#obsessive knitting disorder

[melodygatesauthor]

The Fractured Moon - Part 3

Yandere! Moon Boys X f!Reader

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Not Beta Read - Series Masterlist

Summary:

After Steven's ruthless beating, you need time to recover, and the boys are going to show you how nice they can treat you, if only you'll let them, and as long as you behave.

Tags/Warnings (for entire series):

Disclaimer: I created this fic for the sole purpose of exploring the yandere thing as a fanfiction "kink" in a safe way and in a safe space. I in no way would want this to happen to myself or someone else. This fic is not a reflection of my moral beliefs. - Further, this fic is not an accurate representation of people with DID (dissociative identity disorder). These men happen to have DID and I'm putting them in a situation where they would have an unhealthy obsession with the reader character. NSFW, Stalking, non-con, somnophilia, rape, mentions of murder, drugged sex, kidnapping, manipulation, dacryphilia, voyeurism, threats of physical harm, copious amounts of sex, copious amounts of unprotected sex, blood, unrealistic refractory period, biting, slapping, hitting, reader is smol, choking. This is a Dead Dove Do Not Eat situation.

Word Count: 4079

----

Steven came into your room in the afternoon, the day after the beating you’d endured by his hand. He looked at you with a guilty expression, seeing immediately that your skin was discolored in places where he’d hit you. It didn’t go unnoticed either, the way your face looked panicked when he stepped into the room. He’d never seen you so afraid that you were driven to get up and scurry to the corner, sliding down the wall on your back and tucking your knees into yourself, as though you were hiding from him. Jake didn’t even make you this afraid.

“What did you expect hermano? What you did wasn’t discipline, it was torture,” Jake said coldly.

If Jake was the one telling Steven that he was out of line, then it must’ve been true. He didn’t mean to hurt you that badly, he was just so angry when he saw you with that filthy plastic toy. The idea that you chose something like that over him when he was right there, warm and ready to give you what you needed, still made his cheeks flush with rage. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Darling, I–” You tucked your head down further at the sound of his voice.

Steven’s entire body felt cold. He’d really gone too far, hadn’t he? Jake was right. It was one thing to teach you a lesson. A few welts on your rear, and maybe some bites to remind you who you belonged to, but what Steven had done…it was reckless, and monstrous. He’d never felt so terrible in all his life.

“I’m so sorry.”

He walked over and knelt down in front of you. You gasped when he reached out and touched your forearm gently. You pulled your arm back, afraid he was going to hurt you. He felt the butterflies in his stomach flutter when you looked up at him. Still so stunning, even with, sometimes especially with, fear etched in your pretty face. He gave you the softest expression he could, brows knitted together and turned up in concern.

“I shouldn’t have hit you that hard,” he admitted. He could’ve left it there, but he didn’t want the lesson to be lost in his kindness. “I hope you understand why I had to teach you a lesson, despite my being a little too harsh.”

You shook your head, “you’re a nasty man.”

Your words stung, and Steven had to try and keep his cool. You were upset, and you had a right to be, he knew that, but hearing you call him nasty…that was a lot to overcome. Steven wasn’t nasty. Rapists were nasty. Murderers who killed innocent people were nasty. Steven wasn’t any of that. He was kind, loving, protective, and anything you could want in a man. That was why he knew you loved him. He would never hurt you…not really.  He reached out his hand again, and that time he brushed your cheek with his thumb, despite your flinching.

He shook his head, “I don’t want to hear you saying horrible things like that love. I’m not a nasty man. S’not nice for you to say that. I’ve done nothing but care f’you, and love you, right? How can you call me nasty? How can you say something like that?”

You furrowed your brow, “you kidnapped me, raped me, all of you–”

He covered your mouth quickly, “no, no, no, shhh,” his eyes were wide. “That is not true.”

You saw his eyes start to well and his bottom lip started quivering. Was he so delusional that he didn’t see the truth? That he and his brothers had brought you there against your will and tortured you? Did he really think you were happy? No one could be that blind to the truth…could they?

“Can’t have you sayin’ things like that love, lyin’ and whatnot. S’not nice to do yeah?” He looked at you with what looked like desperation, “I brought you home to us, I give you love, I make you feel good. That’s all. You can call it whatever you like, but lyin’ is a bad habit to get into darling. I don’t wanna have to teach you another lesson.”

It was clear that no matter what you said, he was going to spin this around to fit his twisted fantasy, so you decided to remain silent. Speaking out against him would only lead you to more pain. He took his hand off your mouth slowly, as though you might explode if he released you too quickly. His expression softened into a look of adoration. It made you uneasy.

“I’m gonna do somethin’ special for you tonight, alright, so do me a favor, yeah? Get yourself all cleaned up nice, put on somethin’ pretty f’me, and I’ll give you a nice reward for being so good an for taking your lesson so well last night.” He stood up and started walking toward the door.

“I don’t have any clothes,” you reminded him.

He turned around, “oh god, you’re right. Silly me. I’ll have Jake pick somethin’ out for you, he’s got good taste.” When Steven smiled, you noticed how handsome he really was. You hated yourself for thinking it, but it was true. “I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind f’you tonight. Gonna give you a chance to get out of your room for a bit.”

That was, unfortunately, the thing that made you behave better than the beatings. The promise of even the smallest dose of freedom. To be able to get out of the room you’d spent the last week in. Or was it longer than that? You couldn’t recall. You shouldn’t be that excited for something so simple, but you couldn’t help feeling a little giddy at the thought of getting out of the room, even if it was under their supervision.

You washed yourself well, and the hot water soothed your aching body. When Jake came in later, he brought you something to wear. It was a sheer babydoll lingerie top. You held it in your hands while the man looked you over. He grabbed your chin in his gloved fingers, tilting your head side to side. He tsked as his eyes trekked over your body.

“He really got you good, hm princesa?” Jake brushed a finger over one of your bruises forcing a wince and hiss from your lips. You stepped back. “Steven doesn’t understand the craft of fixing bad behavior. He gets a little…carried away.” He smirked, looking you up and down. “Put the top on, let me see it on you.”

You took the baby blue top and slid it over your head. You felt pretty in it, and you hated that you liked the gift they gave you. There were no bottoms it seemed. Despite their kindness, they still wanted to leave you open for their needs at any time. You didn’t see the point in arguing, panties or no panties, they were going to take you any time they wanted anyway.

“Muy hermosa.” He stepped forward and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “Steven’s the lucky one tonight.”

Later, Marc brought you some food to eat, and he nearly dropped the platter when he walked into your room. You looked like an angel, donning your beautiful, sheer top. He knew that he was going to have his time with you another day, but he wanted to take you right then. His breath hitched in his throat while he watched you eat, taking your small bites as usual, as though you still didn’t trust the food they handed you.

“You’re so sweet baby, love seeing you in this little outfit. Jake’s got good taste,” Marc commented.

“Always have amigo,” Jake said amusedly from the headspace.

“Will you make her hurry up Marc, m’gettin’ impatient. She’s just so beautiful and I…I want her now.”

“Take your time honey, don’t want you getting a tummy ache,” Marc said, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

Steven was hurt after that, feeling wronged by Marc in the worst way. It was already hard enough to share you between the three of them, and now the man was just taunting him. None of the boys were ready for you to know their secret yet, and that was the only thing keeping Steven from fronting and dragging you out of the room to spend time with him in that moment.

He was relieved when you were finally finished eating, and Marc took away your food, kissing you gently on the cheek before leaving the room so Steven could get ready. He wasn’t getting all dressed up, all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch with you and listen to you read. He had no other demands, no requests for you other than to hear your beautiful little voice while you read from the pages of the book they saw you reading in the library. Steven felt like that was ages ago.

----

The Beauty and the Beast.

The book seemed ironically fitting now. You held it in your trembling hands, unable to peel your gaze off the book. You wondered if you’d ever stop shaking, but you supposed that so long as they kept hurting you, you’d be afraid of any interaction with them; even if the interaction seemed as innocent as curling up on the couch and reading.

“Come now love, lay here with me,” Steven felt his heart skip several beats when you looked up at him from the pages you were shuffling through.

You looked radiant, lit by the flames of the crackling fireplace. They licked over your skin, illuminating you in a way that made you look even softer than Steven thought possible. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was, until his eyes fell over your body once more. You were his, and you weren’t going anywhere. He held out a hand to you, a love-drunk smile spread across his face.

You flinched back when he presented you with his hand, gasping sharply and dropping the book on the ground. Steven’s demeanor shifted from pleasantly affectionate to scorn. He stood up from the couch, forcing you to jump back, fearful that he might hurt you more. You dropped to the ground, grabbing the book and holding it to your chest tightly, keeping your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You said loudly, feeling your entire body shaking in terror.

“Get up,” he demanded, “tired of seein’ you acting like you’re afraid of me.”

You slowly stood, knees practically knocking together while you tried to stabilize yourself. Your breathing was shallow, and you felt tears welling in your eyes as you turned them up to look at him. Steven’s mouth was turned into a dark frown, brow furrowed in frustration. He felt so damn guilty for hurting you. He really did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being a bit dramatic. He didn’t hit you that hard, right?

“Turn around.”

It was a simple command, and you weren’t too dumb to obey it, but the fear they’d instilled in you had left you paralyzed. What was he going to do when you turned around? Not being able to see him made you even more afraid. You found the courage to do it anyway, knowing that your punishment would be far worse if you didn’t comply.

You felt his hands, gentle, but still forcing a flinch out of you, as they traced along your spine. He brought them to your sides, along your ribcage and then he held your waist. You grunted when he lifted you, and he backed up to the couch, where he sat slowly, resting you on his lap, your back resting against his chest.

He was hard already, cock prodding against his sweats as though it were reminding you that it was still there. You hadn’t forgotten, your cunt was still aching from the last time he’d been inside of you, just the night prior. You let out a soft whine, to which Steven smiled against your ear. He let out a long exhale, one that told you he was going to want more than just a little story time before the night was through.

“Go ahead love, start reading f’me,” his breathing was ragged and desperate in your ear.

Steven listened as your pretty voice began reciting the book obediently. You were acting so much better now; better than when you’d first arrived. He felt a swell of pride through his chest as he pressed his lips against your cheek. You stuttered as you read, breathing becoming more shallow as he worked his kisses down your neck.

“Don’t stop love, keep goin’,” he demanded in a breathy rasp.

You’d managed all that time to keep your physical feelings at bay, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your core at his touch. His hands that were resting casually on your outer thighs were now rubbing against you slowly as he became more and more restless. You knew he was preparing to take you again, never giving you a moment’s rest despite how badly your body still ached from everything he’d done. You stopped your reading, a small whimper escaped your lips; a feeble attempt at begging him to stop without saying it verbally.

“Now, now darling, I’ll have none of that,” he roughly grabbed your waist in one arm, holding you in place while he slid his sweatpants down underneath you, “you’re gonna take me like you’ve taken me before, and you’re going to keep on readin’ like the good little girl I know you can be.”

Steven could feel the way you pressed your thighs together tightly and it pissed him off. He still didn’t understand why you were acting like this, like you didn’t want him as badly as he wanted you. It was obvious that his touch made you feel good. He felt it every time he was inside of you, and he felt it now, the way your cunt was leaking all over his lap, soaking everything it touched.

“I think you’re just a little tease. I think you like makin’ me work for it, you like seein’ how bad I want you? Is that it, love?” He let a dark snicker escape his lips, breath still hot against the soft skin of your neck. “Well…” Steven brought his hands over your legs and then between your thighs, forcing them apart easily, despite your efforts to keep them closed, “I’m quite over it now love. I want it, and I’m gonna take it.”

He lifted you with ease, lining himself up with your hole before sheathing himself inside of you. He let out an exhale of relief, as though he needed to bury his cock in you the same way someone might need cold water on a hot day. You dropped the book on his leg and held onto his thighs tightly, choking on your pained grunts as they tried to leave your mouth. He sat there, unmoving, save for the way he continued to pepper your neck in gentle pecks.

“Didn’t tell you to stop readin’ did I, love?” He asked, reaching for the book and placing it back in your shaking hands.

You continued reading, feeling his cock throb against your walls with every word you read from the page. You felt one of his hands snake around to grab your breast, while the other moved over your thigh and between your legs. You stopped reciting the words again, unable to spit out another sentence as his fingers searched for your sensitive nub in the sea of your juices.

“See, this is why it seems so silly when you try to act like you don’t need me, love. You can’t even read a damn book when I touch you,” he said in a low growl while circling his finger over your clit. “Keep going.”

You gulped and let out a shaky exhale before continuing. His breath brushed over your neck while he continued leaving soft kisses there. You were overwhelmed by the sensations, feeling his cock twitching inside of you every time his fingers passed over your clit, making your cunt contract over him again and again. When you felt the trickle of his drool running down your throat you stopped reading again.

“If you keep stopping, I’m not going to be very happy darling. M’trying to get immersed in the story and you’re making that very, very hard,” he moved his hips a little, forcing his cock to brush against your cervix.

You gasped, “o-oh god! I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, it’s t-too much,” you whimpered from the over-stimulation.

“Oh love, that’s not true, you can handle me, you’ve handled me before, keep reading.”

Steven started pinching your nipple while you read, making it even harder to continue, but you persisted. Your wounds from the night before, and the reminder that they provided you with, were enough to keep you going. If his goal was to terrorize you into behaving the way he wanted, he’d succeeded. You would do almost anything he asked at this point in order to stop a beating like that from happening ever again. He let out a deep, rumbling moan against your neck, rutting his hips upward.

“So damn wet f’me, how can you lie and say you don’t want this? Such a silly little girl, soaking everything underneath you and saying you’re not enjoying yourself.”

He was right, you’d begun to crave their touch, the feeling of their cocks inside you, their spend filling and spilling out of you. Your heart stopped when you realized you’d stopped reading again. Steven chuckled.

“Since you’re not going to read it…” he pulled the book from your hands.

“Steven…” Marc said with a tone of warning.

Steven had half a mind to bend you over the arm of the couch and spank you with the book until your ass cheeks fell off, but Marc brought him back to reality. Despite his desire to teach you another lesson in obedience, he knew your body couldn’t take it. Instead he positioned the smooth, rounded, leather spine of the book in front of your cunt, resting it between your wet pussy lips.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me, and rub your needy little clit on this book since you don’t seem interested in what’s on it’s pages.”

“B-but–”

“Shh!” He shushed you harshly, “you be quiet now and do as I tell you. I really don’t want a repeat of last night, d’you?” Steven asked, tone deathly serious.

“O-okay, I’m s-sorry,” you said, voice trembling in fear.

You positioned yourself on your knees and started gliding on his length slowly, rising up so the tip was barely in and then dropping back to his base. You were wetter than you’d ever been, and it made you feel embarrassed. You didn’t want to enjoy it, but you couldn’t help yourself. The leather spine of the book had ridges that brushed over your slick clit, and it felt…good.

A shuddering whine left your body, your head fell back over his shoulder as you kept moving, grinding your folds along the book. Steven couldn’t believe you were falling onto him like that, that you were laying over him. You were so pliant, like a sweet little doll chasing your release on his cock. You started moving even faster, breathing heavier with each pass. Steven licked a stripe up your neck, sucking on your skin when he reached the base of your jaw.

“Yeah, you like this don’t you darling? Feels good dunnit? O-oh-god-yes-love-shit…” 

His breath was ragged and hot against your skin, causing mind numbing waves to course through over your body and to your core. You felt him grab the back of your head, turning you to face him before covering your mouth in his hungrily. He was so messy, and so noisy when he kissed you, forcing you to swallow his loud moans. His hips moved, rutting upward roughly as you moved back downward, brushing your cervix lightly.

Steven heard a little shaky whine leave your mouth forcing a smile from his own. He looked up at you, precious face stained with tears, lips puffy from all the crying you’d done. He chuckled softly, feeling nothing but pure bliss when he saw you looking at him with cock-drunk eyes. Steven removed his hand from the back of your head and brought it around your side to your breast, tucking his hand inside the baby blue, sheer fabric so he could feel your skin.

“So soft, love…oh yes…” 

Steven pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger to which you gasped and whimpered noisily. Those sounds were enough to make him come without ever touching himself, and with the feeling of your little pussy squeezing around him as your orgasm approached, there was no way he could hold on any longer. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close against him while he slammed into you from below.

As Steven started thrusting even faster and harder, your loud cries filled the room from the ache of the stretch. You had no choice but to reach back and hold onto his messy curls for stability, an action that he would misconstrue as intimacy. You were gasping and arching on him, feeling the way his cock filled you while the book’s spine caressed your swollen clit. You could feel it…you were right there…

“Ah! Oh darling, ah-ah–”

Steven’s throat clamped up as his cock twitched and throbbed within your walls. Your soft little hole was so warm, engulfing him and squeezing around his length while you came. He noticed the way you continued sliding your folds over the book, using it to work yourself through your orgasm. Your movements eventually slowed, and as they did, Steven pulled you up off his cock, letting your combined juices spill onto the leather-bound novel when he did.

“Ooh lookie here,” he tsked, “what a mess we’ve made,” he chuckled, “would you look at that?”

He lifted the slick, dripping wet object up to his mouth and licked a stripe along the leather spine.

“Gonna need some help with this, can’t leave it like this or it’ll get damaged yeah?”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he was asking of you. You leaned in, tongue joining with his while you lapped the book together to ‘clean’ it. Steven’s cum tasted sweet and salty, a delicious combination, though you’d never admit that out loud.

He found your mouth with his once the leather was free of both your messes, kissing you with both your combined cum on your tongues. He kept going, he couldn’t resist the taste of you, and he felt himself getting hard again already. You had such an effect on him, he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted you again. Steven grabbed your hips harshly, turning you to straddle him.

“Steven, that’s enough. You have to give her a break. We talked about this, and you agreed,” Marc reminded him sternly.

Steven growled, but you didn’t understand why. You’d done everything he asked. You behaved perfectly, as far as you could tell. He pushed you off of him and pulled his sweats up over his erect cock. You felt frightened, not sure what you should do now, but the last thing you wanted was for any one of them to be mad at you, but especially not Steven. The thought alone was horrific, you felt the panic rising in your chest.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, rushing off the couch and over to him.

You grabbed the outside of Steven’s pants with your hand, feeling his bulge through his sweats and hoping that it would make him less upset with you. You touched his chest, showing your willingness to obey, looking up at him with the most pathetic doe eyes you could muster. He chuckled when he looked back down at you. “Oh darling, you’re so adorable I can hardly stand it,” he said, letting out a heavy breath, “you see, I’d love to give you more, I can tell how bad you want it again…” he looked over in the mirror, scowling at Marc, “but it’s Marc’s turn now,” he took your hand off his groin and kissed your fingertips, “we’ll be together again soon, not to worry my little darling.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

[rintoshis-archived]

─ RIN ⸜ ITOSHI ꒰ა ໒꒱ NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER

in contrast to sae, rin absolutely loves your devotion to him. he ravishes into your naive personality into doing what he wants you to, and you'd let him eat you up like a prey. . *. ⋆ warnings; AGED UP RIN, public sex, gym sex, semi-sex, fingering (no penetration), profanities, no actual p in v, degradation ✧. word count; 536

SAE'S VERSION

your hands shake once you grab the towel out of rin's gym bag, his eyes were trailing across your figure while watching your movements in the locker room. your other hand was occupied holding his water bottle.

you were accompanying rin to the gym, he only took you along to boss you around the gym and to make him grab his stuff whenever he needed it. in all honesty, you were planning to work out yourself instead of being pushed around to just pass rin his water bottle. and a part of you knew he wouldn't let you work out or be distracted from your 'duties'.

''hurry up, woman.'' his gaze only gets sharper when you finally manage to bring his water bottle and towel to him on the bench press. your eyebrows knit together at his words, and handed him the items he's been dying for. as much as you wanted to spit back at him, he could literally grab you by your waist, throw you over on his shoulder and put you in a pit fire if he really wanted to.

''here you go-'' his hands immediately snatch them away from yours, giving you no time to finish your sentence. you roll your eyes before you turn around, not sparing him another sentence after he had just cut you off. his eyes caught a glimpse of yours and tugged on a part of your shirt.

''don't roll your eyes at me.'' his voice was raspy after drinking cold water from his water bottle. he pulls you backward, landing on his lap. your eyes almost pop out of their sockets, as you feel his hot and almost sweaty torso and his heartbeat banging on your back from all the reps he had done.

''you know better- i taught you better than that.'' his hands trail around your waist, his grip tightening and landing on your hip. you could only whimper on his iron grasp on your soft skin. you always took rin as an obsessive freak, and you never tested his patience. you didn't wanna push his buttons or knack him in the wrong way and he knew that you knew better.

''i didn't.'' you tried to protest at his accusation, knowing deep down you really did. your heartbeat catches up to his, banging against your rib cage. his hand crawl up to your chest to feel your heart. ''you swore you'd never lie, didn't you?'' your heart betrayed you by pacing even faster against his palm.

''i'm sorry.'' ''i know.'' his free hand slipped under your skirt and touched the wet patch on your panties. ''it would be pretty embarrassing for someone to watch you cum on my fingers in this public area, huh?'' his hand pulls your panties aside and to reveal your throbbing and dripping cunt to the pad of his fingers.

''what if i got someone to fuck you right here, right now?'' his fingers circle around your clit, the length of his nails subtly piercing the flesh on your skin. you didn't want it, but the fingers digging in your mouth silence you as your essence pools on his thigh.

''it's all your stupid cunt is worth, isn't it?''

‧₊˚ ⋅ fusaes 2023 do not copy

[nellandvoid]

to celebrate the pines twins birthdays, i’m gonna make them miserable!!!!!

jkjk i just want to show a wip of my better world au designs for mabel and dipper, a (r o u g h) sketch that just so happens to be (semi) done on their birthday!! (it’s still the 31st. shut up/j)

lore dump under cut cause man am i gonna yap

the main thing i wanna do with these two is keep their fundamentals while still realistically changing their external personalities based on how they were raised (especially since their great-uncle ford is head of the institute of oddology and an estimed scholar in cryptozoology)

design-wise, i wanted to show how mabel's a bit more insecure while dipper's the opposite, so her sweaters don't all have designs on them, her hair is pulled back, and she has shorts and tennis shoes instead of a skirt and flats - dipper, on the other hand, doesn't have a hat since he doesn't care if people see his birthmark, and he has the space tee and button up combo that he was wearing in the valentines flashback in weirdmageddon pt 2 since he wouldn't be as self-conscious about showing off his interests

personality-wise, dipper has probably changed the least: still socially awkward, still has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder (same), still considers mabel his best (and only) friend - the main difference, though, is that growing up he wasn't bullied as much for being interested in the strange and unusual. kids are still cruel, of course, but he always had his great-uncle's reputation to look up to whenever someone made fun of his birthmark or obsession with ghosts. and now, getting to finally spend a summer with his idol, he's more than ready to finally be accepted for all his weirdness. he can finally be loud, be weird, be himself, and not get those looks people in piedmont give him when they think he's not looking. the few times he's met great-uncle ford growing up, the few times he slipped up and said something weird, his great-uncle never gave him the look like everyone else did. he'd just smile, always softly, always distantly, and always tell him to never change.

on the other hand, mabel is much more reserved and self-conscious, especially when she arrives in gravity falls - weirdness has always led to genius in her family, so when she let her mind drift away her parents would always drag her back down to earth, telling her she's just as capable as her great-uncle and brother, why doesn't she just take homework, take school, take life seriously like they do? and so she tries to, and tries, and eventually she learns about the look: the one people give her when she tells them about the time she swallowed a whole bag of gummy worms without chewing, or about the sweater she knit last week that's scratch and sniff, or about anything not serious. she hates the look, and starts to do anything she can to avoid it. especially when she does something silly in front of her great-uncle ford. the look he gives always hurts more, like something she did reminded him of a nightmare or a bad memory. and she didn't want to hurt him.

[odocoiileus]

Hi! Could I get some Eddie x Reader angst? Preferably afab/female reader. The angst is up to you!

pairings: eddie munson x afab! reader

warnings: angst to eventual comfort, brief heartbreak and jealousy, usage of curse words, usage of feminine pet names (princess), mentions of dealing, reader has a fear of being abandoned and is an asshole, eddie's also an asshole kind of (less than the reader). reader has symptoms of a personality disorder if you squint.

a/n: sure thing, anon! enjoy this angst. reader is of age.

you were never the most emotionally stable. you had emotions that were more intense than most. anger felt like fire, sadness felt like you were dying, being normal felt like numbness. most of all, you had a horrible, debilitating fear of abandonment. you weren't sure where this stemmed from — your parents were present in your life. nobody major in your life had ever left you.

despite this lack of reason for such a fear, you find yourself practically shaking in eddie's trailer. your hands tremble, your heart beating against your chest painfully. he's talking about one of his customers again, who he seems to talk about all the time. your brows knit together, a whirlwind of emotions taking place inside you. most notably, anger. and right now? you felt like you were being burned alive.

"yeah, I mean, she's awesome! probably one of my favorite customers. always pays more than what I ask, kinda like a tip. great, right, babe?" eddie rambles, taking a moment to look at you sitting on his couch. he notices the disturbed expression on your face and his smug grin drops, hurrying over to sit beside you. "hey..uh, what's up, princess?" he asks, voice as smooth as butter, soft as cotton. he places a warm hand on your shoulder. and normally, you would want to lean into his touch, wouldn't be able to stop yourself from swooning over him. but right now, you can't help but feel your anger build up more, consuming you like a horrible monster.

"her! and you!" you spit out, scowling at him as your anger finally spills out. "all you do is talk about her, eds! I mean, we can't even have a normal fucking conversation without you bringing up how great she is..all she does is smoke!" you didn't know what his obsession with her was about, but there was only one thought in your mind. only one reason. he must like her, he must have a crush on her, he must love her. it's irrational, but right now it makes sense. you feel like clawing your skin off. you're oblivious to the shock and hurt on eddie's face. "you like her, don't you? like, like like her." you accuse, gritting your teeth as tears swell in your eyes.

eddie's puppy dog eyes narrow just slightly, his brows furrowing. his mouth, once agape, is now in a deep frown. "no! I don't like her like that..you know that, you're just being dramatic. stop being so insecure." he scoffs, taking his hand off your shoulder to cross his arms over his chest. you feel as though you've been shot at the 'dramatic' comment. a lump forms in your throat, you suddenly stand up with a bark of sarcastic laughter. "I'm dramatic? fine! since I'm so dramatic, I'm going back to my house! call me when you get over the obsession you have with your customer!" before eddie can say anything else, you're already out of the trailer, slamming the door behind you.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

hours had passed since the argument – the sun had set, the night sky illuminated by the moon. you were curled up in your bed, buried under copious amounts of blankets, wallowing in your pity. you felt horrible, guilty, mostly you felt like an asshole. you were an asshole. it was always like this - after your outbursts, you always felt guilty, but in the moments they happened..you felt like you couldn't control it.

with a heavy sigh, you drag your hands down your face. "great going.." you grumble to yourself. a sudden clonk catches your attention, eyes darting over to your window. there's a second clonk, before you realize that it's a rock hitting your window. oh, god. that could only mean one thing. eddie.

scrambling out of your bed, you open your window and look outside, spotting the brunette. "eddie.." you mumble. the metalhead looks just as sullen as you do, if not worse, as he maneuvers his way onto your roof and to your window. subsequently, you move out of the way so he can crawl into your bedroom. the second he's standing firmly, he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug.

finally, you break the silence. "I..I'm sorry, eds. I shouldn't have acted that way..I..just," you start, voice wavering. your hands find themselves on his chest. "..felt like you like her way more than me or somethin', stupid I know..I'm sorry." you say, feeling the lump form in your throat again. you will yourself not to cry. it proves to be unbelievably difficult once eddie speaks up.

"I'm sorry, princess. I promise you, I don't like her like that..I never would, I got you and you're..totally metal, 'kay? I just got excited since I've never had someone repeatedly come back to buy stuff." eddie speaks, and you're able to pinpoint a small crack in his voice, the way he squeezes you just a bit tighter. "i'd never replace you, never..just..just believe me, okay? I love you. I shouldn't 've called you dramatic." he whispers and you swear his voice shakes like he might also cry. you nod, blinking away tears. "I love you too, eds."

you pull away from the hug to look up at him, heart shattering at the sight of his brown hues glistening with tears. "I'm a total asshole." you huff, forcing out a giggle in hopes it'll lift the mood. you see eddie perk up just a little bit. "..come lay down with me?" you ask hesitantly, a smile appearing on your face when you see eddie's own as he nods.

[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 :)

[lyralow]

Helen Stiener | June 23rd | 18 Years Old

sim submission for @plumbob-pudding's Henford Ladies' College

saw @esotericas-sims' submission and i HAD to make a sim too!

Born in Manchester, England, to wealthy socialite parents and 2 older siblings. Unfortunately for the extroverted parents, Helen seems to be terrified of the outside world. She shut herself in her own home and rarely left. Her mother noticed when Helen was around seven, she would constantly place down objects and pick them up again "until it felt right". This habit ranged from keeping her environment a certain way to obsessively counting steps.

Diagnosed with anxiety neurosis, the parents mourned their "perfect" family image, often pushing Helen past her limits. Her siblings weren't much kinder either. When she did have reprieve, she buried herself in books, particularly romance. Helen dreams of being in love one day, but unknown to her, that proves to be more difficult than she thought. During parties she was forced to attend, her eyes often skips over the man and stays on his wife.

Helen's parents, hoping to "fix" her once in for all, sends her to Henford Ladies' College. Helen is more than displeased, not looking forward to her eventual spiral. Or maybe not?

(disclaimer: anxiety neurosis was the old term for obsessive compulsive disorder from 1895-1990s. i do not have any forms of OCD, so if i'm misrepresenting this, please let me know so i can further educate myself. i do not wish to offend or hurt people, just want to understand them.)

Aspiration: Soulmate | Traits: paranoid, bookworm (potential: squeamish, loner, romantic)

Helen's Outfits | packs required: high school years, cottage living, get together, nifty knitting, perfect patio stuff

All: hair 1 | hair 2 | hair 3 | makeup | eyelashes | brows | skin

Formal: dress | shoes | accessory

Sleep: dress

Athletic: top | bottoms | shoes

Party: dress | shoes

Hot: dress

Cold: dress | shoes

DOWNLOAD TRAY FILES

[noemilivv]

hi hi! i just saw that you were doing matchups for hazbin, and i wanted to send something in!! this is my first time sending in anything like this on tumblr, so hoping i’m doing this right!!

✧ i’m genderfluid, and i’m generally more interested in men than i am women

✧ i’m ambiverted - i was raised in a way that made me a bit socially isolated, so i have issues with being social today. i don’t really know how to introduce myself to people, so i don’t speak to people unless they speak to me first. when it’s someone new, i usually let them lead the conversation, but when i’m comfortable with someone, i talk a lot more - i’ll tell them random stories i remember, and infodump about my current interest, run down the entire plot of the book i’m currently reading, all of that. my brain goes faster than my mouth a lot of the time, and i have trouble putting my thoughts and feelings into words.

✧ my style is all over the place. the most common color in my wardrobe is black, because mixing and matching colors kinda stresses me out. not to mention what i wear in my day to day can change depending on where i feel on the gender spectrum at any given time. my default is combat boots and (faux) leather jacket + gold rings and earrings

✧ my main love languages are acts of service (receiving) and gift giving (giving) - making people stuff is a sort of hobby of mine. i crochet a lot, and i love love love making people plushies <3 a lot of the time i’ll even start a craft project that i don’t even really want to keep and put it away in a stash of stuff to give to other people when the opportunity arises

✧ i bounce hobbies a lot, but the main ones that have stuck with me over a long period of time are drawing/animating and reading

✧ i have obsessive-compulsive disorder. there are certain topics/words i absolutely cannot say due to my ocd labeling it as taboo, and it’s made me a very superstitious person

✧ i cycle through interests a lot lot lot, but animation (both itself and as an industry) have been my main one for a while now. currently, i’m also really into dinosaurs and jurassic park! (fun fact, the velociraptor in jurassic park ought to be closer to the size they depict the dilophosaurus, and the dilophosaurus ought to be closer to the size they depict the velociraptor!)

make sure you don’t burn yourself out with these, i’ve seen you answer a lot already, take your time!! thanks in advance!

haha dw you did everything it seems!! i’m already burning myself out a bit sadly, as i’ve seemed to get a lot of requests than i can chew haha, but i’m gonna make it work!! you seem like such a sweetie, so ty anon for requesting!! i match you with…

Lucifer !!

Luci is a bit socially isolated too haha, as he sits at home and makes ducks all day

Speaking of, you two have your fair share of grandma-grandpa hobbies that you do together (crochet, knitting, etc)

He loves trying new hobbies with you, it keeps you entertained since your hobbies bounce back a lot, and it gets him out of his comfort zone

Also, he loves reading to you, he will do a bunch of silly voice for all the characters XD

You both just tend to info dump about your favorite topics to eachother, which Lucifer loves, no one really listens to his odd rambles, so the fact that you do is very heartwarming💕

[chouxsardine]

The Lucky Ones -- Danny Wagner x reader

Summary: Does superstition still work its magic when it comes to love? --a spontaneous new year tradition leads to confessions between you and Danny

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x reader

Word Count: 3229

Warnings: mention of alcohol, cussing, superstitions, slight allusion to previous abusive relationship, insecurity

Genre: fluff, COTTON-CANDY-GRAPE LEVEL OF SWEETNESS, friends to lovers

Author's note: Here is a VERY LATE Danny's Birthday/New year fic and also my first time writing Danny! Inspired by the viral tiktok trend about amusing new year traditions. I find them very interesting. I wish everyone a belated happy new year and all the best wishes. Please enjoy :))

🎧: The Lucky Ones by Lana Del Rey (by now titles from song is canon lol I'm so sorry)

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

You have always been a superstitious person, not religious, not believing in magic or the supernatural, just superstitious. Yes, you do believe ghosts exists, and you try to cover your eyes and ears when watching horror films. You hold awe and veneration for some “higher power” like your primitive ancestors. Since childhood, you have always been meticulous about the details, from the direction in which your slippers are pointing at when you take them off before bed to what to eat for breakfast the day of your school theatre showcase. Growing up, many people misunderstood your behavior as symptoms of OCD, but only you know that it is merely the result of your obsession with coincidences and the compulsion to recreate the happiness they have brought to your life; far from being diagnosed as an disorder.

You are going to spent the New Year’s Eve with Danny. You have known each other since you were little kids and have been best friends for over two decades. Friends and families have been teasing you two about being together, and almost everyone thought at least one of you was going to make a move during Christmas. But, alas, nothing happened as the days passed, and here you are, about to draw an end to another year of your friendship. Your feelings for Danny have certainly have developed beyond just platonic level, but you also didn’t want to ruin the precious friendship you have built throughout the years. Plus, you have to admit that you are waiting for a sign. Ah, yes, it is your superstition at work—you believe that there will be an omen indicating the time is ripe to confess your true feelings for Danny. It is not very often that he gets a break from touring and returns home. For now, you just want to be close to him, spend quality time together, and create more memories.

It is safe to say that you nearly jumped off the couch when you saw the trend about “eating twelve grapes under the table at midnight of New Year’s Day for good luck.” How are you only seeing this the afternoon of December 31st? You are already at Danny’s, and the only food you brought over is your renowned passion fruit cheesecake.

“Danny? Do you have any grapes left?”

“What?” Danny yells back from downstairs.

“Do we have any grapes?” You look around the room. The fruit bowl on the counter is filled with limes, which are for making margaritas later. Oh, you should have known better.

“I don’t think so. Do frosted grapes count?” Danny enters the living room and opens the fridge door.

You watch expectantly as Danny opens the freezer section. To your disappointment, there are only five freezer-burned round objects that could hardly be identified as grapes huddled together in a ziplock bag.

“What’s wrong, y/n? Suddenly craving some grapes?” Danny asks amusingly.

“No…well, yes,” You defeatedly close the fridge door and show Danny the post you just read. “It says you’re supposed to eat grapes for good luck.”

“Hum…”Danny’s eyebrows knit in concentration as he skims the article. “I think grocery stores are still open today.”

That’s the thing about Danny. Although you try to hide your superstitious behavior from others, you are never afraid to be yourself in front of him. Instead of thinking you are weird or childish, Danny finds your “little rituals” cute and endearing. He never presses on with questions, which only makes you more willing to explain them to him. And Danny is one hell of a listener.

Nothing compares to the last grocery run of the year. Maybe last-minute Christmas shopping comes in a close second. You are prepared for sensory overload when you see the preoccupied parking lot.

“Looks like everyone forgot something for their dinner,” Danny pulls open the passenger’s side door. Panic suddenly struck you.

“What if everyone has read about it and grapes were sold out?”

“I guess we will find out in a minute.”

Your worries almost became reality. There were only a few bags left on the fruit shelf, and they were obviously being picked over—from the plastic packaging, you saw a few were squished and watery, the ones near the bottom looked withered and brown. But you were positive that you could knock together twenty-four grapes from them.

“I swear you’re my lucky star, Danny. I bet there would be none left if you didn’t come with me.” You sigh in relief as you put all the remaining three bags into the cart.

“That’s a lovely to hear, y/n. Anything else we need for auspiciousness?” Danny asks half-jokingly.

“Actually, we do!” You remember the title of the little pop-up link as you scrolled to the end of the article and saw it mentioned collard greens and black-eyed peas.

Collard greens were easy to find; the panic threatened to twist your stomach again when you didn’t see any canned black-eyed beans.

“Kidney beans…chickpeas…romano…lentils….” Your eyes move fast down each row. “They only have bags of dry beans and we don’t have time to soak and boil them!”

Danny is scanning the label with you until he reaches to the top shelf and grabs a can of mixed beans.

“Look, there’s black-eyed peas in mixed beans. We can just pick them out,” Danny suggests.

“Oh my god, that’s genius!” You perk up immediately.

“Just making good use of my height advantage, I guess,” Danny beams.

On the way home, you are humming along to Queens playing in the radio and clutching the grocery bag containing a bundle of collard greens, a can of mixed beans, and three bags of grapes in your arms, as if you are taking home a puppy from the shelter. Danny couldn’t help but smile at your little expressions of contentment; he loves how you are always able to preserve the childlike innocence to appreciate all the tiny beautiful things.

As soon as you get back home, you dive into further research. By dinner, you had watched a dozen of different videos and five more articles about how exactly one should eat the grapes, answering your question of which colour grapes should you eat (both are fine, and you made sure to buy both red and green ones), whether you should eat them at the countdown to the new year or the first minute of the new year (the latter) , and whether you should sit under a table while eating it (answers vary on this one, but you decided to do it under the table anyways).

Danny is washing the grapes at the kitchen sink.

“Y/n, do you want to pick out the twelve you’re gonna eat?” He asks as he drains them in the strainer basket.

“Oh yes! Thanks for washing them, Dan,” You scamper over. Danny looks so cozy and relaxed in his sweater. His curls tied back into a small pony tail, a few stubborn strands framing his face. The hot, attractive drummer on stage that has the fans screaming and swooning is so different from the huggable human-sized teddy bear that you get to see a lot more often, but it still has the little girl inside you all rosy-cheeked and fluttered nonetheless. For a moment, you are lost appreciating his profile, his lips slightly pursed, long eyelashes casting shadows as he looks down in concentration. The grapes look delicate in between his strong and lean fingers.

“Y/n?”

You are pulled back from your thoughts and bump right into Danny’s mossy brown eyes staring at you. You feel your cheeks getting hotter. Is it still normal to feel the butterflies even after you’ve been friends for so long?

“You are doing this together with me, are you?” You ask as you hold up two grapes to the light, turning and inspecting them as a gemologist. You never wanted to push your own habits and rituals onto others. You have learned from that mistake in past relationships and have since been careful about not coming across as the superstitious version of the lunatic “horse girl”. Although Danny has been considerably supportive about this—buying the grapes with you, coming up the clever solution with the beans, and now this grown ass man is leaning over the kitchen counter and being the judge of a “grape beauty pageant” —the insecurity deep down still peeks around the corner.

“Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t say no to some good luck for the new year.” You can tell Danny’s smile is genuine. Upon seeing the curve of his lips, you could heard the bubbles of second thoughts in your mind popping.

“Look, we even got the cotton candy kind of grapes, those are your favourite.” Danny holds up a bunch of particularly green and shiny grapes.

You almost let out a chirp at the sight of it. You must’ve ignored the label as you hurriedly picked them up at the store. As the name suggested, they do taste like cotton candy. When your teeth break open the skin, the juices are like pure honey pouring down your throat. “And they make the best frosted grapes too!”

“You’re right. We can make another batch with the left overs to ‘replenish our frosted grapes arsenal’.”

You feel a warm, tingling sensation on your palms. Itchy palms are a good sign, right?

Half an hour to the new year, you have already situated yourself under the bar table in the kitchen, the only table in the entire house that is high and spacious enough for two grown adults to crouch under.

“Mind your head!” You extend your hand to pad the underside of the table as Danny gets down on his knees and scoots next to you, almost bumping his head.

“Ooops, close call,” Danny sat down cross-legged. “You know what, I just realized my house probably wasn’t the safest if there was an earthquake or something.”

“Shhh….Danny!” Out of your superstitious habit, you immediately put your fingers on his lips to shush him without much thinking. “Knock on wood!”

Danny pliantly knocks three times on the table above his head, laughgin at your seriousness.

You withdraw your hand, the softness of his lips lingering on your finger tips. “I don’t think this little table is going to do much anyway if it really comes to that,” you said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

The phrase came out his mouth so naturally, without a single second of hesitation. It transported back you into the time in kindergarten when you were pushed aside while waiting for you turn to play on the slide, you looked up through tear-blurred vision; the time when you were on a camping trip and you were nervous about stepping off from the canoe onto the river bank; the time in the scary escape room where your palms were all sweaty and your teeth were biting your bottom lip so hard that it almost drew blood…all these times, there were always a pair of steady hands beside you and a calming voice saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

You quickly blink a few times, getting back to reality and focusing on the two plates in front of you. It must looked like the weirdest “Girl Dinner”—a forkful of boiled collard greens, one tablespoon of black-eyed peas rinsed and drained straight out of the can, and twelve grapes (six green and six red).

“Okay, enlighten me on how to do this,” Daniel asks.

“So I looked into it a bit more. We are supposed to eat each grape along with each chime of the clock once it strikes twelve, but realistically I don’t think anyone can do that without choking, so we just have to make sure we finish all of them by 12:01. Then we eat the veggies and the beans.”

“Uh-huh, weird combinations,” Daniel muses.

“I know. That’s why I got us champagne afterwards to wash it all down.” You point to the two glasses not very far from you.

“Damn. All teed up.”

“Oh I almost forgot! One more very important thing: you are supposed to think about the wishes for the new year as you eat the grapes, one for each month!”

Your palms grew slimy again as your eyes glued to the counting down on the phone screen.

“Oh my gosh, Danny we are doing this…six, five, four, three, two, one!”

You close your eyes and start popping grapes into your mouth one by one. The excitement and adrenaline crush down the twelve preformed coherent wishes in your mind into word soup. Apart from the recurring ones like “health,” “safety,” and “happiness,” the letters spelled “Danny” again and again. Wishing Danny to stay happy and healthy, luck and success for the band and touring, hoping you get to see Danny more, spend more time with Danny, be with Danny….

You swallow down the last bite of your grapes as you open your eyes. You see Danny looking at you, smiling, his cheeks still puffed like a hamster from chewing. There is something magical about seeing the person you wished for right there the moment you open your eyes. It is like seeing the fairy godmother popping up on your birthday cake after blowing out the candles. You giggle as you both devour the greens and the beans, and your glasses clink together as you gulp down the champagne, releasing the satisfied “ahhh” exhale afterward.

“Oh wow.” You hold up the phone. The both of you watch as the seconds tick to 00 and the minutes change from 0 to 1.

“Happy New Year, Y/n.”

“Happy New Year, Danny.”

You two still sit in the not-so-comfortable position under the table, listening to the echoes of the chimes and the sound of fireworks in the distance, savouring the imaginary freshness of the new year, taking it all in like sniffling the smell of ink on the crispy pages of brand new books. Suddenly, you feel the warm feeling slipping away from you, as if visualizing a red line dropping on a thermometer. You don’t know if it’s the sight of the empty dishes and glasses or the adrenaline ebbing away, you aren’t prepared for the previously tamed insecurity to suddenly resurface. The aftertaste of the grapes turned sour in your mouth and made your skin crawl.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Sensing the change in your mood, Danny turns to you, immediately finding your hands and soothingly brushing circles on your palm with his thumb.

“Danny, are all these…am I…too much?” Your voice are incredibly quiet, fearing it will break. Before Danny can answer, you continue, “do you think this is too….childish and crazy?”

“Okay, y/n, take a deep breath,” you felt the warmness of Danny’s hands steady on either side of your cheek, grounding you in his loving gaze and gentle touch, “you’re not going to cry on New Year’s Day, that’s not good.”

You take in a shaky breathe, trying your best to ease the stinging feeling in your eyes as the tears threatened to spill.

“Good girl. Now, talk to me. What happened? Why are you sad all of a sudden?”

“Danny, I just felt like…” you are plagued by the flashback of the hurtful words of your ex, it still stings as you recite them, “I need to grow up and quit these stupid superstitious nonsense, quit fooling around like a five-year-old…and, and treating everyone around me like one!” You inhale deeply again to regulate your breathing.

“No, y/n. Look at me, and listen.”

“You don’t make eye contact with the microwave timer when it’s has 13 seconds remaining. You always try your best not to step on cracks on the pavement, which makes you sometimes do those goofy strides. You always visit every wishing well in the cities we travel to.”

Your eyes widens as Danny recounts each of your weird little habits chapter and verse. Wait, he remembered all of them?

“I don’t give a fuck what other people have said about them, and I wish you don’t either.” Danny always tries not to swear in front of you, so you know he really means it when he pulls out those words.

“They are what makes you…you. They are an essential part of being y/n, and that’s important. You should never second-guess or change yourself just because some asshole yaps about it. Remember that one time you told me you always cling on superstitions because you feel like good things don’t often happen to you in life, so when they do, you want to remember the way they come and try to make sure they visit the next time?”

You nod, your heart melting.

“Hearing that breaks my heart, y/n, because I think you deserve all the good things in life. It’s my wish that in the new year, this beautiful, kind, and wonderful girl in front of me will stay away from toxic people, keep the people that love and cherish her close, and always prioritize her own well-being.”

“My wish and my luck is seeing you be happy, you know that? I’m the luckiest man in the world when my girl is the happiest.”

“Danny…” You lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a few seconds to savour the moment. You feel like an air ballon fueled by the love in your heart, free and fearless.

“I really like you, y/n,” he said, “as a friend and more than a friend.”

“I like you too, Danny. My feelings are mutual.” The words automatically fall out your lips, as if they have been prepared for this moment for years.

“Yeah? You know what my other wishes are? I hope y/n can be my girlfriend. I want to prove to her how lucky and deserving she is of all the good things.” He is looking at you as if you are the most precious being in the whole world, and in this moment, you truly are.

“I think…I can make that wish come true.” You say timidly, your hands also cupping his jaw. You can feel the pulse on his neck, eager and quick.

“You know it’s also good luck to kiss loved ones on new year’s day, right?” He whispers as he draws your chin to pull you close. Without any hesitation, you attach your lips to his. The kiss is soft and loving, with the residual sweetness of cotton candy grapes.

Because you were closing your eyes and making your wish, little did you know, Danny was watching you every time he popped a grape into his mouth. Every wish he whispered silently in his heart is related to you. He hoped that you’d be by his side for all the twelve upcoming months. He would be the happiest man in the world if even one of your wishes included him.

It turned out that good things don’t always need a sign to happen. True love is always on the hunt; it may creep up on you or catch you by surprise, but either way, it will always find you in the end.

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

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated

Do let me know if we want a tag list :D

Some more of my works: Mariner's Complex || Permission to Fall

Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word

[verdemoun]

macsummers were raised in the 1880s you cannot tell me they dont slip up with their parenting techniques and do something parents nowadays dont fw

absolutely look child protective services were called they were just super lucky to get one of the decent case workers who wasn't obsessed with the idea of removing children and very patiently explained cleaning bottles properly and giving them a vaccine schedule as well as frantically getting maeve actually registered as alive she was a home birth and the idea of a child needing to have their birth registered is all new to them sean hitting the cps worker with 'idk we weren't going to get excited until she was three or so you know how fragile babies are' 'sir are you threatening to kill your child'

Maeve was a colicky baby, so Sean very confidently worked into a pharmacy and asked for laudanum. <- this was the incident that got child protective services called

they were absolutely doing their best but maeve's crib was a home-made wooden box that looked more like it was for storing kindling than a baby, her pacifier was a tied-cloth that smelled distinctly like whiskey, and her precious handmade toys were a) a clumsy choking hazard sized little wooden dog lenny had lovingly carved for her and b) a doll clearly made out of a knitted sock

maeve was slightly saved by the fact her collective parents were all first time parents and did not know that many 1880s parenting beliefs. lenny and jenny are both nerds who frantically read as many modern era parenting books as they could despite sometimes scoffing at modern parenting advice

they did expect her to sleep through the night at 3 months old which both the macguire genes and general how much a baby needs feeding would not allow

how often the four of the macsummers household would let her cry for hours because 'babies cry what else are they meant to do' it is a shock maeve didn't end up with attachment disorder

lenny and maeve's relationship is a perfect parallel of darragh and sean's relationship where lenny is constantly trying to sit maeve down and get her to practice reading but maeve is not having it

maeve also hated clothes and they were all very shrug to her running the streets as a toddler in nothing but a diaper because 'idk she undressed herself that's what she wants' despite it being the middle of winter

karen was the spanker lenny and sean were too soft to ever discipline their precious baby. they could tell maeve no and she would pout but never tantrum other parents in awe until karen goes yep she knows if she carries on she's getting a whack

reading her Their childhood stories none of this sleeping beauty being woken with a kiss nonsense (frantic phone calls from day care because maeve is singing the juniper tree)

it also still took them ages to figure out how to acknowledge maeve was very much a modern era girl who wanted to wear pants, climb trees and collect cool bugs and rocks she dug out of the dirt with her bare hands. they tried to raise her like a lady because that was the expectation and experiences they had? she was just too strong willed. 90% of her stripping tantrums were because she hated dresses

[remuslupinkinnie1979]

Some Emilute headcanons cause I'm obsessed

Lute - she/they (mean) lesbian

Emily - they/she/neos pansexual

Lute is VERY protective, if you even look at Emily the wrong way, you have a spear inches from your throat a second later

I hc that Emily is autistic, so Lute always carries noise cancelling headphones in her back (Emily often forgets them)

Lute loves listening to Emily infodumping about their current interests

Whenever Emily sees a homeless animal in the streets she takes it home. Lute thought it was adorable, until it got to the point when: "No, Em. We already have 5 dogs, 4 cats, 2 snakes, 3 turtles and a chicken, we can't adopt this lizard."

They ended up having a little animal shelter

Emily cried every time they had to give out a pet, but was also happy it found a new home

Lute listens to stuff like Metallica, Nirvana, AC/DC etc. and Emily listens to Melanie Martinez and musicals. They both love Queen

They watch anime (why? Because I said so)

Lute gets a lot of bruises and injuries during training and stuff, and Emily always insists to take care of them

This one is kinda dumb, but I hc that when angels blush their face goes yellow (cause they have yellow blood, yk) and Lute blushes A LOT around Emily (especially when they started dating) and Adam gave her a nickname "banana" cause of it and every time he caught them simping he'd be like: "You're staring, banana" (idk, I made it today at 5 am, okay?!)

Emily loves making bracelets and giving them to people (Lute especially). It got to the point when Lute almost had her circulation stop, cause she insisted on wearing them all the time

Lute is more scared of Sera after her and Emily got together, cause Sera is kinda like Emily's parent/big sister so Lute wants her to like her

Sera picked up on it and is very cold and serious around Lute, to not show that she actually likes her

Lute has anxiety/panic disorder and sometimes gets bad panic attacks from all the pressure and Emily always succeeds to calm them down

Also Lute has some major anger issues and is often like "I'm gonna murder the next person I fucking see, I swear..." And then she sees Emily and IMMEDIATELY turns calm and nice. Adam makes fun of her for it

They paint their nails together. Lute always gets black and Emily never can decide what to pick (xe ends up with multicolour nails)

Sometimes when they're talking/flirting and Adam is in the background he would do some stupid shit to ruin the moment, like:

Emily: You look nice today... Pretty much like every day

Lute: *blushes* You think?

Adam: *Fake sexual/puking noises in the background*

They often go on dates on Earth (they love cinema, concerts and Disneyland)

Sometimes on Earth people would give them dirty looks or throw slurs at cause they're gay and Lute would be like cracking her knuckles and getting angry, and Emily has to hold her, so she wouldn't murder someone

Emily pretty much NEVER swears and Lute swears a lot. Lute loves that about Emily, so she makes sure to never swear in their presence:

Lute: Oh you little *realises that Emily is next to her* you little... stupid person?

Emily: *laughs, cause she knows what Lute really wants to say and finds the whole thing adorable*

Adam would CONSTANTLY make fun of Lute for simping

Sera would definitely give Lute 'the talk'

Emily tends to dismiss ze's own emotions and overworked themselves to make everyone happy. Lute sometimes ends up forcibly putting them to bed so she'd get some rest.

Emily loves sweets and Lute loves salty food

Emily drinks tea and Lute drinks coffee

Emily likes knitting, especially in winter, so Lute has a closet full of sweaters, scarves, hats etc. She'd never wear them if they weren't from Emily

Lute likes sketching (mostly their girlfriend)

Hufflepuff x Slitherin

Emily loves hairstyling, so ze insists on styling lutes hair

St. Peter and Emily are friends and Lute absolutely fucking hates this guy

Because of their height difference Emily has to stand on her tiptoes when they kiss

Lute takes advantage of the difference and gives Emily a lot of forehead kisses

Lute often gives Emily piggy back rides (or flies)

Lute always insists on doing 'gentlemen' stuff, like they ALWAYS carry Emily's bag and open the door for her

When they move in together Adam often just comes in uninvited and crashes on the couch like he actually lives there. Lute is kinda annoyed with it, but Emily mostly doesn't mind

Lute plays bass

When they sleep Lute always has her spear next to the bed, just in case

When Emily has a shutdown Lute either speaks for them or makes sure to get her out of there. If anyone is trying to keep Emily in the room and is being kinda pushy and obnoxious, Lute gets all protective and is like: Don't you see we're busy? With a spear targeted at them

When Emily gets overstimulated xe tends to pick up on their skin. Lute noticed that and always has some fidget toys on them, to offer

Emily collects plushies and squishmallows and when ze sees one in a store, it goes like this:

Emily: Look! It's so cute! Can we buy it?

Lute: Babe, we already have like... 20 squishmallows in our room.

Emily: But it's an elephant... *Sad face*

Lute: Oh, fine. But it's the last one. *It's never the last one*

Adam is sceptical about their relationship at first, but grows fond of Emily pretty quickly and sees them as his little sister

They cuddle using their wings as blankets

Okay, I guess that's it for now, but I will probably update. As u can probably tell I'm a little, tini-tiny bit obsessed with them atm

[cringelordofchaos]

Heidi Turner HCs!

I LOVE HER SM and i DONT talk enough about her tbh

dislikes social media

has major depressive disorder, which led her to feel out of place and pushed away by society, and since she didn't feel like she belonged anywhere she started hating herself/ being unsure of who she was, or what she even wanted, which is why she came to be so gullible and easy to change and manipulate, its because she wasn't sure or confident in herself

before she started dating cartman, she would mask her depression. even though she was one of the popular girls who 'got along with everyone',, and cared about her reputation (which is why i think she was judgemental towards Marjorine in Marjorine), she still felt out of place but she would hide it and pretend she was fine and content. but she never had a best friend and she desperately craved some form of close bond which she would later get from Cartman.

listens to liana flores (self projecting ....) + relates to her (especially the song "recently,")

strongly inclined to listen to her emotions and follow her heart (canon), high empathy

her deep insecurity and lack of self-confidence is also what led her to be so defensive about her relationship with cartman, because she didn't want to be proven wrong about her decisions cuz that would only make her a "worse " person and yeah (pretty much canon)

big animal rights activist!! and an animal person too

canonically Irish, i like to think she and her parents lived in Ireland when she was much younger until they moved to Colorado but she barely remembers anything, they still sometimes visit Ireland for holidays to see her grandparents. (and i also like to think her grandma taught her how to cook and how to knit, and knitted her hat)

after she got changed by Cartman, she started drifting apart from all her friends, and even when she and Cartman broke up she still doesn't have the best reputation and she lost a lot of bonds, so she started feeling out of place AGAIN even after she broke it off with him... but she knows it's for the best.

nature lover and tree hugger, obsessed with flowers

i think her family is a bit more traditional one, and that her dad is the typical really tough strict emotionally invulnerable overprotective masculine father figure that would be like "NO BOYFRIENDS UNTIL YOU'RE 97 YEARS OLD WITH 42 GRANCHILDREN"

just a really good and kind person deep down and nothing can really change that

after her break up with cartman she started feeling guilty for the person she became and sorta pushed others away because she felt as if she didn't deserve them ?

girl needs to have an independence arc and learn not to solely rely on others reaffirmations. she needs to be sure of herself and love herself without needing others. but i also think she deserves friends and support

plays the flute

has a pet bunny !!! and is also kinda obsessed with butterflies

friends with stan

for a bit after she broke up w eric she would usually sit alone during lunch. wendy at one point noticed this and despite all the other girls thinking they should probably stay away from her / shes not worth it / let her be, wendy decided to sit next to her and be the friend she needs

at one point when she comes more to terms with who she is she gets a pixie cut !! i also like to think her hair is curly / really wavy and healthy

feels at most peace when shes out in nature

loves windy and colder weather

i also like to think she befriends Nichole at one point !! (since they're both sorta flower themed, in TFBW Nichole's room is flower themed and she also has flower hair clips)and /... thats pretty much my only reason lulz. I like to think of her, nichole and wendy as a trio !! idk i feel like all of them are some of the kindest characters in the show, i'd like to see them as friends

at one point develops a slighttt childish crush on wendy, but she tries not letting it get to her head

she felt as if she didn't fit in, maybe she even felt as if she wasn't wanted .

has no phone (i mean. she canonically threw it away)

sends letters to her grandparents, since they're getting pretty old she's a bit afraid they'll die soon -

likes to paint and draw sometimes but she doesn't think she's good at it

Before, she would sometimes pretend she was something she wasn't cuz she thought that would make her feel less isolated, and maybe she'd be more comfortable if she was anyone but her. But as she's been healing, and been away from Cartman, learning about herself and what she truly loves doing, and learning to love herself, she doesn't feel the need to pretend about much anymore, which actually happened to make her more genuine and people took actual interest in being her friend (even if she wasn't exactly as popular as she was before) (PS i have no idea what actually canonically happened to her after Splatty Tomato so uhh this might contradict canon)

has a ton of plants in her house she takes care of

not really interested in cheerleading if she's entirely honest

Raised Roman Catholic (actually, i just checked the fandom wiki (extremely reliable source, i know) and it's canon apparently)

Sometimes dresses like an old grandma but she doesn't care

"cats or dogs?" "both!!!!"

bookworm

she feels SO SO guilty about all the things she's said and done to Kyle, and at one point apologizes, but lets him know she doesn't expect his forgiveness, she just wants to let him know he really didn't deserve any of that and that she still feels bad and tries explaining why she left him in Doubling Down but let him know it still didn't justify anything. I have no idea how Kyle reacts but I think if he saw how genuine she was he'd (maybe somewhat hesitantly at first??) let her know he understands, and there's no point in holding grudges yada yada. I don't think they would really hang out much afterwards, and especially i dont think theyd date again, but i dont think theyd be on bad terms forever

even after she breaks up with Cartman and begins a vegan diet again, while she stops being obese she's still a bit chubby

flora and fauna NERD !!!!!

Has private flute lessons (that she impermanently dropped when Cartman told her it was a bunch of bullshit she didn't need, but after she broke up with him she took it up again)

Never talked about her issues to her parents before, but at one point breaks it down to them all at once and they let her know they love her and she should talk to them if there's anything troubling her, and they'd never be mad about her having negative emotions, and that they're not mad about her not telling them earlier. They even ask her if she wants therapy, but she lets them know she thinks she's getting better and doesn't need it. but they let her know she can have it if she wants to.

when she was younger her hair used to be straight up blonde but it darkened with age

wasn't romantically attracted to cartman, she cared about him like she did about everyone and relied on him to reaffirm her sense identity but both were faking their interest in the other, though Heidi truly thought she had a crush on him at first, and stayed with him so he wouldn't kill himself even though he was a horrible boyfriend to her.(in anothr hc, she did really love him that way. idk man i think multiple interpretations make sense depending on how you look at it.)

this guy's her half brother

has a few freckles on her cheeks

favourite colours are pink and green

[itscomingupaces]

what do you think each of the counselors' favorite season is? :)

Aaaahhh this is such a good question!!

Laura - I see Laura as a spring girly. She grew up obsessed with animals, and this is when most all the new baby birds, rabbits, etc. appeared. Her favourite flowers are spring flowers as well, like tulips and lilacs.

Max - He loves fall! It's not too hot, not too cold, I can see him loving pumpkin spice lattes and Halloween. Max loves to go for walks and look at the leaves changing colour with Laura.

Ryan - I see Ryan also enjoying fall. He has 10 variations of the same 1 outfit, which works much better in the fall than any other time of year. His favourite podcast puts out extra content closer to Halloween, and he loves dressing up with his sister and taking her trick-or-treating. Fall also brings back routine with school, which is good for our boy.

Dylan - I can see him really appreciating winter, which is a controversial choice. He would nerd out over snowflakes when he was little, and he still loves going to see Christmas lights with his mom. Dylan prefers to be cold so he can bury himself in 10 blankets and Ryan's sweaters, which is much easier in winter.

Emma - Summer and Emma go hand in hand. She loves going to the beach, swimming, and late nights by the fire. Sure, summer gives her tons of content to film, but she truly enjoys the heat and the long days. I can see her have seasonal affective disorder so she dreads fall and winter.

Jacob - Jacob also loves summer. He plays outdoor soccer, football, and field lacrosse during the summer months, and he loves going to the outdoor music festivals held every year where he lives. Jacob isn't the most studious when we meet him, so I think he also appreciates not having to do school work during the summer.

Abi - Spring is a time of change, new beginnings, and new growth, which I think would be very inspiring to Abi. She would spend a bit of time each day photographing the new flowers in bloom for her to sketch later. She also loves going to the local park to watch all the new ducklings grow up.

Nick - I think Nick also loves spring and summer. He surfs and plays soccer, which is easier to do when it's warmer. He's indecisive though, so he can't pick a true favourite between the two.

Kaitlyn - Kaitlyn will say she doesn't have a favourite season, but she has a soft spot for winter. Her birthday is in December, she likes watching women's hockey, and she gets to break out her favourite scarf when it heys cold - one a friend knit for her as a birthday present when she was 14.

[mioyeo]

8 makes 1 Team

No matter how different, without one of us there is no 8 makes 1 Team

Synopsis : In which 8 boys build a friendship despise of their differences with the help of a psychiatrist

Pairing : psychiatrist! Reader x Ateez (for now )

Themes : angst , mental struggles, fears , Disorders etc

Warnings : this chapter includes mentions of threatening , angst , obsessive-compulsive disorder , pedophilia , grooming , mental breakdown , paranoia, mentions of sexual abuse etc , please tell me if I forgot something , and I’m not romanticizing Disorders in anyway and this is pure fiction meaning this doesn’t represent Ateez in any type of way

And I would like to apologize and just like to explain that after I post the chapters of you guys getting to meet the patients (Ateez ) there will be back stories as to why they are where they are and etc , besides I do my research before writing about these disorders and other things

Word count : 1,5k

MEETING SEONGHWA

𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟬𝟯𝟳𝟴

𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚 : 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙎𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙝𝙬𝙖

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 : 𝗔𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗹 𝟯, 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟴

𝗛𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 : 𝟭,𝟳𝟴𝗺

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀 : 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲–𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝗹𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿 , 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘳: 𝘈𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 , 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 , 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵

Y/n yawned and went to wash her hands after going to bathroom , passing other patients who where going to have dinner

The whole place made her really feel insanely uncomfortable with how some people where treated behind cell doors by some guards

Y/n knew she was going to do something sooner than later to stop it

She stopped in front of the cell door waiting for the guard to open it for her as she than went in

" Who are you and what do you want from me "

The blond boy with blue cloud pajamas looked alarmed and covered his ears slightly looking scared as she approached him

" I'm the new psychiatrist who will help you get better from now on "

" This isn't something that can go away "

" I know, but I'm going to make sure your comfortable with your surroundings and yourself for now on only if you let me help "

He uncovered his ears and looked up to see her smiling at him softly sitting on a clap-up chair she brought due to not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable by sitting on his bed

" Would you like to tell me your name "

" You already know that , why must I tell ? "

" Mhm , well I prefer my patients to tell me their names despite me already knowing it because some of them tend to get scared by people knowing their name out of nowhere "

He gasped and whimpered

" Did you hear that ? that-t noise "

" It's ok , it was just the chair I'm sitting on I'm sorry for scaring you "

" M-My name is Seonghwa "

The boy tried to smile but failed making his eyebrows knit together

" Nice to meet you Seonghwa, please don't smile for someone when you feel like it's not making you feel comfortable "

" But it's rude to not smile at people you just got to meet , it will make them sad a-and I don't want that "

" Listen Seonghwa that's not true , you shall never and I mean never do anything for anyone that makes you feel like it's not right to do "

" I don't need to smile if I don't want to ? "

She shook her head softly smiling at him

" Oh ... , I thought that it's obligatory to smile for people so you won't make them sad "

" It's just like when you don't need to say sorry if you didn't do anything wrong "

" But my mom said that I needed to apologize even if I'm not wrong "

He looked around afraid

" Seonghwa , trust me it's not true "

" How can I trust you ?! How do I know you don't work for someone that wants to harm me or use the things I say against me ?! "

" You don't need to trust me if your not sure , besides we just got know each other I'll let you open up to me at your pace ok ? "

He blinked looking around, he kept feeling things whisper that weren't actually there

" Is everything alright ? "

" Things here are whispering in my ear and I'm afraid they won't stop "

Seonghwa covered himself with his blankets

" I brought some books for you , maybe they can help you get distracted of these when you feel like their bothering you "

" Are these books clean ? I hate messy stuff "

" I bought them just for you , since the books here where pretty dusty and old so these here are brand new and clean "

" Are you buying stuff to gain my trust ? "

She shook her head straightening her blouse

" Seonghwa , this is for your own  good the only thing i'd gain from helping you is too see you smile and be happy nothing more "

" Really ? Can I really trust you ? "

" That's up to you , my job is just to make you smile and be happy again "

He stood up and walked up to her taking the bag of books and  slowly backing away as he kept his eyes on her , with  suspicions about her invading the boys  mind making him stay alarmed at any moment she did anything

" Well , is there anything in particular you want to request for your well-being before I go ? "

" Can I ask somethin-ng ?

The boy hesitated with his choice of words and started to fiddle around with his clothes

" You can ask me anything Seonghwa I'm all ears , but make sure that what your going to tell me won't make you feel uncomfortable afterwards for telling me ok ? "

" Yo-ou said t-that I d-don't have to do thing-gs I don't w-want to d-do "

" Yes I said that , is something wrong ? "

Seonghwa's breathing started to quicken as whimpers left his mouth with hot tears leaving his eyes soon after

" D-Do you also have to take your undies off when someone asks nicely? "

" Well , depends on the person wanting to do that or not but either way I think it's kind of inappropriate to just ask someone to do that "

His hands started shaking violently and he bursted into tears crying , the tears made his vision blurry as he kept trying to wipe them

" What does it me-ean if someone takes pictures of someone being naked a-and makes them do things that-t are weird "

Her heart sank when she realized what just happened in front of her eyes , he was the patient Wooyoung was talking about

" Seonghwa I'll ask you some questions and you'll have to answer them is that ok ? "

He nodded avoiding eye contact

" Did someone say you should take off your pants and you felt like that was wrong ? "

The boy slowly nodded sniffing

" Was is it guard Lee ? , You don't have to lie to me about this one here because I know "

His eyes shot into her direction as he panicked

" He-e promised not to tell and kept giving me presents ! I-I did not want to do that , he said I was a very pretty boy to be shared and promised to not tell anyone ! "

Seonghwa went on his knees as he screamed rubbing his hands together in a pleading way

" Please d-dont tell anyone ! I-I'm sorry ! please don't harm me ! "

She approached him and squat down in front of the boy

" I won't allow him to ever do this again, it is extremely wrong to make someone do anything against their will , he's crossed his boundaries "

Seonghwa looked so helpless and broken as he sat there sobbing, one thing she was glad is that they couldn't hear anything from outside since she always inactivates the speakers when she visited her patients it was something that was called privacy and respect, everything the patients told her stayed in doors and never reached out to anyone else

" Can you remember for how long he has been sexually abusing or better to say grooming you Seonghwa ? It's ok if you don't want to talk about it I'll wait for you to open up "

" What does G-grooming mean ? "

He sniffed looking completely confused to hearing the new word

" Grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate , exploit and abuse them "

The boy bursted into tears again and suddenly hugged her , he was just to oblivious to even comprehend what that old man was doing

" It's ok Seonghwa , I'm here for you and as for today you will never do something against your will do you understand ? Repeat after me it is ok to say no when I don't want to "

" It is ok to say n-no w-when I don't want to "

She stroked his head slowly whispering that it was ok and reassuring him that it wasn't his fault and would never be

" C-Can you please protect me ? What if he finds out and comes to kill me ? "

" Did he say he would do that to you ? "

He nodded and snuggled closer sniffing

" He was nice at first than suddenly changed and one day he came into the toilet where I was washing my hands and said that if I even dared to tell anyone about our relationship he would kill me and toss my body in the woods "

She shushed him and kissed his forehead to which the boy hugged tighter and hiccuped for some minutes before calming down

" Listen to me , from now on I'll never leave your sight and tomorrow I'll pick you up for breakfast so you don't have to wake up and face that disgusting man alone do you hear me ? "

" Do you promise me that? "

" I promise you Seonghwa now go to sleep "

" Is there also a possibility to get strawberry milk on breakfast time ? I-I really like strawberry milk "

She smiled and nodded making her way out his room before her smile dropped she had something more important on her mind

Mission get to know Patient 0378 done

[bensbooks]

TBR Highlight: And They Lived . . .

Chase Arthur is a budding animator and hopeless romantic obsessed with Disney films and finding his true love, but he's plagued with the belief that he's not enough for anyone: he's recovering from an eating disorder and suffers from body dysmorphia fueled by his father, and can't quite figure out his gender identity. When Chase starts his freshman year of college, he has to navigate being away from home and missing his sister, finding his squad, and contending with his ex-best friend Leila who is gunning for the same exclusive mentorship. If only he can pull together a short for the freshman animation showcase at the end of the semester.

Then Chase meets Jack Reid, a pragmatic poet who worships words and longs to experience life outside of his sheltered world. But Chase throws everything into question for Jack, who is still discovering his sexual identity, having grown up in close-knit conservative family. Jack internalized a lot of homophobia from his parents and childhood best friend, who unexpectedly visit campus, which threatens to destroy their relationship. Chase will have to learn to love--and be enough for--himself, while discovering what it means to truly live.

[melikedanika]

Ignorance is bliss - but it's also a bitch. Am I the only one whose been wondering how all the pieces fit?

►GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Melike Jafrin Danika NICKNAME(S): Mel, MJ LABEL: The Aesthete AGE: 30 DATE OF BIRTH: September 9, 1993 ZODIAC: Virgo Sun, Cancer Rising, Gemini Moon GENDER & PRONOUNS: Female; She/Her HERITAGE: Turkish, Arab, Lebanese SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S): English, Turkish OCCUPATION: Interior Designer SEXUALITY & ROMANCE: Bisexual; Biromantic

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Pinar Deniz HEIGHT: 5'6" WEIGHT: 132 lbs. DOMINANT HAND: Left HAIR COLOR: Brown EYE COLOR: Hazel SCARS: Fingers from being burnt by hot glue gun (barely noticeable) TATTOOS: None.

►PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: Adroit, Romantic, Loyal, Brave, Compassionate, Passionate, Ambitious, Benevolent, Athletic. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Enigmatic, Guarded, Sensitive, Stubborn, Easily Bored, Perfectionistic, Detached. LIKES: Cafes, the sound of records playing, the smell of a new book and the smell of rain, astronomy, nature, cable-knit sweaters, the city lights, perfectly-done ponytails, old drive-ins, traveling, art museums, Shakespeare, Van Gogh, deep conversations, road trips, poetry, midnight runs. DISLIKES: Being told what to do, confrontation, being the first to show up, being the last to show up, not being taken seriously, someone underestimating her, the cold, feeling rushed, the sensation of being crowded, being called ‘selfish’ or 'ungrateful', restriction of freedom, close-minded people, being talked over, people who sell out, those without passion.

►MENTALITY

PHOBIAS: N/A DISORDERS: OCD ALLERGIES: Seasonal (Pollen)

►BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Adana, Turkey CURRENT RESIDENCE: Queens, NYC, NY EDUCATION LEVEL: BA in Interior Design from University of Cincinnati FAMILIAL CONNECTIONS: - Merjan Danika - Mother, Not in Contact - Ali Danika - 49, Father, Deceased

►FAVORITES

FOOD: Pita flatbread ( margherita style ) DRINK: Chai tea with almond milk MOVIE: The Devil Wears Prada / Black Swan TV SHOW: The Office, The Bold Type, Bob's Burgers BAND: The 1975, The Killers, The Beatles, Lana Del Rey, Smashing Pumpkins SONG: Cherub Rock - Smashing Pumpkins / Zombie - The Cranberries

► EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: ESTP ENNEAGRAM: The Confidant (6w7) TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good SIN: Glutton (LOL) VIRTUE: Humility ELEMENT: Earth CHARACTER PLAYLIST

"Am I the only one obsessed with making it all make sense?"

► BIOGRAPHY

TW; Death, family dysfunction

Melike was born to a loving couple. At least, that's how it seemed at the time. Growing up in Adana, Turkey, Mel never felt deprived of anything. If anything, she recalls fondly on a time where she was battling dragons with wooden swords that her father so craftily created for her. Her mother? She was always so hard to reach. Mel took on a sort of balancing act. She could be herself around her father; goofy, loving, foolhardy. Around her mother, the young girl had to put a brave face on and take up some pretty adult like chores. At the age of 4, her father was making her breakfast but her mother believed she could fend for herself. Though she tried to relate and bond with her mother, it just wound up turning into an argument. The only times she could remember her mother smiling was over her grades; Mel then focusing on academics because at least her mother cared when she saw her high grades. Her whole life, she learned to hide pieces of herself away to become enough for someone else. Something her father tried so desperately to stop, but it did become a habit to his dismay. When she was off to university, she received a full ride to the University of Cincinnati. Her mother was the one pushing her to become a doctor and go to Penn State. Mel put the decision on the back burner; her own heart and mind at odds, much like her parents were at one another's throats. Her father's death came a couple weeks following her offer letters. The impact had her mother scrambling, and it wasn't until she attempted to sell Mel to a man in order to be his wife, that she finally put her foot down. She decided to go to the University of Cincinnati and hasn't looked back on her life in Turkey since. Two years ago, the woman took the leap to move to NYC due to a job opportunity. She's still gaining her footing here, but she does love the people and the ambiance.

► PERSONALITY

Mel is passionate and loves art and history thanks to her father. Due to this, she is prone to rambles of Shakespeare, Cleopatra, and good 'ole Van Gogh. She loves to go out and have fun in the night life scheme of things, but she also loves to just throw her hair up into a messy bun and have a Netflix marathon. Mel is a hopeless romantic and is all-in when it comes to relationships and crushes. This is an aspect of herself she's scared of, seeing that her parents were a product of an arranged marriage for financial reasons - she's afraid of someone not genuinely loving her and wanting her for their own gain. This has her a bit suspicious of others, and she can be a tad hard to bond with if you hate someone whose hot and cold at first. She genuinely is a warm character and loves the simpler things in life. She loves to rearrange her friends' houses and surprise them with the new layout. She's also an awesome wingwoman. Can take a joke, but will dish it right back. Loves take out and hiking. Mel is fixated on making everything make sense, since her father's passing still doesn't make sense to her; just a trauma response, ya know?

► PLOTS

The Best Friend: This is someone who was here for when Mel first came to Denver. They most likely showed her the ropes and gave her tours. It would be nice for them to have hit it off and been inseperable ever since. - OPEN

College Friends: Friends who went through the same interior design program, maybe? Or, they could've just met around campus and now it's like 'oh shit - you're in Denver too?' - OPEN (x2?)

The Roommate: I kinda see this as like a FRIENDS type of deal. Very much like Mel is the Monica to someone's Rachel and they are trying to figure out life together. Super soft and cute, ok? - OPEN

But, Do I Suck?: The design testers. These people are who Mel runs her ideas by before putting it out into the world and actually decorating someone's house. This is especially if they are a big client. They could be her genuine friends in the design industry, or maybe they just all love art and met/bonded that way. - OPEN (x2)

Once You Have Me, Will You Want Me Still?: Blind date that turned into a hookup and Mel left before they woke up because she got scared. Ya know, she just doesn't want history to repeat itself. - OPEN

[oystertongue]

It’s 11:42 p.m. You’re hunched over in your desk chair, spine assuming the beguiling curl of the fried shrimp emoji, face inches from the blue-toned glow of your laptop screen. You don’t realize it, but your mouth is kind of open and your eyebrows have knitted together. The muscle on the outside of your left eye twitches a little. On the screen, so close you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, is a man who calls himself The Liver King. He squints at you out of deep set eyes and flexes his astonishing coterie of muscles. Too astonishing - who actually looks like that? He has grizzled facial hair and a burned-in tan and veins that strain against the surface of his skin, and he promises that you, too, can achieve this apex predator physique…with the help of the supplements and protein powder that he promotes. Click the link in the description below and enter LIVER for 10% off your first order.

Wait, what?

How did you even get here? Why are you watching a ‘roided-out white guy eat raw chicken with his bare hands instead of answering emails, or god forbid reading something edifying?

An archaeology of the tabs you’ve opened in the past hour would reveals a meandering journey from Google to a couple of bland health advice sites, a few journalistic features, and then some social media pages - that’s where it started to get weird. You had Googled the keto diet, because half of everyone seems like they’re on it, so you can’t bring bagels to meetings anymore, and now the grocery store sells something called “fat bombs” (…what happened to SnackWells?!). The idea that you should actually avoid vegetables seemed so counterintuitive, so contrary to the diet advice you’ve absorbed your whole life that it made you wonder - was this some kind of weird trick, like the Death Star reactor core of the human metabolism? Would you actually be healthier if you ate more pork rinds?

The first few links you clicked on seemed ambivalent about. You learned that the diet was first developed to treat severe epilepsy when medications didn’t help, and only later picked up as a weight loss tool, and then a body-building fad. The takes were all over the place - some commenters dismissed it as just the latest fad in a body-obsessed culture. Okay, that’s not unreasonable. Others rolled their eyes at it - these people are just deluding themselves because they want to eat bacon, they sneered. Others expressed concern about excessive restriction leading to disordered eating, and the micronutrients keto devotees might be losing out on by eschewing basically all fruits and vegetables. And still others argued that keto is the most efficient way to eat, since, unlike calories from fat and carbohydrates, our bodies can’t store up calories from protein in the form of fat.

At this point you’d hopped over to another tab to make sure that was actually true - and as far as you can tell, it is. Okay, fair enough. The keto devotees also argued that animal foods are the most nutrient-dense, on account of trophic levels: they absorb and store all the nutrients from all the plants and smaller organisms that they eat. So really, they argue, if you’re after nutrition, liver is where it’s at. This also seemed plausible, but it was hard to fact-check it on a search engine without running into stuff like this - The Liver King and his stylized black and red website featuring a free ebook describing “ancestral tennets” that promised to restore we crappy, atrophied, hunched-over-laptop moderns to a lost-state of musclebound glory. “Every man, women [sic], and child,” his home page declares, “has the right to be strong, healthy, and happy (autoimmune-free, eczema-free, allergy-free, fatigue-free and so on). To live life with robust energy and biological resilience. To go from mere existence in life, to discovering that which makes life worth living.”

It’s a big moral mission for a guy whose whole thing is filming himself eating entire raw beef livers and taking gear. (Which he is obviously doing. Right? You Google that too, and, yeah, he admitted it! And was sued for deceptive marketing for his defunct supplement line! But the liver videos have kept right on trucking, still raking in tens of thousands of views each.)

But one guy who has clearly gone off the deep end with it doesn’t mean that the entire idea is crap, does it? And everyone is exhausted. Pollen season is a gauntlet of suffering. Everyone has some kind of food they can’t eat. Three of your friends have been diagnosed with autoimmune diseases this year.

It’s probably not liver. And you’re not going to untangle this right now, anyway - your back is killing you and your eyes are starting to burn for sleep. Who are you kidding? You’ll probably never read all those articles you opened. The answer might be in there somewhere, buried in the depths of PubMed, but who has time to go spelunking for it?

There are all these charismatic people with spectacular bodies who seem like they have it all figured out, but they’re all saying and doing totally different things. Mutually exclusive things, even. And then there’s you, tired, bad posture, haphazard sale-and-whim based grocery shopping habits. Could you be spectacular if you got your shit together? Maybe, but at least you’re not cringe.

In the morning, you’ll eat your carb-filled cereal with an unease that doesn’t even register as unusual.