. The doctor looks past him, yelling out a few things, and the other doctors and nurses head to Tom, immediately pulling the bed out and rushing to the operating room.

"We still have doctors available," the doctor speaks slowly, looking at Harry's face as he continues to think, wheels turning in his head. "If you don't pick someone now and wait for them to finish with the Boss, it's almost definitely one of them will not survive. Best course of action is to pick between Sam and Harrison. Who gets care now and who should wait."

Sam or Harrison. His twin or his and his brother's best friend. Harry is trying his best not to let his bias take over. He wants to be reasonable, but at the same time, how would he live without either of them? How would he live with himself if he knew Sam got paralyzed, or Harrison died from an infection since he made one of them wait?

"Sam. Take Sam in too," his voice stutters as he says it, his heartbreaking for his best friend. The doctor nods, quickly moving past him and going with the other doctors to take Sam in to start surgery. After he's alone outside the room, he lets out a shaking breath, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, praying he made the right choice.

The way he thought of it is that if Harrison gets an infection, they could still fix it, flush it out, and he would be ok, but they couldn't fix Sam getting paralyzed. Sam can't wait, Harrison can, so it's the best option.

While Harry is still standing in the hallway, the men he sent out to get the beds and heart monitors come back. They push it into the room, next to Harrison's body that's still on the floor. Harry gets himself together quickly and steps into the room. "He's not dead yet, be careful," he says as he walks past the men attempting to pick him up. Harry was walking toward you but noticed you weren't in the chair. He looks over, seeing you watching the operating room, watching Tom. "You know you don't need to watch this," he speaks slowly, stepping in front of you, his back to the window, not wanting to see it himself.

You sniff, your lip trembling, and Harry can already hear the "but" coming. "You'll already have to watch him when he gets better. Don't torture yourself," he says.

"If he gets better. He could die on the table," you say quietly.

Harry sighs, putting his arm around you and turning you around, walking away from the window, out of the room. The farthest you go is the living room area. He sits down with you, and you lay your head on his lap, something you remember doing with Tom at your apartment when he'd be on calls, letting him play with your hair.

You remember Harrison always joking with you. He'd say how one day Tom would get annoyed and accidentally pull too hard and pull out your hair. Now you're hoping you have a chance for him to do that again.

~~

Both of you fall asleep. Harry wakes up first, seeing that it's 3 hours later. He looks down at you, taking your head in his hands and slowly moving and setting it on the couch. He pulls out his phone, quickly sending a text to Paddy to come and sit with you while you sleep.

He slips from the room when Paddy comes into view. He walks quickly toward the infirmary, walking into the room without a second thought. He notices how the room is clean, with no more blood on the beds. The only blood is Harrison's, who's in the middle of the room, still battered and bloody. Harry walks up to the bed, looking down at his friend, feeling his eyes gloss over, but he wouldn't dare let them fall.

It's slow and soft, but Harry can see his chest still rising and falling, confirming that Harrison is still breathing. "I'm sorry, mate. Hang in there," he whispers, biting his lip. He wanted to reach out a touch him so badly, but he knew the slightest movement could make him bleed again. Harry turns his head away, turning to walk to the window. Everything looked ok, almost as if they were close to being finished.

The doctor looked up, seeing him standing at the window. She excuses herself and walks out to him, already knowing he wants an update. "The glass was pretty solid, and we got it all out without harming any of his other organs. Fortunately, Boss' skull didn't crack. Minimal internal bleeding and nothing reached his spine. However, he lost all hearing in his left ear."

Harry lets out a breath, at the moment only relieved that he'll live. Other problems can get dealt with later. It only matters that he's going to live. "As for your twin," Harry's eyes shoot back over to the doctor, "his leg will be bandaged up for at least two months, waiting for it to heal. There was a lot of bleeding, most of it did reach his spine, but we got it out without damage, and at most, he'll need physical therapy, but before any of that, we will be putting him on a neck brace and keeping him in a coma type state. His body needs to heal, and the slightest movement of his neck could cause more bleeding and paralyze him before we can fix it. We will bring him off it once we think he's healed enough."

Harry held his breath, afraid the doctor would say Sam didn't make it, but she didn't, he did, he was so relieved he could cry. His gaze falls on Harrison, and a sudden sadness flows through him. His brothers would live, but his best friend might not. The doctor picks up on his gaze and starts speaking again. "Sam will be out first. They should be putting his leg in a cast right now and stitching his neck. It won't be much longer. We'll be able to start on Harrison." Harry nods, and the doctor returns inside.

~~

Hours later, Harry is sitting in a chair, head on his hands as he waits for an update on Harrison. They had finished Sam as they said, now he's laying a few feet from Harry, and took Harrison in the second they cleaned everything.

Harry looks up when he hears someone walking into the room, seeing it's you and Paddy. You're holding on to him like you had been the first time you guys walked into the infirmary, and your eyes are just as red as you look around the room, seeing how clean it now is.

You and Paddy walk over to Harry, him scooting over so you can fit on the chair. He fills you both in, and you cry in happiness, plus fear for Harrison. A few seconds after he finishes, the operating room doors open, and they push Tom into the room. You stand quickly, almost too quick, making you lose your balance, but Paddy catches you. Harry isn't far behind you, and you all rush up to the side of the bed, looking at Tom. There's a bandage around his head, plus one holding down his ear. There are multiple cuts and scrapes around his face and neck. Plus, you figure there are more bandages under the hospital gown.

The doctors wheel him down the hall, taking him to his bedroom as Harry instructed. When they get there, they hook up the heart monitor and everything. They tell you he'll be asleep for a while, but to be careful. Harry is surprised when he turns to go back to the infirmary, and you try to follow him. But you tell him as he said, you'd have to see Tom like this for a while, no reason to sit extra time, and you want to see Harrison, make sure he's ok when he comes out.

~~

At 6:34 pm, the doors opened. The doctor walked out, you, Harry, and Paddy shooting up to see if Haz was ok. All of you are nervous, your hearts racing, afraid that she would she say, his heart stopped.

"He'll be ok," you all audibly let out sighs of relief, "his face looks the same as before, his nose actually wasn't too damaged, and there was an infection, but we flushed it out, minimal damage to his organs, nothing that we couldn't repair."

As the doctor talks, they push Harrison from the operating room. They put him in the spot next to Sam, moving out of the way as you three look at them, all of you happier than ever that they're all alive.

You feel Harry move, and you look at him, seeing him slump down on the floor, his head falling to his hands as he lets out a long breath. His heart is aching with relief. They're all alive. He made the right choice, and everything will be ok. All of the doctors and nurses step out of the room, and you hear Harry let out a shaky breath, knowing tears were falling down his face. He's never dealt with anything like this before. Tom was always the Boss. He never had to do something so stressful.

You lower yourself to the floor, sitting next to him and pulling him into a hug, hearing his quiet sobs of relief. You all stay like that for a while, only hearing the sounds of the heart monitors, again confirming they're all alive, they're ok.

Harry made the right decision.

Chapter 6 >>

Masterlist

Ahem: @notyourcupofteax @dreamsarecloserwithyou @tomsirishgirlx @novaresque @b0kutoswaifu @iamasimpingh0e

#tom holland #mob tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland angst #Tom Holland x fem #Tom Holland x fem reader #tom holland x fem!reader #mob!tom x fem #mob!tom #tom holland series #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader

[insomnishnik]

pairing : obsessive! dom eren x god complex reader *wink* *wonk*

rating : smut, 18+, fluff, crack (?)

wc : 53k

cw : degradation, choking, semi public sex, art student! eren, cockwarming, pussy spanking, mention of bruises and injuries, breeding kink ish, obsessive behavior, stalking, borderline yandere 😁 also pliz I'm new so if this bad lemme know

summary : at the very end of graduation, it's time to say goodbye, college is over, now off to the real world. But before the farewell, you as the student president arrange the one last time after party as a sweet goodbye message, little do you know eren have other plan.

“DO WE HAVE TO?” you murmured as Hitch pushed your back while both of stepping inside of a coffee shop. Fragrance of coffee bean, vanilla air freshener wafted to your nose, the comforting wooden minimalist arabica design greeted your eyes for its pleasing aesthetic scenery.

"Yes, we have to i mean how bad could it be?" she grinned, pulling your arm to her clutches while both of you scoured inside, "besides, the past must stay as the past, it was just a silly president election it's not like he would hold grudges against you for getting elected," she continued, referring to the big college event far ago before the senior year. 

That one time when you and Eren Jaeger applied to be the student council president, and like how history spoke, the winner rejoiced, and nobody really care about what happens next to the loser. It was a though fight, you were quite determined to take that core position with your persona, you believed that you could bring greater goods for the community, and you DID do good, but Eren fought back passionately, and you remembered you could see fire in his eyes during his speech at the debate election, he may not smart but he's clever, maybe a little aggressive but hell does he moved so many people's heart, you remembered when he was standing tall and brave on that podium while his sea green eyes glued the room together, the intimacy that is fiery and optimistic, but as the whole world know destiny said otherwise, without your own anticipation 

you won. 

And since then your reign begun. You rule well, you made plenty achievements as student president and you never been so proud of yourself, since then you never lose your dedication for your people, and the feel of being a victor, and oh how you loved the feel of being powerful. 

You and Hitch walked upstairs to the second loft of the coffee shop after you both ordered the drinks you wanted, "I dunno Hitch, i don't think that this is a good idea," you mumbled to the girl next to you, while you scratching the back of your ear, "when Armin said not to mess with Eren i think he meant it."

Sure you were delighted with your victory, but you still couldn't help yourself to feel bad for Eren, there's this strange tingle of guilt vine your stomach when you, the possessor approached your ex rival far a month ago, he gave you this bitter dirty look as you waved him a polite good morning, then he stormed off without a single word, you felt like he was prestige to look into your eyes since then. 

"And when i said he was a wuss, and a man child for going all off emo after that election i also meant it," Hitch rolled her eyes, she pat your back as a reassurance before you two finally found the person you've been looking for, almost unrecognizable from the last time you guys bumped to each other, for a moment your eyes widened to the now Eren Jaeger.

 There he was sitting all pretty at the smoking area, his hair was pulled onto a messy bun with a few loose strands on his nape, he was far more built than the boy you used to know, his bushy eyebrows looking furrowed to a sketchbook, the charcoal pencil he's holding dances on top of it. He was styled in a thin knitted black long sleeve top that hugged his muscular body tightly, army green cargo pants, and combat boots — you know, those kind of boots you wear to a rock concert just to kick someone — his rolled sleeves, revealing his veiny arms that covered with tattoos. His long legs is stretched to the chair next to him while he is leaning against the wall. 

Hitch glanced at you, she cackled noticing you googling at Eren, she pulled you by your wrist approaching the brunet, "you'll be fine," she snickered, while you could only let out a soft sigh, here goes nothing. 

Hitch signal her presence to Eren with a light cough, a small thud hit the surface of his sketchbook after he dropped his pencil. His gaze shifts to both of you who were standing by his side, he raised his left brow when his eyes met yours, you stared back at Eren and he outstared you blankly, "Jaeger," you hesitated. 

About time you finally came to me.

"Y/N," he replied, calling you by your first name. His expression never change, they're rather cold, unimpressed, he studied both of you, then back to you, he lift his chin up as he locked his eyes on you, "you brought a friend." Intruder, he finally said after a brief silence, Eren closed his sketchbook and then cracked his knuckles, Hitch pulled you, taking a seat in front of Eren. 

"Now let's skip the chit chat, because by the way Eren, you smells musty," Hitch waved her hand in front of her face, she's not wrong though, he smells like tobacco and axe body spray. Furthermore when Hitch explained the reasons of hers and yours arrival to Eren, his gaze never really left you, sometimes he would spare Hitch small glances and nods as confirmation of himself still listening, but his attention was on you. 

And you willingly stares back, you still couldn't read his expression, they're as calm as the morning blue sky, they're just so empty it sucks you in, maybe it's the blunt hatred and envy from him for your presidential position, or maybe it was something else, you even almost think that you two are basically eye fucking each other. 

You extended him the proposal and the selected material details to him, it's almost graduation, and you're running out of time to find someone who could make an exclusive design for the jackets you are planning to make as a gift for the after party event. The other councilor members and you also haven't decide the theme yet, it has to be perfect. Your last hope is Eren, the fine arts student all the girls in school droll over, even though his charisma was slightly dimmed after his loss at the election, he still got his charm, and you really prayed to Goddess Fortuna because you don't want to risk looking for someone else to customize this specific special item and just to get disappoint by the erratic result, at least when Eren agree to take the work, someone could watch over.

"No fucking way," Eren let out a smug chortled, "the president needs my help," he added in a sneering tone. Cute. 

"So you agree or not Eren," you try to suppress your nerve, and you really try not to punch his cocky face, the way he throw his head back a little so he gave you this kind of kubrick stare, gazing into your soul as if he wants to eat you alive, and just like they said, if looks could kill, you're probably be ripped apart by now. 

"What if i say no?" he continued, tapping his boot's toe on the wooden floor. 

"You'll waste your talent," you gift a thin smile that hides a very big urge to stab him repeatedly. 

Eren chuckled, he looked away towards the window before he lean forward to you, "What happen to the other art students, L/N? Did they finally acknowledge your overly perfectionist bossy self or what?" 

"And what about it?" you argued, leaning to his face, he wanted to humiliate you, he wanted you to get on your knees and beg, but you still have your dignity. 

"Uh, what is this," Hitch hesitated, "i am highly uncomfortable with the atmosphere we created in this room," what's with the eye fucking? Hitch thought, she felt like she's interrupting a really heated make out session but instead of kissing it was exchanging pure hatred, Hitch nudged you by your elbow, giving you a look. 

You gritted your teeth and pursed your lips together, leaning closer to Eren's face, "Alright, if this is about that stupid president election we had together grow up Eren! The world doesn't evolve in your stupid drama queen head, so please since i'm asking you nicely before i could fu-" You stopped your bust as a waitress came over with the drinks you ordered earlier, you glared angrily at Eren as you caught a tug of amused smirk at the corner of his lips, it was the fact that you desperately needs his help but still play all bitchy, he found it funny. 

Sure you have your dignity, and he is willing to destroy it just because he can.

After the waitress left, you tasted your fresh latte angrily, making Eren chuckled under his husky breath, while on the other side Hitch is silently witnessing the tense between you two. 

"Fine," Eren broke the silence after a few minutes since the waitress left, "i'll take the work." he sat up, you nodded and watched as that key necklace of his dangling out from his collar, and when your eyes laid on the toned chest that peaking under his shirt, you gulped your saliva and quickly looked away, "good, thank you for your understanding."

You clasps your hands together and you could hear Hitch's faint sigh of relief, "great so now i think we have our deal, you know Professor Levi's tea shop right? tomorrow we're doing a gathering, be there before 8, and if-" 

who says that i'm finished doll? Eren tug another smirk, "but with some condition."

⊱✿⊰

"For real? No party organizer available until next January?" you groaned in frustration, frantically flipping through pages of your journal, Hitch and Armin walks by your side to the long table area.

Chaos. 

Chaos everywhere, you feel like your head is going to explode, your blood boils, and there's this uncomfortable anxiety under your skin, crippling under you and devouring you slowly. You've been overworked yourself the entire night after your meeting with Eren, you were brainstorming for your graduation speech, activity recap, and of course other ornaments for the very last project you're having in your senior year, you cried for three hours while listening to montgomery ricky then cried again over the document you accidentally deleted. 

You're exhausted.

Mentally and physically, you woke up with puffy eyes and wrecked brain, but you knew that everything must go on, and no, you won't back down, everything has to be perfect, 

It has to be perfect. 

Hitch pouted as she watches you typing on your laptop, she snakes her arms around your waist and leaned her head against your shoulder, watching you making some kind of budget recap, "sweetie you should rest and lay down." She spoke with a soft smile. 

You pursed your lips together before you leaned your head on top of hers, not leaving your eyes from your laptop, "thanks Hitch, but i'm alright, i'll just finish this and i'll take a break for a bit." You just can't really trust anything without yourself being under control or watching over, you're afraid that everything would astray far from your definition of 'perfection,' this empire you've been building, and this is your last legacy the next generation will remember, and you wanted it to be remarkable. 

"No dumbass, the last catering service was too expensive and apparently our university was filled with cheapskates." argued a voice from across the room.

"Well we have no choice???" other voice argued back, "Or we can rely on your very bad cooking skill Kirstein, just pray nobody's gonna die from food poisoning." 

You huffed at the sight of Ymir and Jean who was sitting face to face on the floor, both are on their phone scrolling on google, you looked around and found Sasha, Marco and Connie, chatting across you, and you looked over to the three people next to you, your vice president Hitch, your treasurer Armin, and your secretary Mikasa. You couldn't help yourself but smiling at your team, they works so well. 

Then you frowned as your realized something, "Have Eren-" 

A short blonde girl with a tray of drinks and snacks entered the room, "Y'all snack time!" she called out with a large grin on her face.

Ymir's face lit up as she walked up to her girlfriend, Sasha sprinted towards Historia, going feral over food as usual. 

"Ugh finally," you chuckled to Jean's mumble. Soon, half of the room crowded the blonde girl, reaching for snacks and drinks, your eyes fixated as you slowly notice the presence of the familiar sea green eyes, you watches as Eren strolls inside of the meeting room, he yawned before he took a seat on Hitch's place, your frowned slightly, "excuse you?" 

"Excuse me?" he replied, plastering that damn cocky smile, he looked to you up and down, definitely mocking you under his degrading gaze, dammit y/n did you overworked yourself?

"Well have you look at yourself, President." he snickered, suddenly a sketch design laid in front of you, you shift your eyes to Eren, before you took the papers on your hands. Soft grazes of colored pencil and ink, the art was delicate yet firm, "what is this?" you asked dumbly to the design of two bomber jackets, each of the jackets has their own scrawled side notes of the color details, embroidery, and even fabric material.

"Both jacket will be make from satin, no argument, satin," Eren spoke, he pointed his polished finger nail to the design, "the girls will have the yellow one, the boys will take the red, it'll have our Uni symbol and our number," he explained, "should be ready as soon as possible," Eren watches you closely, waiting for you to say something. Part of him.....just wants you to react, just anything, just any reaction exclusively for him. 

You blinked slowly, wow. Honestly it's beautiful, looks like it was Harajuku style inspired, you can't wait to touch the final craft, you glanced at Eren, "thank you," you spoke finally, "it's really beautiful."

I'm glad you like it. "Of course it's beautiful, i made it," he replied with a smug face, he cracked his knuckles then tapped his fingers to the wooden table, "now now, what do we have here." 

It was part of Eren's condition. One, he wanted to be fully involved in the graduation ceremony prep and the after party. Two, most importantly nobody touch his creation while he have full control of it, you reluctantly gave him the responsiblity to handle the venue decoration and the theme, most of the people in your team weren't really pleased with that decision, but like you all have time to think? But after considering it, you felt like it would be good idea to have extra hands helping. 

Anything,

To reach the absolute perfection.

⊱✿⊰

"I'm so glad, that this is almost over, because i could not bear drinking another monster and espresso or i might get caffeine intoxication," you grinned as you earned chuckles through the dinner table, it was all paid off, and the grand event was right in front of your eyes, you could already imagine yourself standing on that podium, delivering your grand speech, high and god like.

But now, celebration first. 

The admiration looks from your team and the last year student council team — who decided to join for the gig — feeds your ego, there's Zeke, Nicolo, Reiner, Pieck and her girlfriend Yelena, Porco and Bertholdt. Your friends really look up to you, from the day you earned your position, they knew they could count on you. "Thank you, thank you for all of the hard works this season, i would never ask for a better team, you guys are the best that i could ever wished for," you grinned and picked up the can of beer from the table, everybody raises their drinks, and you looked at the edge of the table, where your graduated senior, Zeke Jaeger sitting down, giving you a proud look, he was a student president before you, "this is for everyone, our community has never been this great, because you all dedicated your hearts." As you cheers together, you looked around, something is missing, you can feel it, yet you can't find any solid answer for that feeling. 

It was a simple outdoor Korean barbecue party in your house's backyard, after all done, you wanted nothing but to treat your friends, because that's what they deserved for serving you right. It was returning favor, while waiting for the meat to be cook perfectly by your senior Nicolo, you sat besides Mikasa as you both chats, while Armin was next to her, busy with his phone. In the distance, chaotic guitar strums and jams from drunk Connie and Jean cracking the air together with everyone that hyping them up. You pressed your chin against Mikasa's shoulder while both of you giggling over a twitter thread. 

"Eren said he's coming over," Armin announced to both of you, he looked down to his phone and let out a heavy sigh. 

So that was the missing piece. 

"Why's the sigh?" you asked Armin.

Armin hesitated, he looked around everywhere that isn't you, he rubbed his hand through his undercut, it feels like watching someone having a very conflicted mind war with themself, he then finally impaled you with a mixed expression, "Y/N," he started, "i don't know how to say this but....." He glanced over at Mikasa, and you followed him. 

The dark haired girl rather gave him a surprised expression, a some kind of you did not! look. You exchanged the utterly confusion to both of them, Mikasa nodded slowly, "She needs to know, Armin." 

"I need to know what?" 

"What are you guys talking about?" you turned around and sees Eren standing right in front of you, bruised up and bleeding, his knuckles was fucked in a shade of dark red and purple, strands of hair falling in front of his face, Mikasa quickly stood up, "Eren did you—"

"Yes i did," he shot her a cold glare, you could see from the corner of your eyes that Zeke started to approaching, Eren's eyes then finally found Armin, who's looking scared and nervous more than ever, "tell me, what's the interesting story Armin?" his tone was striking and icy, under his husky voice, you could track hints of slurs because of alcohol. 

Armin went quiet, he gripped his knuckles, what is this? something must happened and you didn't know, and you hated that. You hated when things was out of your reach. "It's okay Eren, you should check your wounds, they look pretty bad," Armin swallowed, his words came out more threatening than he anticipated. 

"No, no, no, i wanted to know what you gonna say to Y/N," Eren moves closer to Armin, "you are not trying to tell her anything bad about me right?" 

They looked like they're ready to throw hands, but Zeke was already slips between them, holding the both boys's chests with his flat palms, "come on now guys, let's not." he hesitated.

"No, let's." Eren insisted, he slapped his brother's hand, you quickly pulled him down by his arm, he flinched when he felt your touch, Eren glance at you, and for a split second his eyes went soft, it was that soft that you felt nothing but pure affection from his sea green eyes, then something took over his body, he suddenly pulled you by your collar, lifting you up, moving your face closer to his.

His eyes were bloodshot, you squeezed his wrists while kicking your feet on the air, "you," he growled, his warm breath smells like alcohol, you blinked slowly, scanning Eren's animalistic glare, but there is no hate in his eyes, you found yourself trying to look for it but there it none, instead there's this raging desire, he looked at you like you were his prey, "Eren-" you choked, for the first time, you feel powerless.

"I hate you," he hissed, but all you could sense was lie, his mortal fingers squeezing you so deadly but you feel the comfort of it, the bizarrely embracing lust, and his existence blurs all the noises around you, just you and Eren Jaeger. "you took everything from you," he continued, "i woke up everyday wishing you dead." 

You knitted your eyebrows, and you feel your godly ichor rushes back through your veins, a disgusted smirk appeared on your face, belittling him for lying, "liar." 

Then huge arms pulled Eren from you, tackling him to the ground, Mikasa caught you before you hit the ground, Hitch stepped in front of you, shielding you from Eren who was struggling under Zeke, "Eren what the hell!" she shouted. Mikasa helped you up and pulled you close to her chest, "Y/N are you okay?" she sounded so scared, questions and assumptions popping in your head about what happens between Mikasa, Armin, and Eren. You looked up, finding Reiner helping Zeke restraining his own brother. You knew a minute ago that guy attacked you, but seeing Eren in that position just feels so wrong, you never thought you'll get drew by a guy like Eren Jaeger, but here you are finding yourself shoving aside your pride while approaching the two blonds. You put your hand on Zeke's shoulder, squeezing them gently, "it's okay," your delicate tone shocks him, "let him go Zeke." 

You could feel everyone giving you a jaw drop, but when all eyes on you, you find yourself only looking at Eren. 

After a tense moment, Zeke and Reiner finally let go of the brunet, you pulled Eren up then you put the tip of your fingers to his chin, examining his wounds, he scoffed and avoided your eyes, dropping his eyes to the ground. "Let's get that clean up," you mumbled and dragged him by his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Leaving everyone in a ambiguous silence. 

"Why are they leaving? the wagyu is ready."

You walked upstairs to your room, no words exchange both of you before you finally entered the bathroom with Eren, you let go of his hand, your heartbeat strangely skipping inside your chest, while you were searching for the medicine kit in the cabinet, when you finally turn around, you found Eren already sitting on the toilet seat, you kneeled down in front of him and you opened the medicine kit, you pulled a towel from the drawer and stood up, wetting it in the sink, "what happen?" you finally spoke. 

Eren let out a deep chuckle, he wiped his bloody nose with his thumb then wiped it off on his jeans, gross. "Why do you care," he asserted. 

You rolled your eyes and kneeled back in front of him, with dripping wet cloth on your right hand, "please you stormed on me, lifted me up and looked at me like you wanted fuck me against the table while also wanted to burn me alive at the same time." you gave him a judging look. You took his hands, and then slowly pressed the dampen cloth on his bloody knuckles, he didn't flinch, Eren remained silence while he watches you. You could feel his smirk while you were treating his wounds. "Have i told you how hideous you look tonight?" he asked quietly. 

"No, tell me." 

Eren then moved his left hand away from you, extending them, he caressed his thumb on your cheekbone, made you froze, his hand then traveled to your ear, it tugged your hair behind them, "i cannot." He whispered softly. 

You looked up, and put the now reddish cloth on the floor, you moved closer to the burnet in front of you, you intertwined your fingers with his once again, the tense on his shoulders visibly relax while his pupils widened to the presence of you, "now would you tell me what happen?" your voice sweetened, melodic in his ear, and it seems like he's lured enough by it. 

Eren huffed a chuckle, he looked down to both of your hands, "Had a fight with Pops," he shrugged, "took the anger on the wall." You moved closer to his face, close enough to smell the liquor in his breath. Eren stared at you, he never imagine he would have the blessing to be this close with you, he was always watching you from afar. Those interrogation towards Armin regarding you, questions after questions on your personal life, forcing Armin to dug deeper and helped Eren fulfilling his needs on you, he'd followed you after school, to your favorite coffee shop, your home so he'll know your address, to where ever he could reach you, man... he'll go after you to the edge of the world if that's where you're heading. 

"Do you still hate me?" you asked, and to be honest the question kind of scares you, because after these past few weeks of spending more time with Eren Jaeger, you finally caught in his fire, his flaming intimacy you thought was long gone, and you also surprises yourself for not getting pissed off by the feeling, because it makes you feel vulnerable. 

Eren grazes his thumb on your jaw as if you were made of glass, he kneeled down to the floor with you, so you both could be equal, no high ground. "The truth is my darling, i never was," he confirmed, "after you won that election it was my last straw because from the first time i laid my eyes on you, Love.... You have bewitched me body and soul," he's been watching over you from the distance and you still as pathetic as he could remember, maybe it's the way you stole glances at him, the way you would secretly checking him out but little did you know that he notices everything, he's been reading you like an open book without having to flip through every pages, because you already spread open for him, "you have became the very thing that is out of my reach, Love. And for i have fancy you, and you'll be mine not just in my mind but fully," and he is itching to taste you. His warmth envelopes you to a sense of safety, he trails his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you melt like a candle on fire. Right above you stand an entity greater than yourself, the essence of mystery that fold itself in front of you, and with the universe speak between you, everything is a clarity. 

And you, you don't get it, you thought it was all envy to the position you have, and for the first time, you crave something other than power, "Did you just quoted Pride and Prejudice for me, Jaeger?" you snakes your arms around his neck while his growing bulge strokes on your clothed cunt, the rough material of his jeans made your arousal grow thicker, "my, my, my i used to think that you were just a pretty face with zero common sense," you teased, nuzzling your nose against him. 

His husky chuckle vibrates against your skin, without warning he pushes you up against the wall and you immediately jumped onto his waist with your legs, you gasped as your back hit the cold surface, Eren kneading your butt cheeks as he was holding you up, his chest pressed on yours, warm breath mixes together, "ouch, did you just call me dumb?" you snickered, Eren tilts his head before he smirked, "maybe we could be equally dumb after i make you babble nonsense with my cock." His mouth devouring yours feverishly. Frantic gestures rid you and him of clothes on your body, while you helped Eren unbuckling his belt, his teeth grazes yours, tongues fighting for dominance with each other, he latched his lips onto yours, hungry for more taste, you started to sucking his bottom lip while Eren savor your taste, he pushes more for a deeper kiss, his hand fondling your clothed boob, then it slipped under them, as he found your stiffened nipple, you felt his smirk between your kiss, and a moan escaped from your lips, they're already swollen and you knew you needed air soon, but without your realizing, you already breath through his air through the kiss. 

You unhooked your bra while Eren pressed you harder against the wall, his cock was already free from his jeans and boxer, his beautiful tip was coated in precum, when you finally exposed your breasts in front of him, the animalistic side possessed him back, Eren kneads your breasts greedily causing you to mewl, shivers running down your spine, and you unconsciously grinds you drenched cunt against his waist, Eren cackled. 

"What a fucking whore, you looked like a cat in heat." 

You whined when his flat palm hit your cunt, he rubs the dampen clothed surface of your clit, Eren brought his mouth to your breast and started to circling his tongue on your nipple, making your back arched and you grinding to nothingness of his waist, "whore," he spat, a string of saliva bridge between your skin and his lips, "is this what you called a student president? i don't think so." Eren grip your throat and slowly adding pressure to your air circulation with his index finger and thumb, his other hand has been stroking his own cock for awhile, he uses his precum as lube and your eyes twinkled to the beautiful sight. 

Your lips parted, he let out a throaty groan to your ear just to tease you, "what if i just jack myself and leave you like this?" the menacing grin appeared on his face, your desperate look just pleased him even more, he groaned under his breath as he feeling himself twitching, and your drooling pussy just looking tastier than ever, Eren inhaled and faked a pout, "aw, what is it? don't you want to walk around with my cum dripping from your slutty hole aren't you? that is sinful my Love, won't it gonna stain your pride, Miss President?" 

You cursed under you breath, and another slap landed on your cunt, you threw your head back as Eren squeezed you against the wall, "nu uh, bad words," he growled, "what do you want, Y/N? Use your fucking mouth if you want something, did your parents never tell you?" another hard slap on your cunt made you gasp, you cried louder, and Eren shushed you while peppering kiss on your naked shoulder, "careful darling they might hear you from downstairs." 

He pecked your nose before he finally aims his cock to your entrance, stroking his tip to your dripping cunt, "what do you want, Y/N? say it." He repeated.

"Your cock!" you whimpered, "please pound me with your cock.... please Eren.. i just want it inside.."

He slammed into you, causing you to let out a sharp noise, "Oh, like this?" Eren felt your soft warm walls hugging him so tightly, as if you guys just fit so perfectly together, he held his hand on your tummy to prevent you from grinding your greedy self, letting your cunt clenching him by itself, "fuck you're so tight my Love," he groaned subtly. 

"E-eren please move..... i'm begging you...." you sobbed so pathetically. Eren moved his face close to yours and pinned your wrists above your head, "this will need an outcome don't you think?" he tilted his head, making you wept for his cock to move even more, suddenly an idea popped in his head, "I will move," he said, "i'll shoot my loads in you and then you'll be mine, i want you to want me so badly, i'm going to imprison you, and then.... just then...it'll be just you and me, always and forever," he dug his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent so they'll stay in his head, but he knew it won't, you're his own personal drug anyways, "promise, Darling?" Eren whispered against your skin.

You shivered under him, your eyes rolls at the back of your head, your pussy is aching with lust, so needy for his cock. You quickly nodded your head, "p-promise." 

Eren kissed your neck, sucking them briefly, leaving a visible mark on your soft skin, "good girl."

He pulled his cock from you, leaving just the tip, before then he impaled, filling you up with his length, he slide so easily onto your meat, your legs shivered as he endlessly pushed deeper inside you, and you could feel his tip kissed your cervix, Eren then started to moves at a quick pace, "you like that so much hm? taking my cock like a little slut," he said velvety, turning you on even more. He buried your moan into a deep kiss, his big arm scoot your hips close to him as he ramming his cock with no mercy onto your walls, his other hand still pinning your wrists, as if you're gonna escape from him. You started to rolling your hips on him, making him move more faster, you're both skin to skin, grinding onto each other desperately, "Eren....s'big...so deep..." you moaned. He continues to pound into you.

"Fuck, that's right baby say my name."

"Eren!"

After a minute he completely stopped, you opened your eyes and your face shows confusion, before you could ask any questions, he suddenly slams all of his length into you, causing you to yelp both in pain and pleasure, the lewd sound of skin slapping made you curl your toes, he pounding into you like there's no tomorrow, you threw your head back, your tongue lolling out from your lips, he slamming all his length in and out of you repeatedly until you're a shaking panting mess, an amused look plastered on his cocky face, and his hips didn't stop dipping on you, not letting you think straight or put up any fight, "come on, fucking take it like the cumslut you are."

You choked on your breath as the knot in your stomach getting tighter, "E-ren... hugs...hugs....?" you purred to him, he finally let go of your wrists and let your head fell against his shoulder, he increases his phase that you didn't know was possible, you warped your arms around him as he did to you, and you dragged your nails through his sweaty back, Eren started to whisper sweet nothings as he felt himself twitching, he slurred curses underneath his groaned, his veins popped as he gripped you tightly, his muscles flexes at each moves.

You didn't dare to question him when he said that he'll fill you up inside, because no matter what your answer is, he'll do it anyway. The sight of his hard rock abs and v lines sent you over the edge, “Eren i’m gonna cum—“

“cum with me, Darling.” 

You tasted the bitter tint in your tongue as you started seeing stars, you vision went black as Eren rides you to your orgasm while fluid started dripping down your thighs, your body is shaking uncontrollably, Eren let out a loud groan as he riding himself to his own high using your abused cunt, he shot his warm thick load onto your womb, making sure you take all of it, you buried your face on his neck, he slowly pulls out his cock and watches the white liquid oozing from your hole. Eren lifted up your chin, he cupped your cheek and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, mixing your pants together, “mine.” he moaned to your soft plump lips.

“yours."

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[roxalotl]

rox rambles - Everywhere At The End Of Time by Leyland "The Caretaker" Kirby

(Content Warning: Mentions of dementia and depressing themes due to the nature of subject matter.)

So I was introduced to "Everywhere", and subsequently the work of The Caretaker as a whole, in early April thanks to a video by the YouTube Channel "Nexpo", who in the 12th installment of his "Disturbing Things From Around The Internet" series, brought this up first.

So what is it? Well, it's actually the collective name for a series of six albums (referred to as "Stages") posted between 2016 and 2019, the whole of the work spanning to about six and a half hours. It's meant to simulate the process of worsening dementia, by starting out with relatively normal music, comprised of samples of 1920s-1940s records, such as that of big band and ballroom music. And with each passing "Stage", the music becomes warped, distant, unrecognizable.

It was created by a man named Leyland James Kirby, under the pseudonym of "The Caretaker", and "Everywhere" was his final release using that specific name.

It should be noted that I haven't listened to the entirety of "Everywhere", but I've skimmed enough of it to get an idea of what's going on. Rest of the content under the cut.

STAGES 1-3

Stage 1 is represented by a vague interpretation of a rolled up book or newspaper, something you can somewhat identify. The music is coherent, albeit with just enough editing to make you feel uneasy. The music is pitched down a bit and there's a slight crackling as if it's being played off a broken record player. It's described as "the last of the great days". The beginning of the end. The track names are also rather poetic, such as "Childish fresh eyes", "Late afternoon drifting", things like that.

Stage 2 is represented by a sortof abstract flower pot, still a recognizable object, but not nearly as well. Some claim that two faceless dancing figures are seen amidst the rotted parts. This is the stage where our fictional patient seems to notice, but doesn't accept, that something is wrong. There's more persistent repeating of certain parts of the songs, the mood has become be darker, and the static has grown louder. The track names have taken a dire turn as well, with things like "A losing battle is raging", and "The way ahead feels lonely".

Stage 3 is characterized by a very abstract pattern of green, theorized to be anything from kelp plants to brain synapses. This is the stage where the final embers of memory are dying out. The static roars even louder as the music becomes even more disjointed, sometimes repeating the same small part over and over, as if desperately trying to hold onto a memory. The track names once again take on a darker, but still poetic phrasing, like "Long term dusk glimpses".

STAGES 4-6

Stage 4's representation seems to have some sort of vague humanoid bust made of an undiscernable material, turned away from the camera. I've heard the art compared to the final works of an artist named William Utermohlen. Here, the music is entirely unrecognizable, often only having short bursts of the original tracks appearing for at most a few seconds. Kirby describes this as the beginning of the "Post Awareness Stages", where the subject is no longer even aware that they have this issue. It's also by this point that track names are no longer poetic, but rather cold and clinical, such as "Temporary Bliss State".

Stage 5 continues a lot like Stage 4, with almost no music to speak of, and just a lot of ambient noise with even less hints of the original tracks, albeit sometimes much more calm than the discordant, confused noise of Stage 4. The clinical names continue, such as "Advanced Plaque Entanglements". The picture representing this one is some sort of vague figure walking downstairs, it's hard to tell what the statue could even be made of.

Stage 6 oddly sees a return to the poetic names, such as "Place in the world fades away", but that seems to be only another sign of the end. The picture appears to be the back of a canvas with four pieces of blue painter's tape. The canvas is turned away as if we're not able to see any of the memories that made this person who they were, because they're not there anymore.

Stage 6's tracks are mostly comprised of howling winds, as if there's just desolation - nothing left. But then... the final few minutes of "Place in the world fades away" comes in. Through all the distortion, the noise, the emptiness, an angelic choir breaks free. It's theorized that this represents the final memory of the patient, or said patient going through "terminal lucidity" - where all of their memory comes back shortly before their passing. And it ends with a minute of silence, thought to represent the death of the subject.

"Everywhere" is not a pleasant experience, even if you're doing a hefty bit of skimming like I've done. I don't recommend listening to it if you're already not in a good mindset. The whole of it almost feels... forbidden, as if we're looking into the mind of a dementia patient, feeling what they feel despite our own minds being decently healthy more-or-less.

I've never personally lost anyone to dementia or Alzheimer's, and I hope I never have to. Because quite frankly, it's a horrifying experience on both sides.

In the words of The Caretaker himself: May the ballroom remain eternal. C'est fini.

#Everywhere At The End Of Time #Leyland Kirby #Dementia #Music #Experimental Music #EATEOT #The Caretaker

[maraariana01]

❴ On a cold, autumn night... 🌙🍂 ❵

!! Spoiler warning !! This story contains spoilers for The Great Ace Attorney 2 : Resolve. Please make sure you have finished playing/watching a playthrough of it before reading this!

• Author's note: I just wanted to write a really short Shamnoch fic based on one of the headcanons I posted at some point. Also I'm the only person on earth who cares so much about this pairing so <3 yea I just wanted to write something short and sweet lol

Anyway, some things to note, if you don't already know me, are that: 1. this is an AU I created, called Triple Culprit AU, where basically my 3 favorite culprits (Shamspeare, Drebber and Mamemomi) meet each other and they have their own little hideout and go on wacky adventures together :] this takes place shortly after they all meet, so they're still getting to know each other. And they don't have any beds yet so they're all sleeping on the floor next to each other. Read more about this AU here btw 2. I am not going to be using Mamemomi's localized name (or any other japanese character's localized name).

That's about it. Hope you enjoy!

The wind was blowing furiously outside, causing the tree branches to hit the windows of the hideout from time to time, creating an aggressive melody along with the heavy rain landing on the glass as well. It was an unusually cold night for the end of October, even by London's standards.

Enoch Drebber, who has been tossing and turning under the covers for a while now, suddenly sprang up with a gasp, his eyes wide and filled with dread. He stared blankly at the wall for a few moments, trying to slow down his breathing, before quickly turning his head to the right, where a strange noise rang out.

"Oh..." he uttered as soon as he realized there was no need to be alarmed.

On the floor right next to him was Heita Mamemomi, sleeping soundly...and very loudly...without a single care in the world.

The fear then disappeared completely and his expression changed to a more annoyed one. He brought his knees to his chest and let out a sigh as he hugged them.

"Just another damned nightmare..." he thought to himself.

That accursed night from ten years ago was still haunting him, it seemed. The loud gunshot...his own scream of terror...the warm blood splattering all over him... It was an unforgettably terrifying night, no matter how much he desperately tried to forget about it.

"Pray, what troubles thee?" a voice whispered from nearby, this time coming from his left.

Also on the floor next to him, sat William Shamspeare, almost unrecognizable. He wasn't wearing his usual flashy, gaudy outfit. Instead, he wore a simple, pale blue night shirt and his hair was uncurled, now looking a lot longer than before. Drebber wasn't used to seeing him like this at all. It took him a few moments to realize who he was talking to.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" asked the blonde man, completely dropping the act. His usual, nonchalant grin and sparkly eyes were now replaced by a soft, genuine smile and tired eyes that expressed sympathy.

"I suppose not." quietly replied Enoch.

With neither of them able to sleep, they soon found themselves chatting for the next few minutes. As they were talking, Drebber noticed that William started shivering a little.

"It is rather frigid tonight, isn't it..." he admitted.

Shamspeare chuckled. "Perhaps we should huddle together for warmth?" he jokingly suggested.

It really was cold, Drebber could feel it too. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, processing what the man next to him had just said. Sleeping all snuggled up on a cold, rainy night didn't sound like a bad idea actually. What did he have to lose?

"Alright, very well." he agreed.

"Huh?" William's eyes widened, completely taken aback by Enoch's unexpected response. "Oh...I...wasn't expecting you to actually say yes..." he stammered, turning his head away from the one next to him, trying to hide his face that immediately and inevitably became redder when he heard those words.

"I mean..." continued Drebber "Why the hell not. This way we will both warm up. It's a win-win situation if you ask me."

Shamspeare eagerly inched closer and made himself comfortable, resting his head on Drebber's chest while Drebber put his arm around him. He could hear Enoch's heartbeat, rhythmic, just like clockwork. He stood there and listened to it, trying to calm down his own heartbeat which gradually accelerated ever since he offered this silly suggestion. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes still wide, but he eventually couldn't help but close them, overcome by a feeling of sleepiness and comfort.

And soon, as he held William close to him, so did Enoch. At last, for the first time in years, he finally felt...soft and comfortable. He felt safe, in a way. This man he was embracing, this silly little blonde man, he felt like he could trust him with his life, even though he's only known him for a few weeks. "How strange..." he thought, already moments away from falling asleep. "I've never felt quite like this before..." but before he could finish the thought, he drifted to sleep without even realizing.

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

The rays of sunshine peeked through the window, finally announcing the morning's arrival.

"Good morning, lovebirds, time to wake up!" Mamemomi's voice suddenly echoed through the room. He was standing up, looking down at the cuddled up pair on the floor, looking as lively as ever with a big grin on his face. Unlike the white-haired fellow who has just managed to open his eyes and squint at the roommate looming over him.

"Lovebirds?" Drebber looked down at the man who was still peacefully sleeping on his chest, his golden locks shining in the morning light. What a sight to wake up to.

Only now has the realization kicked in. "Oh......." he muttered. Now it was his turn to feel his heart racing and his cheeks burning.

#dgs #tgaa #enoch drebber #william shamspeare #heita mamemomi #raiten menimemo #shamnoch #springle writes #dgs2 spoilers #tgaa2 spoilers #[ triple culprit au ]