#( but i also figured if you wanted we could finish this thread up? )

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

«« "Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't." »» 

Choi Seungcheol x reader | part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], toxic friends, cheol has anger issues, kkuma appearance, @miniseokminnies makes also makes a fluffy appearance, injuries, mentions of blood, smut tags in the next part

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

[a/n] (it's a long one but PLEASE read) : ITS HERE FINALLY this was an extremely bumpy ride and I wouldn't have finished it without all of my friends who quite literally kept me going. I know I made an update saying this was gonna end up being 20k max but it turns out my yap-itis is for life </33

the posting schedule for this fic is going to be a little less predictable, I will try to get part 2 out asap but I do not currently have a date for you.

big thank you to @highvern for betaing and making me feel better about this fic, @amourcheol for talking me out of meltdowns multiple times and for giving me some really good scene pointers, @ugh-yoongi for being so patient w me and explaining how ice hockey works with so much patience. ty to @the-boy-meets-evil @tusswrites @lovetaroandtaemin for also proof reading for me 🥹

HUGE thank you to everyone at @camandemstudios who agreed to be part of this collab and being part of the journey as we grow 🫶 please check out the collab masterlist linked above, there's already so many amazing fics posted ready for you to read <33

that being said, I know more about figure skating than I do about hockey, but even so there are defo some inconsistencies in terms of accuracies in this, please bear with me 🫶 remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me your thoughts, id love to hear what you guys think 🥹 masterlist

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna give back my hour and thirteen minutes.” 

The strap of your gym bag cuts into your bare shoulder where the collar had slipped, the tight threading sure to leave a scratch by the time this is bound to be done. You’d managed to avoid coach Carroll’s morning cornering for a couple months, going above and beyond by showing up to the icy rink before she could even pull up in the parking lot in her blaring red Porsche, let alone before her ten minute meditations in her cream coloured seats. 

“There was an accident on the highway. Truck tipped over.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Carroll points.

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

Teeth to tongue, you know you’ve done it. 

She’s in her usual tracksuit, green today, that contrasts her bright red hair in its tight curls. Her glasses are her sensible Ralph Laurens, eyes piercing through the tinted lens as she holds her chin in her hands. Silent, calculating. 

“Fine. Change.” 

Your legs want to give out before you can even get your skates on. 

There were many things Isabella Carroll was good at. The industry would have one of them be a good coach; one of the most expensive, the one that squeezed the life out of her students to inject into the golds, silvers and bronzes they would then bring her on an equally diamond encrusted platter. 

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

The fact she chose to skip out on verbally humiliating you meant you’d managed to strike that cord. She might be leaving in the next 45 minutes, but she has a very particular way of stretching the minutes into years. 

Like a whipped horse, you scurry into the locker rooms, skin crawling. Your gym bag is positively launched into your designated locker, shoes kicked off as you attempt to stick your right foot into your skates, narrowly missing your heel as it grazes right past the toe pick. 

You slow down after that, not needing a scar on your heel to match the large one on the side of your calf. 

By the time you jog back out, unzipping your jacket to throw onto one of the benches, coach is on the ice, following Marina who zips around on the other end of the rink in her step routine. 

It’s difficult to not rush through your warmups when you’re already late, your splits hardly pushed out as you pray all that running around in the desolate locker rooms was enough to stretch everything out. 

There’s a crash on the illuminated ice as you slip off your skate guards, Marina already practising her Salchows. “You’re in the air for enough time, why can’t you rotate?!” 

Right blade first, you step into the cold encircling, gliding into the centre to begin making your usual rounds around the circumference.

There’s a positive screech of your name from across the ice, wind blowing in your hair as you turn to look. “Do I need to hire someone to hold up your free leg? Fix it, girl!”  

Holding your left leg more taut, you attempt to transition into a jump and spin. You fail, landing on both feet. Somehow, falling on your ass felt like a better conclusion to that arc. 

“Wonderfully executed! Let’s try both hands on the ice too next time, really complete the contemporary finish,” coach hollers out to you as she continues to follow Marina at the same time. 

Trying again, you manage to land on your outer left blade. You receive no comment. 

You try the jump again, pushing into a sit spin. 

The momentum is enough to begin the familiar slack in your scalp, your bun loosening its grip on your hair. Biting your tongue would be dangerous right now, but you would if you could, especially considering the ramifications of your hair coming undone in front of her. 

The crouch as you spin burns your thighs like you’re being branded, pulling yourself back up as you finish abruptly. Still no comment, the unintelligible string of nagging coming from the other side of the rink. 

Marina stands hands on her hips, breathing so heavily she’s nearly heaving. Her blonde hair is loosening far worse than yours, strands framing her face. Coach Carroll waves her hands and shakes her head so quickly you wonder how her glasses haven’t flown off. You didn’t get to see what cardinal sin Marina committed to warrant this reaction, but you feel better knowing she’s exhausted enough to let her insults swim past. 

Ten seconds is enough to catch your breath, moving to do something busy enough to avoid another being screamed at across the ice, again. 

By the end of the remaining forty five minutes, you realised your punishment was also punishing Marina. Coach Carroll remained tailing Marina as you attempted to do everything that would please her, far away from her. Not a direction, praise or neutral comment in sight or sound, sealed with her always expected retorts. 

She leaves without a word, leaving you scrambling to the benches for a seat. Putting your skate guards on is torture, your legs refusing to pull up to reach them. You hardly notice Marina slam down into the seat beside you to mimic you slumped down and head lolled back, eyes closed to the bright ceiling. 

“These skates are gonna kill me,” you whine once you’ve caught your breath, unlacing them to inspect the blistering damage. 

“They’re brand new, what did you expect?” she retorts, moving to sit up straighter. Of course, you were grappling at straws expecting anything akin to sympathy from Marina. 

It was your misfortune that the day you had to break in your skates was the day you’d be late, your heavily bandaged foot still aching as you sit idle. 

Your lungs are still burning when you pull yourself back up, knees buckling the absolute slightest bit as you attempt to take the first baby step back onto the ice. 

“We need to get back to it,” Marina says, and you have half a mind to bite that you were up before her. 

She’s faster at slipping off her skate guards though, and you watch her back as she glides back onto the ice. You follow suit, trailing her as you speak. 

“Hey, I’m sorry Carroll was on your ass because of me. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, I overslept.”

She turns to look at you, ghost of a smile on her face. “Time to go old school I guess, I think my brother left behind his old alarm clock from college.”

“I guess—”

“Besides, I needed that. Wouldn’t have known my Salchows were sucky otherwise.”

She doesn’t let you respond and you’re left to watch as she takes off to warm herself back up. 

Strange as it was, you’ve found her behaviour simply doesn’t affect you anymore, choosing to take her as she was. She pushed you to be better, to work harder. Even now, as your ankle burns and your hip screams, you brace yourself into another axel entry, trying your hardest to keep up with Marina. 

It’s another couple hours when Marina leaves for her second appointment with her personal trainer, leaving you alone. 

It’s less crowded now, despite the head count going from two to one, but you appreciate the alleviation as you continue to practise for the rest of the morning. The rink feels more vast and your hip has stopped its incessant aches. 

Having finished a run through of your routine without music, you move towards the sound booth to turn on the tail end of your track, skating back to the echoing rink to brace yourself for the next four agonising minutes. 

You’ve adjusted your starting position about ten times by the time the silence of the song restarting settles. And then it begins, soft piano as you push yourself off into the throngs of this hellsent routine. 

It’s muscle memory by now, but your stomach lurches before you push into a jump anyway. There isn’t much time to ponder when you’re midair, tight yet contorted, trying to land on the right side of the blade. But there’s a phantom pain in your right ankle, right when you’re at the point of your arc, and you feel the all too dreaded panic flood in. 

You land on both feet, less than ideal but with no one to watch the fail, it was better than falling on your ass. There’s been worse outcomes, so there’s little you can do but continue into the step sequence. 

Trying to shake off that bout of panic, you briefly wonder if the music suddenly had more bass than you’d last checked. Perhaps you just hadn’t been practising like you should, but you make a mental note mid-spin to listen to the track again later tonight for any tidbits you’d missed. 

Your heartbeat is trying to accommodate more air than you can let it, especially as you feel the pulse in your ears quicken as you approach your final jump sequence. The music is louder yet muffled all the same, there’s an incessant banging that you can’t figure out is from your head or a corrupted music file. But you find that sweet spot, deciphering through the ruckus in your brain, and you jump. 

It happens again, the strange ache in your ankle that should be long gone, and just like that, all that panic you shook off in the interim comes hurtling back. The world’s gone silent, blaringly so, and for some heaven known reason, you’ve closed your eyes.

You aren’t so lucky this time round, landing directly on your back with a spectacular crash, the ice cutting cold through your thermals as you slide in the direction of your epic fall. Eyelids opening, they’re met with the spotlighted ceiling, head cushioned by the hard plane of ice beneath you. 

The pain in your ankle’s escaped like a fugitive, done it’s damaged and left you crumpled on the floor. The adrenaline is rushing just enough to keep you from identifying any other awakened aches, but you have a sneaking feeling your hip is going to hate you after this. 

You’re still laying flat on the ice when you realise you're laying in mostly silence. Your music is off, and has been since you came to on the floor. The banging, you realise, wasn’t just in your head either. The unmistakable reverberation of the locker rooms is loud and assuming, noises rattling all the way out onto the echoing rink. 

It takes the strength of a village to pull yourself up, but you do it anyhow, ignoring the blatant protests of your mind and soul as you squint across the rink to the sound booth. 

As you skate towards the gate, you assume it’s Hansol trying to get your attention by disrupting you mid session, but the figure shuffling into view is telling you otherwise. 

It isn’t anyone you know, clearer as you grow closer to the gate. It’s obvious he’s the culprit that turned off your music, your laptop shut and the wire to the speakers disconnected from the port. 

You stare at it pointedly as you grapple for your skate guards. 

The man does nothing but remain with his hands in the pockets of his bright red hoodie, hovering over your laptop as he watches you struggle with your skates. SVT stitched onto the back in black. He’s as blank faced as ever, a stark contrast to your heavy breathing as you come round. 

Standing up straight, you dart between your laptop and this person, waiting for an explanation that seems to be lost in the void. You’re still heaving slightly, scowl forming on your face as this strange man offers you nothing.

“Um, did you—”

“Yeah. It’s four,” he responds, like it was supposed to explain enough. 

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

“But it’s Monday,” you respond. It sounds stupid, but it meant something. The rink was reserved on the weekdays for coach Carroll’s mentees, the weekends for the public. 

This man and his big brown eyes gaze directly into your soul as he responds, “And that means…?” 

You’re sweaty and tired, your feet ache with about five new blisters from the last time you checked, and you’re sure you need to get your hip checked out. Perhaps that’s why there’s this unreasonable surge of irritation that rises in the back of your head, irrational and half blinding. 

“That means—”

“Seungcheol! Get your ass in the locker room before I drag you in there myself.” The voice that rings out is heavy and has you flinching, the man’s order echoing from somewhere in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms. 

The man you assume is named Seungcheol begins to walk away from you without a word or gesture, and you can only blink at his retreating back. 

“Hey! Do you mind not touching my stuff next time round?” you call out as a last ditch attempt to have the last word. He turns his head to you, eyebrows raised and a smirk of mild disbelief growing on his face. Nothing is said as his head turns back to the front, strutting into the tunnel.

He lets you have your last word as he walks away, your gaze the same shade of crimson as his retreating form. 

“AND THEN—THESE—HUGE dudes with fucking botox or fillers in their shoulders storm out—”

Your vent is interrupted by Lorelai who’s burst out laughing mid bite of her sandwich, “What?”

“Botox!” she muffles a shriek through a full mouth.

“They were shoulder pads or something, you get it!” 

The air in the outside seating of this cafe is stellar, the perfect in between you wait for all year. The parasol above you is enough so you don’t have to squint your eyes in the late afternoon sun, the wind perfectly paced in a breeze. Your own sandwich remains untouched, the bread gone stale as you pick at the corner of the crust. 

“Apologies,” she yips. “So you're saying we’re being partially colonised by hockey players?”

“I don’t know! Was it a one time thing, a weekly thing? It can’t be a weekly thing, Monday afternoons are routine practice days.” 

“The routine you’ve been practising for the past year and a half?” 

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

Lorelai drops her head like she’s had enough, “Maybe these hockey jocks are a blessing.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Hey, do you want cake, they have cheesecake, I could get some!” 

“Lorry!”

“Okay,” she huffs, dropping back into her seat with blown cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Lorelai has a sense of humour that took you more than enough time to decipher, but that wasn’t nearly the first thing you noticed about her. She was beautiful, even more so with the sun gracing her like a loving embrace. The highlights in her otherwise dark hair make the hazel of her eyes pop like two perfectly welcoming cliffs to jump off from. She was the definition of spunk and valour, yet graceful in everything she does. Even now, as she picks up her smoked turkey on honey oat, complete with every fixing and condiment on earth, you question how she can wrench her mouth open to take a reasonable bite; but she does, not a crumb out of place. 

“I have to share a rink with dudes whose hockey sticks are gonna make craters in the ice, why are you not mourning with me?”

“Pretty sure your toe picks do the same thing.”

“Lorelai!” 

“Not the government name!” she wails as though woefully wounded. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Carroll didn’t hate me for no reason.” She smiles in her pride. 

Lorelai’s competitive skating career came to an end sometime last year before the Grand Prix, a decision she announced gracefully with the words BITE ME etched with sharpie on her brand new competition skates. It was difficult to erase the mental image of the scarlet of Carrol’s face when Lorelai marched in with her hair chopped so short it’d be impossible to pull into a bun, marked skates in hand and a mask of determined rebellion on her face. Of course, the whole ordeal could’ve been an email, but it simply wouldn’t have been Lorelai. 

“It’s not like you were trying very hard to please her,” you grumble, nibbling on a fry. 

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

“For one thing, your sponsors were paying a bucketload so you could have her.”

“I didn’t want Carroll as a coach. Ever. I wanted Jameson. The only reason they put me with Carroll was because they were putting you and Marina with her.” Her voice is hard, eyebrows raised the slightest bit. 

“What does Jameson offer that Carroll doesn’t?!”

“Oh! I don’t know, let’s see,” she raises her voice as her sarcasm begins to simmer with a lethal edge. “Maybe the fact that an hour training with Jameson doesn’t feel like the subjected wrath of a world war two dictator!”

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

“It means—!” Lorelai pauses to close her eyes, and you can almost hear her counting in her head. “It means nothing. Eat your sandwich before the bread starts molding.”

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

You attempt to channel some of that Lorelai energy when you get to the rink past noon on a weekday. You hope you’re reasonable in your hope that Hansol will be in his office as you walk towards the door. 

Three rapt knocks before you hear a muffled voice telling you to come in. The door creaks when you open it. Loudly, might you add. 

“How long is it gonna sing every time I come in here?” you grimace. 

Hansol looks at you from behind his laptop with a tight smile. “For as long as I keep forgetting to oil the hinges.”

Hansol, for as young and qualified as he is, is only the rink manager because his family owns the place. Having graduated the year before with a shiny new law degree, he opted to take a break from moving forward with his career to “slow down” as he put it. The rink was as slow as it could get for him, betting the only important thing on his laptop screen currently was solitaire. 

“Did you also forget that I have the rink during the day on weekdays? 

“Ah. You’ve encountered the hockey team.”

“Yes. They turned off my music mid routine.”

“They're only here till the renovations in their home rink are done, we’re the only other rink in town that’s closed to the public on weekdays.” 

“But they’re cutting into my practice time?” you add, brows furrowed. 

Hansol opens his mouth before closing it again, eyebrows raised. “You clock in here five days a week, ten hours a day.”

“And?”

Hansol huffs out a breath. “Listen, I know you and the other skaters like having the rink to yourselves, and I’d be happy if it was always just you guys. Trust me, these jocks are impossible to clean up after, let alone deal with. Between the launch pad calibre noise and the stupid plastic barriers I have to put up on the railings, I’d love for it to just be you guys. But the only times you officially have the rinks booked is in the mornings when you’re training with coach Carrol, the rest of the week is technically up for grabs.”

“Let me book the rest of the slots then.”

“SVT’s already booked most of the remaining hours.” Hansol’s voice is sympathetic, but his words seemed final. You aren’t sure how bad your face was contorted, because suddenly he’s adding, “But hey, you can look at the leftover hours if they work for you.”

He pulls out the roster on a tablet before handing it to you. It only takes you a minute to scroll before you realise the only viable options were past 10 PM. The rink closed at 11. 

You sigh, shoulders visibly sagging as you let out a bated breath of tension. “It’s fine.” You hand the tablet back to Hansol. “I’ll figure it out.”

Turning on your heel, you make a move to leave the premises. Hansol calls out your name. 

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

You muster a smile, one that you cannot feel the slightest bit. “It’s alright.”

“Only a few months.”

Something in your smile sours, and you nod absentmindedly. “Only a few months.” 

THERE WERE OTHER WAYS the universe could have let it happen, someplace where you might have forgiven yourself. Someplace you had reason to be. 

You were accustomed to physical exertion, how could you not be when you were what you were, but hiking on an incline was never something you fancied yourself with. Gyms and coaches and paved running trails are nothing like rocky terrains and steep mountain paths with no guide but a mobile map. 

The semi finals had passed you by, handing you a gold medal along the way as you thrust yourself into bliss. It was a job well done, so much so that you allowed yourself a weekend of something other than skating rinks and training sessions. So many nights that you can hardly remember, yet flash like lightning under your eyelids. Where you sobbed into your pillow and cursed yourself for ever having the gall to take a step back, to be so arrogant and blustering to announce yourself away from the thing that should’ve mattered the most. 

It only took one tiny crater in the path to twist your ankle so hard you crumple to the ground with a scream you cannot remember. More hands than you have holding on to your searing ankle, like they were holding it together with nothing but their palms and fingers. Lorelai was talking, and talking and talking, but all you could hear was the roaring question in your mind. 

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

You watched with your own eyes as the Grand Prix final shuttered away on a reel, like you were watching a movie from an age you could not visit. 

Six weeks. 

Marina sat beside your bed and said words you’d never forget. 

“I’m sorry, but…this is your own fault.”

Six weeks. 

Lorelai wept, and said the same words for an entirely different reason. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault, it was my idea.” 

Six weeks. 

Carroll kept face, but you could see past the mask. A sigh that said more than any words of reassurance. Disappointed but not surprised. 

Six weeks you were bedridden with an ankle that refused to support your weight on the surface area of your bare foot, let alone on the 3/16th of an inch on a blade. 

Bedrest, meds, physical therapy, and still. The ache in your ankle follows you like a ghost haunting you of your worst mistake. 

It was your fault. You chose to put whimsy above everything you laboured for, for years and years. You chose to look past your shortcomings like they would not become your achilles heel. You chose to get on that trail. You chose to walk out on crutches.

You, who could land a jump on a fraction of an inch of steel, could now barely stand on her own two feet. 

You’d decided on that day, that you were as pathetic as they come.

IT WAS THE MOST natural decision to drag Lorelai out of where she rotted in bed to come with you to the rink. 

“You want me to fight them?” She’s wearing her Winnie the Pooh fuzzy pyjama pants and a university hoodie on top, her short hair concealed in the hood she’s pulled up. “They are hockey players. We are twigs!” 

“Lorry. Have you ever thrown a punch in your life?” you ask her as you pull your hair back into a loose bind. 

“No?” 

“Then why on earth would I ask you to fight goblins triple our size?” 

Her mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Why am I here then?” 

“You,” you start, grabbing your skates and moving out of the locker rooms. “Are gonna sit pretty in that sound booth and make sure nobody touches my laptop.”

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

You ignore her as you walk towards the benches. “That stupid hockey team needs to know I have reinforcements of my own.”

Lorelai stands there, brows furrowed and in clothes that drown her. She glances down at her outfit and then back up at you. She deadpans, “This is the most unthreatening I have ever looked.”

“Just—” You stand up too quickly and feel yourself wobble. The railing is hardly a foot away, your hand moving over to grab it. Except your palms feel nothing but the flat of something smooth and hard, fingers bumping into the feeling of something unfamiliar. 

You manage to find your balance with a yelp, immediately snapping up to see where you missed the railing. The railing was still there, perfectly within arms reach. There’s a glare in your vision, like looking through a screen. Higher and higher, you realise quickly that you’ve been looking through a clear barrier so high up you can hardly find where it ends in its erect standing. 

Lorelai speaks up first, her voice resonating loudly, “Isn’t that supposed to be on the other side of the railing. Stupid, stupid Hansol.” 

It looks like it stretches throughout the circumference of the rink, wrapping whoever’s inside in a giant plastic fish bowl. 

There’s a clench in your jaw you can’t control, something a little more than annoyance building in your senses. It should be an easy thing to ignore, especially regarding its practically invisible nature, but its presence is all you can think about, even as you step your right blade onto the ice. 

Skating towards the middle of the rink, you feel claustrophobic. 

“Woah! You look like a zoo animal,” Lorealai adds unnecessarily. 

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

“There should be a don’t tap on the glass sign,” she says, voice muffled as yells from the benches. “You already look like a weasel, can’t have confused people in the stands.” 

“Lorry!” 

“What?” she yells, her voice muffled as she yells from the benches. 

You curse the plastic that cages you as you yell louder, “Play the track!” 

Lorelai nods and makes a noise of understanding, and you watch her as she disappears into the sound booth. 

Taking your starting position, you wait for the quiet lull of the track before the beginning of the unmistakable piano; the low tremor in the beginning existing to prepare you to jump into the routine. You stand there with your arms out like a swan, waiting for your cue that won't seem to arrive. 

You almost yell out at Lorelai again before you suddenly hear the resonating shrill of the piano notes, startling yourself out of your first push. It’s fine, you’ll recover. You’re distracted by your staggered start and it’s enough to have you miss your first jump. It’s fine. You’ll recover. 

By the time the four minutes are up, you’ve missed two of your five jumps, a spin gone wrong, and nearly crashed into the plastic barrier. Not to mention, the aches in your body are enough to seem impossible to geographically pinpoint. 

It’s pointed, the way you make a beeline for the benches, refusing to look at Lorelai. You can almost imagine her expression, the poker face she has when she’s trying to think of ways to structure her next words nicely. 

“What was that?” she deadpans, voice a little far away. Your body hurts enough to take your focus away from her. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I thought your ankle was fine now?” she asks. 

You grit your teeth. “It is.” Lies. The way it was hurting you right now was making sure to remind you of that. 

“You know, you did pick back up a lot earlier than we thought—”

“I said I’m fine, Lorry,” you snap. “Now can you please play the track again.” 

You finally look up, and she looks like she wants to say something. But you’re on the ice before she can. 

You adapt to the excess muffle of the plastic barriers, ears straining to hear the beginning of the piano before you jump into the choreography smoother than last time. This time round, it’s better. The pain in your ankle and the budding one in your hip is apparent, but it’s suddenly easier to drown it out. Focusing on the music, keeping your centre of gravity, pushing into your jumps and spins with enough vigour to hold to what you are. 

Another four minutes pass and it’s over. Immediately, you swing over to the soundbooth to find Lorelai, only to find her joined by an extra set of people.

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

There’s a sneaking suspicion you know who it is despite the two men having their backs turned to you, especially judging by the obnoxious red jackets they have on. SVT. You can hear Lorelai speak indecipherably, her voice stern. 

“And you are?” one of them asks. You don’t recognise him, but you do the other one. The one who turned your music off the first day him and his team stepped foot in here. 

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

“Gilmore?” The one you recognise snorts. Seungcheol, that’s what they called him the last time you saw him in the sound booth. 

“I’m worse,” she states. 

“Lorry?” you interrupt, arms crossed and gaze directed at her. 

“Lorry?” The one you don’t recognise says. “Like a truck?” 

“You think you’re funny?” Lorelai takes a step towards him, a fair attempt to look threatening if it weren’t for her very unthreatening attire. 

“Oh look at her pyjamas! It’s Pooh bear, Cheol,” he exclaims. That seems to irritate him. 

“Can you replay the track, please, I have to smooth things over,” you intervene. In your mind, ignoring their presence in your space was the best solution, refusing to give them a way to merge into your lane. 

“Woah, we have the rink booked today,” Seungcheol stops you. “4:30.”

Snapping around to find the clock on the adjacent wall, you read the time. “4:17. You can wait.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And thirteen minutes makes what difference?”

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

The other one thumps him on the back, all smiles. “We can wait, right, Cheol? Besides, we have to put our skates on.” 

His gaze is hard and doesn’t leave yours. “Fine.” 

You break away first to find Lorelai still in the same position, staring at the exchange. You ignore the two men that stand there and address her, “Play the track.”

Before the music begins, you glance back to the benches where the two men have seated themselves, apparently strapping in to watch you. You dig your nails into your palm to reign yourself back in. No point in getting upset. 

The piano begins, and you're determined to not mess up. Especially not right now. 

It goes well for all of 45 seconds, you're hitting the right beats, you feel like water. But then the first jump comes along and you see a flash of red from the stands. An irrational feeling hits you as you push into the first jump, it’s enough to make you stumble when you land. You manage to not fall, but it’s obvious you’ve messed up. 

Somewhere beyond the music you hear a distinct, “Solid 4!”

It distracts you again, and you miss a move. Somehow your second jump ends up worse, and you feel your bottom hit the hard ice. 

“8 point 5! Nice!”

It doesn’t take long for you to realise what they’re doing, anger crashing into you like a flash flood. Scoring your falls? You’re determined to make the next jump combination. You make it fine, but your quad Salchow turns into a triple. The oafs are too shallow to notice, so you hear no jeer. 

But you know that you messed up the only quad in your entire program. 

The last jump goes from a triple axel to a double, and you want to break something. 

The song ends, and you know you have another nine minutes left to yourself, but all you can think about is getting out of the vicinity as soon as possible. Away from all of the eyes that are trained on your hunched form. 

There’s nothing you know about Seungcheol, and yet, the thought of him even looking at you right now is unbearable. Twice you fell, countless times you failed. 

Lorelai says nothing while you pack up, and nothing as you leave the rink. 

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, CENTER,” LORELAI reads aloud from your bed with her mouth still full of salt ‘n vinegar chips. 

“Perfect, he already thinks he’s the center of the universe,” you grumble from your position on the floor of the bedroom. Your foam roller feels like heaven under your calves, but the position is beginning to cramp. 

“Surprised you haven’t heard of him, he’s half a celebrity.” 

You turn to her, “I have two gold medals and five podiums for every major skating event.”

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

“Hm. His skill and popularity would beg to differ.”

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

“Because he’s cute,” she grins wide. “Although the other one was cuter, very angel-like. And he liked my Pooh Bear trousers. Can’t find his name on the team roster though.”

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

You’re cut off by a gasp, a loud one at that. “He coaches the babies!” 

Her face is contorted into something between an “aw” and a sob. 

Lorelai’s phone is dropped dramatically on the bed as she thrashes on your made (now unmade) bed. You swipe the phone and read. His picture is there, the name Yoon Jeonghan, Junior League Coach.

“Good for him.”

“He just got five times hotter,” she states like she’s out of breath. 

“Give it another meeting and he’ll give you five other reasons to hate him.”

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs. 

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

“Whatever.” Lorelai rolls her eyes and sets back on the bed, no doubt searching the man up by name. 

“Ow!” you yelp as you stand up from the ground, ankle twisting slightly in the process. 

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble quickly, hoping she’d drop it. But she catches your lingering stare on your bad ankle. 

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

“I just twisted it weird,” you defend, walking to pack up your foam rollers. 

You’re met with silence, but you know she’s thinking. Lorelai speaks, “Maybe you should skip out on the shelter today.”

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, you’d volunteer at the local pet shelter. It wasn’t hard work, mostly taking the bigger, more energetic dogs for their runs because it seemed you were the only one who could keep up with their stamina. And now Lorelai is trying to take that away from you. 

“I saw how you struggled at the rink today, there’s not a day you don’t rest. Like, actually rest.”

“That has nothing to do with me struggling!” you retort. 

“What is it then?” she asks, sitting up straighter, defiance in her gaze. “What is it that’s making you skate like you bought your first pair yesterday?”

The irritation is growing into something hotter, her defiance pushing you into a corner. 

“I know what you want to hear from me.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Because it’s not true? Or because you’ve been convinced it’s not?” 

You know what she’s talking about, and you know you’ve been avoiding the topic like it’s the plague. The ache in your ankle comes alive, and in that moment, you cannot tell if you’re imagining it or not. 

“Convinced by who?” you snap, shoving the box of foam rollers under your desk. 

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

“Lorry, I don’t know what you want from me!” 

“I—”

There’s a knock on your door, loud and demanding. Wrenching it open, you find Marina behind it. 

She has a frown on her face. “You’re still here? I thought you were running with the dogs today?”

“It’s none of your business if she goes or not, Marina.” Lorelai’s tongue drips with venom most commonly reserved for her most hated people. 

Marina, still in her workout clothes and duffel bag, furrows her eyebrows. “Who shoved a pole up your ass?” 

“I’m leaving in five,” you hiss, before making a motion to close the door. 

When you turn around, Lorelai is still on your bed, hands in fists like she’s holding herself back. There’s more behind her eyes than you could even consider unravelling. 

She leaves before you. 

THE ENTIRE WAY TO the rink was just one constant string of prayer. 

All of them go unanswered when you walk in to find the rink full of hockey players in red and black gear. 

The only thing you can do is curse under your breath, only watching frozen in your tracks as a million players skate across the rink passing and yelling at each other. No one you recognise, their helmets and gear eluding any semblance of individuality. 

Where you stand, a little ways away from the plastic screen and the benches, a dark circular puck suddenly slams directly into the boundary at eye level. On instinct, you flinch at the loud bang, half expecting to get hit. 

When you open your eyes, somebody’s skating up to the boundary, and you lock eyes through the cage of his helmet. 

Your blood is suddenly charged with something electric, fingers curling into fists on instinct. 

Suddenly, all that rings in your ears is the distinct jeers of numbers over the muffle of plastic as you continue to fall, and fall, and fall on the cold, unforgiving ice. The amusement in your failure, the joy in your defeat. 

Spinning on your heel, you stalk to Hansol’s office. 

In your blinding anger, you take a wrong turn, looking up to realise you’ve walked into the locker rooms. You’re one step into the men's locker room when you come back to your senses, startling yourself once again as you spin back from where you came, only you’ve been caught. 

For all the luck you’ve received in this life, it seems to opt out at that exact moment as you hear the unmistakable noise of a herd of ogres walking in, the glare of red on the walls surrounding them. Frozen in your spot, you can only grip the straps of your duffel bag harder, tense up like you were preparing for impact. When they turn the corner, the brilliant idea of simply walking towards the women’s locker rooms befalls you. But it’s too late. 

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

His helmet is in his hands instead of on his head, revealing a sopping mop of hair drenched in what you can only imagine is sweat. He’s laughing at his teammate who’s making futile attempts to escape his own helmet, not noticing you in the way. 

Until he does. His smile fades immediately, eyebrows raised as he registers you in the doorway. You feel his gaze on you for a few silent moments, his teammates shushing at the shift in the air. Seungcheol opens his mouth, and you already know all that’s going to leave it is dung. “Didn’t realise the rink had a vacancy. Do I need to show you my ID to take a shower?”

A rustle of chortles and chuckles flitter from the group. “Go ahead. I don’t need an ID to tell you need a shower.”

Somebody ooh’s, despite it not being your best work. You suppose it was your delivery that did it. Deciding to continue riding that high, you simply turn towards the women’s locker rooms, refusing to give Seungcheol the luxury of your eyes on him.

Hurtling into the women’s locker room, you throw your duffel bag somewhere you’ll regret and crumple into one of the seats. You count to ten, attempting to take the image of Seungcheol out of your brain. 

It was difficult to rile you up to this extent, a trait you needed to possess if you were to be coached by Carroll in any capacity. There was so much you heard from her mouth, swallowing it like a prescribed pill and nothing more. Take what you were given, because it was given by the best, bought for you by the best.

Yet for some reason, Seungcheol manages to irk you in ways you previously have never encountered. Irritating people come and go, but you doubt you could place him as something as simple as just irritating. His presence felt like an intrusion, his air was thick like a concentrated gas. Everything he’s said to you so far has come from nothing but disdain and condescension, his haughty personality the only takeaway when he enters a room. 

You’re still in your outdoor shoes and jacket by the time twenty minutes are over, coming to a conclusion as you get up from the empty, soulless locker room. Hansol is in his office when you make the formality knock before barging in. His head is on the desk, like he’s asleep. It takes him a second, by he lifts his forehead from the papers on the tabletop to regard you at the door. You hear him sigh. 

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re turning out worse than those baboons,” he curses before setting his forehead back onto the table. “Write it on the sticky note, I’ll put it in the schedule.”

“Now. I wanna book a slot for right now,” you grit. 

Hansol whips his head up again, eyes wide like he’s holding himself back, nodding furiously as he pulls his keyboard towards himself with an unnecessarily aggressive tug. “Fine. 2:16 till closing. Enter. Print. Here.”

He hands you the printed receipt of your slot, ripping it from the printer tray as he does it. You take it from him in the same vigour, hardly a thank you as you spin on your heels and walk out the door. You stop for a minute, turning back around to yell into the office. 

“Go home if you’re just gonna nap on your desk!” 

Not waiting for a response, you stalk towards the locker rooms. Within minutes you’ve tugged on your skates, laptop and shoes in each hand as you emerge out the tunnel to the rink. 

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their ice cream cups. 

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings. 

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you. 

“Ice is booked.” 

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“2:16. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.” He’s significantly more annoyed than when you saw him outside the locker rooms just minutes ago. 

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.” 

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a lion only waiting to be provoked. Maybe he’s already halfway there, because it sure looks like it. 

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates. 

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?” 

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink. Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates. 

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential. The empty rink encourages you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge. 

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder. It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page. 

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed center may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

BEFORE EVERYTHING, BEFORE YOUR ankle, before it began to feel like your world was crumbling at your feet, came the scar on your leg. 

In hindsight, it feels like it was the very thing that set the ball rolling, the beginning of your demise. 

Coach Carroll was only on her first handful of sessions with you, Lorelai and Marina, all of you still learning her quirks and expectations as a coach. 

It happened when you were on the sidelines, hanging over the boundary as Lorelai handed you a water bottle from the benches. Marina was practicing her routine, taking up most of the ice as Coach followed on the side. It seemed unclear, to this day, whether you’d drifted inwards on the ice as you sipped from the bottle, unaware. But when you felt the hot searing pain in your calf, there were only two people on the scene. 

Marina skated past, her free leg in the air, meeting your calf as she skated past, effectively slicing into your leg in a deep gash. Blood was wiped off the ice, your leg bandaged and wrapped. Not without Coach and her comments, of course. 

You heard her berate Marina from the other room, for moving closer to the boundary than what was required for her routine, heard the way she gave her the blame. And then she round up on you. 

“Idiot! No reason to be on the ice when you aren’t practicing, did you want it to be your ankles too?!” 

It was the first time you realised that Carroll was beyond your perception of the word demanding, her gaze remained in a high place, no regard for what it took to get there. Even if it meant destroying her skaters. 

Marina apologised. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there, I would’ve dropped my leg—”

“It’s okay, Marina. Really,” you smiled through the still aching wound. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She smiled a little too, “Lesson learned, I guess. Don’t loiter on the ice.” 

It was difficult to keep the smile from fading as you heard her say that.

“What shit apology is that?!” Lorelai yelled as soon as you mentioned it to her later. You cringe as you realise what slipped, and to whom it slipped to. 

“It’s the best I’m gonna get from her, Lorry. Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You’re out of service for a week till that slice heals and that’s all she has to give you?” 

Lorelai is breathing heavily, mostly because she’s been practicing her triple axels for her routine, but also because she’s extensively heated for you. You watch her from the benches. 

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

“Are you trying to say she did it on purpose?” you ask. 

“No! Let me finish, woman,” she snaps. “I wanna win, you wanna win. We’re doing everything we can because we want to win—”

“So this was a subconscious attack?” you interject. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Lorelai begins to skate backwards and away, leaving you on the bench. 

“NO! Wait, okay, I’m sorry I won’t interrupt.”

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

It wasn’t until you were back in your shared apartment, Marina out doing whatever while Lorelai hijacked your bed that she got to finish her sentence. She was rubbing ointment on a bruise while you changed the  bandage on your calf. 

“Her need to win is ruining her. And it’s like she’s taking us down with her. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t want to hurt us. But she thinks this kind of hurt is good, if it’s the kind of hurt that pushes you to win.”

You cringed at the sight of the wound, still red and ugly. 

“She might not have meant to hurt your leg, but—don’t loiter on the ice? Really?”

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

“Exactly! You don’t need that reminder because I think you’ve learned better than anyone else to not stay on the rink when someone is practising. A couple weeks ago she made some stupid comment because I left the gym early. Nothing inherently rude, she’s never actually rude. But it was pointed anyway. I’ve been up since six in the morning I think I deserve slacking off a little, it was nearly midnight for fuck’s sake!” 

Cleaning the wound was taking everything you had, the need to hiss at the contact of the wet cloth was near abominable. 

“Her…her perception’s a little warped. But her heart’s in the right place!”

Lorelai had rolled her eyes, screwing the cap of her ointment tube back on with unnecessary force. “I never said it wasn’t, just—stop defending her! I’m sorry but half the reason she continues to act like this is because you listen to her.”

At that moment, you felt a little offended. Of course, Marina had her moments where she’d say something a little less than healthy, especially coming from a friend. But you’d always thought you handled it better than most. 

You met Marina when you were still only splotchy faced preteens, during a competition where she came second and you came third. She’d been skating for longer, so it was expected, but you also couldn’t conceal your surprise when you’d found the state of her later on. You were ecstatic simply because you managed to make it to the podium, but it seemed Marina’s tears held another thought process for her. 

You found her crying in the locker rooms later on, her coach who looked like she…should’ve been comforting her, but it was more like a stern talking to, to suck it up and work harder next time round. 

When you tried to help her, out came words you felt oh so strange coming from a stranger. “What do you know? You came third!”

It hurt. Possibly the first genuine stab of the feeling you’d ever felt. In the following weeks, when Marina apologised and you’d begun to build a friendship, you felt something peculiar. Practice sessions on the ice became harder, your two hour sessions were suddenly extending to four, sometimes five hours a day. All of it, your own doing. 

It was subconscious when it was happening, the silent tug of You came third! What you first considered an achievement became an intermediate step. 

If there was anywhere that you’d pinpoint the shift, from when figure skating went from fun to a responsibility, you’d pick that exact moment. When someone congratulated you later on, it wasn’t a big smile and a thank you.

“I only came third.”

Your calf healed and all that was left was a scar, but there in the discolouration of your skin, also lay a realisation. 

SEUNGCHEOL HOSTS ABSOLUTELY ZERO thoughts in his mind as he shoves the collar of his hoodie over his head. Slamming the door shut on the rest of his red SVT paraphernalia, he makes quick work of his hair, shoes on and out the door within the minute. Jeonghan is still fast asleep when he leaves, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow when Seungcheol walks into his room to let him know he’s leaving. 

Jeonghan might tag along to practice for the fun of it despite leaving his competitive hockey career behind him, but his distaste for 6 AM practice remains forever unchanged. He’d see him later though, on the rink lingering once the sun is higher in the sky and Jeonghan deems it less of a sin to be awake. 

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

By the time he gets to the rink, most of the team has already geared up. The locker room is splotched with red, moving towards the back of the room to get to his own locker. They weren’t assigned, but he liked to have his claim. He had one in the old rink, the one locker everyone knew was his. And now he has one here, despite the temporary nature of the ordeal. The rest of the boys know to steer clear, as does he for the others who have their lucky spots. 

Mingyu bumps into his shoulder when Seungcheol is looking down, immediately whipping around to bow a full ninety degrees. He’s laughing as he apologises, not really sorry, but Seungcheol is too exhausted to humour him too much. 

He’d been up playing games all night, under the covers in the dark, his phone brightness up too high and his eyes too wide open. He could feel the regret when his alarm blared while it was still dark outside, his eyelids stuck together, refusing to open. It cost him fifteen minutes of warming up, but he’d make it somehow. 

Seungcheol can hear coach Mason’s booming voice from outside, moving closer and closer to hustle the rest of the boys out onto the rink. He shoves his foot into his skates, making sure all that’s left is to lace them up. 

“Look alive, boys! I want you on the ice within the minute,” he booms into the locker room. 

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. When he gets up to leave the locker rooms, his hockey stick and helmet in hand, he’s the last straggling few to leave. Chan earns himself a hard thump on the back from Coach as he scurries out. 

There’s a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he’s about to exit, Coach stopping him from leaving. 

He looks up, expecting a hard look from Mason, ready to hear a mildly violent threat about being late to call time again. Except Seungcheol finds him with his own gaze on the floor. 

“Rink manager said I could use his office. We should talk there.”

Seungcheol could’ve said he knows what this was going to be about. The game last weekend had less than ideal results, not because they didn’t win, but more so because of the WWE level brawl that went down in the benches during one of the intermissions. 

He tenses, but it was more like he was squaring up. His shoulders are hard, his grip on his hockey stick tighter. Of course, he wasn’t about to swing at his coach, but one could say it was simply a subconscious response. 

The entire walk to the office, Seungcheol thinks of new ways Coach could address his issue. But the gist was always simple. 

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

He’d usually just rip Seungcheol a new one in front of the boys, berate him and verbally throttle him in the hopes that he’d keep his anger under check. But as they turn towards the door to the office, Seungcheol has to remind himself that this was a first. Being led aside, like he was being led into some formal meeting. 

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

The office is barren, hardly looks like it’s used with how sparse the equipment is. The amount of dark brown gives it enough warmth to not make it look like some sick form of solitary confinement. That doesn't stop Seungcheol from feeling a hint of pity for whoever has to work here. There’s no nameplate. 

Coach doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean against the table in front of him instead. His arms are folded, and he’s not looking him in the eye. A crawl of suspicion creeps up Seungcheol’s neck, as though in an attempt to ambush him. 

It’s silent in the room as he waits for Coach to speak, refusing to be the one to break it. 

When he does speak, it’s not in his usual Coach voice. Without the built in bass and tremors he was born with. 

“There’s no easy way to break this,” he starts, eyes drifting up to somewhere on the barren walls. “But I’m gonna try my darndest.”

Finally, he feels Coach’s gaze lock with Seungcheol’s expecting pair. 

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

Coach squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s recalibrating. “Your contract is up by the end of the season. And the tie wearers and the shoe shiners don't wanna re-sign you.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean don’t wanna re-sign me, on what grounds?!”

“You’re temperament—”

“I’ve scored at least two goals for every game you’ve put me in, I’m your most consistent player!”

“They have no qualms with you when you’re on the ice.”

Seungcheol knows where this is going. He knows what knocked up alley this is turning to and he hates it. “Which is all that should matter.”

“In most cases.”

“Is this about last weekend? You didn’t hear him, he deserved more than a broken fucking nose—”

“I didn’t need to hear him, because I know. I know he’s a jackass, I know they’re all jackasses! They know that too. You need to learn to let things go, let them chirp—”

“He was coming on to my mother!” Seungcheol bellows, now properly angry. He remembers the guy’s name, Jason or something. 

“His coach came onto my entire bloodline when we were young, this is Kim’s strategy! You’re playing right into their hands like a dog! For fuck’s sake, Choi! Punching someone in the chiclets isn’t always the answer!” Coach Mason is shaking his hands in front of him like some violent prayer. 

Seungcheol drops his hockey stick and helmet, mouth open as he huffs and puffs. He wants to pace, wants to point his fingers at Coach and make a few threats of his own. 

“Just—”

Seungcheol rounds up on him. “Seungkwan punched a guy in the mouth. Wonwoo kicked one in the balls.”

“Seungcheol. This is becoming nearly. Every. Single. Game. Not the occasional tousle we can pull people out of. You can’t keep sending people to the hospital, it’s a wonder nobody's pressed charges yet!”

“So that’s it? I’m being punished because some dick runs his mouth?” 

“This is about you, Seungcheol. You need to get a fucking grip. You’ve started picking at your own teammates, shoving Mingyu around—seriously?”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens but nothing leaves it. He ends up gaping like a fish. 

For all that it was worth, for everything he’d been through, Seungcheol always assumed his seat was safe. Always assumed he’d have the position he does. Because he showed results, won them nearly every game and put up a damn good fight in the ones they didn’t. 

Seungcheol knew he was an asset, but not for one minute, stop to realise that this was all

conditional. 

For everything he did for this team, for every fiber of his being he poured into its chalice, they were spitting it all right back into his face. Chewed and warped and rid of anything worth salvaging. 

The red in his chest, back, stomach, spelling out the unmistakable letters of his team. The red in his helmet that rests beside the red in his hockey stick. 

“Listen, as much of a pain in the ass you are, you’re good fucking player. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters. But it’s not up to me, so we need to work around that. They’re worried about the repercussions of your behaviour. And you are gonna make sure you keep yourself in check.” 

Coach walks closer, finger digging into Seungcheol’s chest through his jersey. “I want no more fights, no more kicking and punching and swearing no matter how much that motherfucker deserves it, I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. God knows I’ll never forgive you if you make me agree to those prissy hands in suits.”

Coach left Seungcheol in the barren office, stepping over his stick and helmet as he exited the room, leaving him alone. His fingers flex under his gloves, like he’s trying to remind himself to stay in the moment. His exhales are stronger than his inhales, his vision blurring as the desk turns into two, and then disappears for a second. 

He can hear the distinct sound of the puck slamming into hockey sticks. Practice had started. By the time Seungcheol walks out, he’s the last person to go through the mandatory drills. 

The rink is mostly empty as the team gears up for a practice match, leaving Seungcheol enough reign to slam into every puck like he had some personal vendetta against every last one. It’s one after the other, sent directly into the open net, waiting. 

Practice goes fine, as good as it could go with the scrambled eggs that had become of Seungcheol’s mental state. He found himself whipping his head around to Jun when he fumbled an assist, face scrunched under his helmet as he prepared to send him to hell in a handbasket. 

He sees Jun physically tense up in defense, and the insult (for once) dies on Seungcheol’s tongue. 

“Just—keep up, alright,” he says instead. His tone is empty, and on a downward slope. 

If anyone finds it odd, they don’t say. 

It’s a couple more hours of passes, assists and hollers across the ice, regrouping the teams every so often to keep the rotation consistent. 

Over here, everyone is in red, everyone is on his side. The bleachers are empty, devoid of spectators to watch him lose his cool on anything. But he thinks of the way Jun recoiled, like he was preparing for the worst of his teammate’s words. He and Jun are friends. 

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, the puck flies directly into Seungcheol’s face, banging into the cage of his helmet with a noise that resonates across the rink. He’s startled enough to skate back a little, not before hearing another resounding thwack! from next to him. The puck rebounded from his helmet and hit the plastic barrier with a noise that had everyone looking over. 

Skating up to where the puck fell back onto the ice, he looks up to where it hit the barrier. 

Through the plastic he sees…you. You're staring at the same spot he is, where there’s a slight mark from the force of the rubber. 

And then your eyes drift up, locking with his own. 

Like every other person he’s around, he watches you tense up. But it’s laced with something more than just bracing for impact. 

It’s apprehension, your form turbulent and agitated. It’s all he can see when you spin on your heels and walk away in the opposite direction from him. 

The all too familiar irritation sparks in the back of Seungcheol’s mind, as it does when you’re around. All he does is slam his stick into the ice with force, pushing the puck back into the middle of the rink. 

They’re nearly done by that point, and he finds that Jeonghan has graced himself in the benches. He’s wearing his old jersey, likely because he doesn’t want Coach to notice him and accuse him of distracting his players. 

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

Seungcheol tells him to wait up, walking towards the locker room with the rest of the rest of the team to wash up. He finds some reprieve in Seungkwan’s attempts at fumbling with his helmet, letting out a laugh as he fights with it. Looking up as they take the turn towards the locker rooms as a group, he somehow finds himself in your presence, again. 

It’s the same thing, like you’ve been connected to a faulty circuit and you’re trying not to show it. You look like you want to say something but all Seungcheol can do is send a snarky remark of his own. 

Even as you walk away after the ordeal, he feels anything but settled. 

It’s like the world has it out for him, because as he opts to stalk back to where Jeonghan was, forgoing a shower, there’s only another calamity waiting for him. 

Jeonghan is in the rink, sitting on the ice with two cups of what looks like dippin dots. He looks up when he hears his treads on the ice, having taken his skates off already. Seungcheol crumples to the ground and on the ice next to his friend. 

The first words he utters are the only ones that’ve been on his mind all day. “They want to drop me.”

Jeonghan only grimaces in response, only running his hands through his hair as he sighs loudly. “I know. I heard.”

Seungcheol perks up, head lifting from the ice. “...How?”

That’s how Seungcheol has Jeonghan’s phone so close to his face he’s hardly an inch away from the screen. He reads and reads and reads. And his blood boils and boils and boils. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed centre may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around though, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

Of course, to add to the absolute media pandemonium, you had shown up on the rink itself after Seungcheol had to read through the entirety of that stupid article. Jeonghan was smart to pull him away from the situation before he wrapped both his hands around your neck in an ultimatum. 

The way you stood there, hip popped like you owned the damn place, face haughty and demanding. You stood while they sat, looking down at Seungcheol like he was some pesky ant. There was nothing he would’ve rather done in that moment than swing his leg clean across your ankles, and watch in delight as you crash onto the ice in front of him. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” he grits as soon as he’s in the locker rooms. Collecting his things to leave and take a shower at home. 

Jeonghan walks behind him, hands in his pocket in idleness as he watches his friend pack up. He’s humming a tune that’s possibly too familiar to Seungcheol. “Hm. She does seem a little wound too tight.”

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home. 

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now. 

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon. 

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real. 

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far. 

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying. 

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about. 

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear. 

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around. 

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice. 

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling. 

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey. 

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning. 

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room. 

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before. 

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees. 

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future. 

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead. 

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does. 

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers. 

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out. 

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors. 

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach. 

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks. 

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps. 

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding. 

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing. 

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain. 

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.” 

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry. 

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way. 

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end. 

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down. 

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan. 

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up. 

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer. 

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades. 

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point. 

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm. 

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least. 

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world. 

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.” 

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?” 

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff. 

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.” 

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.” 

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out. 

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it. 

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer. 

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised. 

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.” 

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day. 

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand. 

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating. 

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie. 

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back. 

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers. 

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily. 

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed. 

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion. 

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again. 

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game? 

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire. 

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again. 

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track. 

“Talk.” 

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years. 

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!” 

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues. 

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.” 

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!” 

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out. 

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines. 

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing  Kkuma’s leash into her free hand. 

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant. 

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice. 

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you. 

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way. 

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again. 

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you. 

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back. 

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal. 

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words. 

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway. 

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force. 

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most  heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday? 

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat. 

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat. 

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing. 

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse. 

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing. 

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear. 

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property. 

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself. 

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before. 

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats. 

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options. 

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins. 

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask. 

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off. 

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink. 

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same. 

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches.  “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him. 

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!” 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat. 

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something. 

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting. 

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.  

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well. 

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you. 

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match. 

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today. 

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center. 

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of. 

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile. 

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them. 

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely. 

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches. 

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory. 

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol. 

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead. 

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen. 

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying. 

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker. 

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face. 

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning. 

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous. 

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it. 

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror. 

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for. 

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim. 

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose.  “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth. 

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know. 

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly. 

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you. 

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside. 

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying. 

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai. 

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate. 

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net. 

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends. 

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out. 

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today. 

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration. 

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel. 

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real. 

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway. 

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot. 

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away. 

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager. 

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books. 

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks. 

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser. 

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life. 

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world. 

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation. 

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it. 

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here? 

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again. 

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile! 

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope. 

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

[slytherinshua]

YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur. 

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

[sterlingwhitvale]

It takes everything in Sterling to not bring up the evening’s drinks on the bar right then and there.  Of course, it had always been a looming threat, but Sterling had always counted on it being too obvious a move.  Who would believe in the chance that a victor’s own child would be reaped?  Especially when there were children with higher chances from tessarae?  Sterling clenched his jaw as he tried to tamp down the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth and the churning of his stomach.  Eyes gazed at the monster in front of him and tried to study him, try to find the man, as if he’d be able to figure out whether this was a simple taunt or a promise.  

Then they flicked to the glass in his own hand, a fleeting thought on whether he’d be able to break it against the bar, before stabbing a sharpened edge into the man’s neck before the president’s security could reach him.  He knew that choice would only result in his death, but if he truly committed, and made sure death stuck around and brought the man in front of him with him, could he save his children?

Without that guarantee, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He could kill the man and have his family executed in return, saving them from the reaping but killing them much quicker.  So instead, he abruptly stood, “Excuse me, President Snow, I’m suddenly feeling unwell.  Wouldn’t want to make you sick as well, so I ought to be going.”  They both must know he wasn’t sick, but it was up in the air whether the old man in front of him understood how narrowly he had just avoided death, and only because of those children he so carelessly threatened to reap.

" it will be a differing marvel once they reach reaping age, i'm sure, " he dismissively agrees. the tone doesn't match the stark, harsh reality of the situation. threat is there, but it's not boldfaced. instead it shows an indifference. as though them being shelled out to the arena is as much of a menial decision as satina picking two choices for her scoops of iced dessert. for a man who is renowned for his lack of subtly in facial expressions, there might be something humorous in watching the camera pan to him as one of his children's names got called by the current district eight escort.

light eyes watch as dark liquor goes down the other's gullet. " it's very quaint and charming, you'll have to forgive me though. i prefer to savor even if the libation is a few shelves down. " there's times he might indulge with government officials here and there ; one time the opposite's cup had an extra almond taste to it. he thinks it's unbecoming past youth to just gulp down a shot. instead he brings it up to his lips and takes a sip. it's not refreshing, rather more of a country swill. he can have something nicer once he retreats to his home office. " how is mrs. whitvale ? i'm due to make a visit with her soon. "

[ha-rinrin]

Hiding From The World

Summary: After a meeting with Silco, Jinx goes missing, leaving you to go find her.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1k

Authors note: The long ass story is still not finished im so sorry guys im gonna try to publish it as soon as I can 🤞🏻. I also did this at 2am, sorry if its bad I literally fell asleep in the middle of writing it.

Masterlist

It's been hours since you last saw her. Jinx was supposed to come back to the hideout after a supposedly urgent meeting with Silco, but the minutes dragged on, turning into hours, and still no sign of her. You tried to convince yourself she was just blowing off steam somewhere, but you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut.

Without a second thought, you head to the one place she might be. It’s a little secret basement in an abandoned building tucked away in the darker parts of Zaun, somewhere she figured no one would ever think to look, when you and Jinx first stumbled on this little abandoned building while exploring Zaun’s hidden alleys. The structure was half-buried under layers of graffiti and rust, but Jinx saw it as treasure—something forgotten by everyone else but perfect for the two of you. Together, you’d set up this place over the months, stringing fairy lights from the cracked ceiling, stacking old crates to make makeshift chairs, and even securing it with a series of hidden traps to keep intruders out.

The shadows stretch longer as you approach the building, slipping past the creaky metal door and down the stairs that lead to the basement. You disable the traps one by one, the steps so familiar you could do them in your sleep. Finally, you reach the heavy door that leads into the basement, taking a breath before pushing it open.

And there she is.

Jinx is slouched on the floor, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you catch the way her hands keep fidgeting, as if even while sitting still, she can't quite find peace. She looks up when you enter, and something in her expression softens ever so slightly.

"Y/N," she mutters, sounding almost relieved. "Guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought, huh?"

You close the door behind you, crossing the dimly lit room until you’re in front of her. “Not from me, anyway.”

She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. You slide down to sit beside her, close enough that your shoulders are almost touching. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is comfortable, settling like a blanket around you both.

You glance over, studying her for a beat. “Rough day?”

She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Silco thinks he knows everything. Says I’m too… reckless, like he doesn’t know me by now.” Her fingers toy with a stray thread on her pants, pulling at it absently. “Sometimes I think he just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get me.”

You nod, listening to every word. “Sometimes I don’t think he deserves to.”

Jinx looks over at you, that fire in her eyes simmering down, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. She doesn’t say anything right away, but her hand inches toward yours, her fingers grazing your palm as if she’s testing the waters.

You intertwine your fingers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We don’t need him, you know,” you murmur. “We’ve got this place. It’s ours. Away from everyone else.”

She leans her head back, gazing around at the dim room, where the fairy lights cast soft, warm glows over the walls. It’s far from fancy, but it feels like home, like yours. The two of you worked to make it that way—a sanctuary in the chaos.

Her gaze drifts back to you, a small, genuine smile breaking through her tough exterior. “Guess that’s why I wanted to come here… I knew you’d find me.”

“Always,” you say softly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles.

For a while, you sit in comfortable silence, her head eventually finding its way to your shoulder. The weight of her against you feels reassuring, grounding, like the world outside doesn’t matter when it’s just the two of you in this little hidden corner of Zaun.

“You know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, “this place… I’d never let anyone else in here but you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.”

She smiles again, her eyes half-closed as she leans into you. In this moment, with the flickering lights casting shadows across the room and the muffled sounds of Zaun fading in the background, you both find a rare, quiet peace.

Jinx’s head grows heavier on your shoulder, her breathing slowing, steadying. You glance down to find her eyes closed, the furrow in her brow smoothed out. It’s rare to see her like this—unguarded, peaceful, away from the chaos that usually surrounds her.

Carefully, you shift, wrapping an arm around her to support her as you slowly stand up. She stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake, her head resting comfortably against your shoulder as you carry her over to the old, beaten-up couch you both dragged in here ages ago. Easing yourself down, you settle back with Jinx still in your arms, her body now draped across yours.

She mumbles something incoherent as she nestles closer, pressing her face against your chest. One of her arms wraps around you, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if you’re an anchor keeping her steady.

You can’t help but smile, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. She looks so serene, her usual smirk softened, her breathing deep and calm. Gently, you stroke her back, your fingers tracing light, soothing circles as she relaxes even further against you.

The warmth of her settles into you, a quiet comfort that makes the dim room feel like it’s lit up with something more than just fairy lights. Holding her like this, feeling her heartbeat thrum in sync with yours, it’s like all the weight of the world fades away.

As minutes slip by, you let your head rest back against the couch, one arm wrapped securely around her while your other hand continues to run softly up and down her back. You could stay like this forever, hidden away with her, in a place that’s just for the two of you.

In this little pocket of the world, it’s just you and her, and for now, that’s all you need.

[icallhimjoey]

no no no no no NO no NO! NO! joe can NOT get away with this! he's gonna deny us our *fun* isn't he? this absolute bastard can NOT think that this is an acceptable way to keep us around! NO!

you know what? you're right. you're so very, very right. Wordcount: 3.3K

---

All The Aces

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe was wrong.

Joe was wrong, but... he wasn’t stupid, as it turned out.

So that first time, you hadn’t really fully realised what was happening, which – fine. Who could blame you? And you would argue that, the next two times after, it also wasn’t really your fault that you hadn’t caught on...

The fourth time; obvious. You would’ve been an absolute idiot had you not put the pieces together... which, you had, so, you also weren’t stupid.

And also, if it wasn’t for Izzy, maybe it would’ve all clicked into place on the third time.

It was just that... Joe went about it a little too calculated at first, the sneaky fucker. Likely because he was also testing the waters, trying to figure out what he could get away with.

And.

Well.

The answer was: A Lot, Apparently. But again; who could blame you? Joe wasn’t stupid.

Joe wasn’t stupid at all.

When he’d buzzed you up into his flat whilst he was making dinner, you’d barged in with a million things on your mind. All of them extremely negative and ultimately: unimportant.

“I know you’ve not invited me over to just rant at you for ages, but, can I just rant at you for ages?” You dropped your bags right where you were standing.

Joe, spatula and pan in hand, eyes on the food, went, “Ages?”

“Okay, fine. A minute. Can I rant at your for a minute?”

You hadn’t even said hello to each other, priorities elsewhere right now. This shit was on your mind and you needed it off your mind.

Joe’s eyes quickly found his oven timer and he reached for it to set it. To a minute. Because he was a comical genius, you see.

“All right, one minute…. And, go!”

You ignored the stupid joke and just, unleashed. There was some work shit, some small annoying things that had frustrated you throughout the day, but when you got your phone out to read a text thread between you and a childhood friend, you really got into it.

The oven timer went ignored. It beeped, but Joe just silently turned it off and put it to the side. You were in the middle of a sentence and whatever the problem was, this seemed important to you.

He knew it was all petty shit you likely already had all the answers to, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t listen.

Joe tried his best to follow along. Really, he did. But he was also finishing your dinner, peeling potatoes and cutting vegetables, and you were going a hundred miles an hour, straying off the main story every ten seconds to explain whatever was going on better. Which, it didn’t. It only confused Joe more, but he nodded along. Said things like, Oh my god, no way and what the fuck at all the right moments like a good friend would do. Like a good boyfriend would do.

“It’s not my fault we’re not as close as we used to be, she went off and had four children- four, Joe. Four.”

You’d started pacing.

“And then she went, “oh you still living with that girl?” That girl – Izzy, we’re talking my best friend since uni, Izzy. That girl. What the fuck does she think she’s even saying?”

Arms were flying, and Joe silently covered a pan with a lid for fear of your phone landing in it.

“And remember when, like, four years ago, I went to celebrate new year’s with her instead of with our group, just because she’d asked a million times, and she didn’t want to come down to join our party? And then she mixed drinks and got me so drunk, I didn’t even make it until midnight? She’s still holding that over my head, look,” you just kept going, read a text message aloud about maybe trying that again and just doing mocktails so she would actually be able to see the fireworks this time.

You sighed aggressively and turned its back end into a frustrated cry.

“Am I insane? Don’t actually answer that, but… am I insane?”

You stopped pacing to look at Joe, and... you had to take a second to take in what you were seeing.

Joe was stood leaning against the countertop where, behind him, potatoes were sizzling loudly in a frying pan. He had his arms crossed over his stomach, head cocked to the side and he was just… staring at you. Slightly biting into his lip. Smiling, a little. It was a way of looking at you that you could feel within your chest. That made you whole face heat up as you felt how the tops of your cheeks blushed.

Rude.

Had he even been listening at all?

“Be helpful, please. Am I insane?” you asked again, arms flying once more, outraged and in need of a very specific answer.

Joe let his smile grow a little wider and kindly assured you, “You’re not insane.”

He got it right.

“Thank you.” You let your shoulders visibly drop, glad to have heard Joe say what you needed him to say. But then you looked behind him.

“You’re burning the potatoes.”

Joe just kept his eyes on you and said, “I know.”

Didn’t unfold his arms. Just kept his warm eyes on you, that fondly stared a little dreamily.

“Joe,” you scolded, half laughing as you stepped closer to take the pan off the fire, but Joe was faster and turned the hob off just before you could intervene. Then he immediately took advantage of you being closer and used both of his hands to cup your cheeks. To hold you by your jaw, and to tip your head back for him.

Then he gave you that same look again.

Half-lidded, soft, adoring eyes that just stared down at you as he smiled a little.

“What?” you asked, expecting him to lean down for a kiss that didn’t come.

“Not insane.” Joe cooed.

You sensed a but coming.

“But?”

“But…” Joe leant down a little, got a little closer. “But you’re very pretty.”

“But I’m very… Joe, that has nothing to do with–”

Joe cut you off with the kiss you’d been waiting for. Soft lips brushed to yours in a funny position because he caught you in the middle of a word, strong hands holding you in place. You let your fingers wrap around his forearms and attempted to pull away, but Joe wasn’t having it. He used the very brief moment your lips parted to whisper, “So pretty.” into your mouth before he was back on you, arm now curling around the back of you to keep you from leaning back any further.

The kitchen smelled of delicious food, and you’d just spent at least ten minutes pacing around the room whilst tirading about something ultimately so very insignificant, especially to Joe, but the boy was kissing you.

Told you that you weren’t insane.

Said that you were so pretty.

Had cooked you dinner and had let you spew about an old friend trying her best to reconnect without telling you that you were being silly.

You probably were being silly.

Today just hadn’t been the best day.

And written communication had the tendency to change in meaning depending on your mood.

You could read everything again the next day and interpret all of it differently.

You were being silly.

But the boy was kissing you now, and it was just the perfect remedy to a shitty day.

Joe held you in place and kissed you until he felt you sigh into him. Until you gave in, and decided that, yea, sure, Joe could just make out with you in his kitchen for a while if he wanted to.

Joe swallowed the soft sounds you made and softly groaned in return. He loved how he could feel you grow more relaxed under his hands. Loved the way you were pulling him down to you to get more of him. Loved how you started to deny him pulling back, now more desperate for him than he was for you.

When you felt Joe’s hands start to wander down your back and round out over your bum for a squeeze, you managed to break free from Joe just long enough to say, “Should we have dinner first?”

As an answer, Joe bent through his knees a little and you felt how his grip grew stronger as he was about to lift you up. You got your arms around his neck just in time.

“Nah,” Joe murmured into your mouth, hands firmly under your thighs as he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Dinner can wait.”

You got walked over to the bed where Joe laid you down and then just lazily kissed you for a bit longer.

Where you sunk into his mattress and tangled up into his sheets whilst dinner out in the kitchen grew cold.

Where roaming hands were heavy and wandering, pulling at the hems of shirts as palms searched for smooth, bare skin to touch.

Where you eventually grew a bit impatient and tried undoing Joe’s trousers with fumbly fingers, not breaking your kissing.

Where you slipped a hand inside and felt how hard he was.

Where Joe pretended to suddenly care about dinner until you got your mouth on him and he let himself fall back into his pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

Where the sun was setting outside, casting the room in soft warm oranges as Joe used careful, gentle hands to get you out of your clothes.

Where Joe wanted to see all of you.

Where Joe wanted to feel all of you.

Where Joe made you laugh when you bit into his shoulder, and panted, “I take it back, what I said earlier. You are insane.”

Where, after a while, when Joe burrowed his face into your neck and didn’t remove it, you knew he was in the homestretch. Mind blank. Just feeling.

And you were right.

It didn’t take long for pants to turn into groans, for rhythmic thrusting to turn into sloppy hip-clashes, and for Joe to tense up all over with a held breath before turning into a boneless collapsed man who felt like all the strength within him had just left through his dick.

It took a while for Joe to return back to earth. He just laid on top of you, face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing so close to your ear it almost sounded like he was inside of your skull.

When Joe finally did remove his face from being pressed into your neck, there was a spit-string connecting you together still.

“Oh, ew,” you laughed, moving your face away slightly, “That’s disgusting.”

Hovering over you, cheeks flushed and hair messy, you saw how Joe looked at the spot where he’d been drooling all over you, and he grimaced.

“Oh, no, maybe,” he leant onto one elbow to get a hand into the crook there, already laughing. “Maybe don’t,” he started wiping, tried to get a bit of duvet in there which only made you feel how wet it actually was. When you moved a little more to get a look, Joe tried to stop you from seeing the wet patch of saliva he’d left behind.

“No, don’t look! Stop!” he was laughing now, and against his advice, you got a hand in there to feel.

“What the fuck, Joe, you drooled all over– Joe! There’s a fucking puddle!”

For a short moment, Joe acted like a child caught sneaking a snack he wasn’t supposed to have taken from the pantry, very cute yet very guilty. That quickly changed into a more indignant attitude, where he gave you a face for giving him a hard time about enjoying himself.

It was only a bit of spit.

“I’ve cooked you dinner!” Joe exclaimed as he climbed off of you, and he said it like the argument was meant to make your neck less wet somehow.

“Which has absolutely gone cold.”

“Come on,” Joe held out a hand. “I’ll heat it up and we’ll have it outside.”

“How about,” you started, grabbing the hand and letting him pull you up. “You go heat up dinner, I’ll wash your sheets, and, um, shower.”

Joe didn’t let go of the hand he was holding, and pulled at it until you were up on your feet where he was quick to lock his arms behind your back to keep you close.

“How about,” Joe copied your tone to make you laugh, and got his face back into the same crook of your neck where he blew a raspberry to make you squirm. “We both take a shower, and then we get the rest sorted after?”

You’d never taken a shower as long together before. No funny business - just actual washing. Except, Joe would keep kissing you places he would then wash straight after, because you clearly thought his spit was dirty now, so every press of lips got chased by a soapy shower sponge and it took for fucking ever for Joe to stop thinking the bit was hilarious.

To be fair, you hadn’t quite figured out how to not laugh every time he did it, so... partially your fault, you guessed.

But what wasn’t your fault, was how not orgasming hadn’t been weird at all. How that hadn’t consciously crossed your mind once. You’d been distracted with wet sheets and soapy kisses and then after all that, a lovely home cooked meal outside on the balcony where you had it with your hair still wet, dressed in just T-shirts and underwear.

It wasn’t your fault the first time, it wasn’t your fault the second time, and it definitely wasn’t your fault the third time, when Izzy barged in right in the middle of it.

It also wasn’t exactly her fault, though.

All Izzy had done was get home from work.

You were right in the middle of the hallway of your shared flat, pressed up against a wall, half naked, in Joe’s arms.

And then Izzy walked in.

Now… you’d seen Izzy freak out before. But to see two of your friends mid stand-up-fuck in your own hallway after a long day at the office triggered a new form of anger within your flatmate. It didn’t help that, as you were trying to get out of Joe’s grip to rush into your bedroom, that Joe’s hold on you only strengthened.

Izzy was the first to start shouting, and a fraction of a second after her first, “Oh my God!” you and Joe started shouting too.

Izzy was stood in the doorway where she was shielding her eyes, workbag sliding from her shoulder into her elbow, and she was screeching on the top of her lungs, “Oh my God, Oh my GOD, no! No! What the fuck! No!”

Joe shouted, “Leave! Leave!” right into your ear with an unmistakable urgency in his voice whilst the cutting edge left no room for argument.

And then there were panicked screams coming from you, high-pitched words tumbling over each other, all sentences unfinished, half telling Izzy to close the door behind her, half telling Joe to let you go.

Which, he didn’t do.

Joe just held on stronger and used his legs to press you against the wall like he was trying to make the two of you disappear into the brick there, and it hurt.

The chaos lasted maybe four seconds. Five tops. It was all overlapped loud voices, all frantic movements and then… to make an already awful situation even worse… Joe orgasmed.

You shrieked, “Wh– Are you coming? Are you coming right now?” as your eyes nearly bulged out of your head with shocked outrage, hands trying to push at his shoulders whilst your legs tried to find the floor.

It was the worst evening you’d had in a good while.

After everything, you sat on the foot of your bed, hugging your knees and Izzy stood on the threshold of your bedroom, asking what she’d ever done to you for you to decide that having sex in the shared hallway at twenty minutes past six in the evening was a totally normal thing to do be doing.

Joe’d quickly left after. Was out the door in a flash after the world’s most awkward apology ever.

“Sorry Izzy, for, um... yea, for making you see… and, um, hear that.”

“Fuck off Joe.”

“Yea, I’m… sorry, I’ll leave. I’ll see you Friday, yea?”

“I said, fuck off, Joe.”

“So sorry. Sorry.” Joe had paused, and then a single look of Izzy had made him go, “Yea, yea. I’m going.”

He hadn’t even dared to turn around to find you in your bedroom first. He’d just walked straight out and texted you, “Got sent home. Call me in a bit?”

Promises were made of removing clothes behind closed doors from now on – preferably locked doors, please. And if you couldn’t take four more steps to get yourselves into your bedroom first, for the love of God, please, just go over to Joe’s. He’s got a whole place to himself and you could fuck on the doormat for all Izzy cared.

You apologized too.

Said it would never happen again.

And then Izzy said she had to not look at your face for the rest of the night because she kept reliving the visuals, and – fair. That made sense.

You kind of didn’t want to see your own face for a second either.

And there was no way that Joe had planned to deny you an orgasm like this, but... it was real fucking convenient that Izzy always came home from work around the same time each day. It was real fucking convenient that he’d gotten you incredibly worked up with cute little text messages all throughout the day. Real fucking convenient that he walked in with his shirt tucked tightly into his jeans and far too many of the buttons undone for you to be normal about it.

There was no way he’d planned it.

But he’d definitely given the situation a little nudge into the direction it had eventually headed into, and no one could blame you for not having seen it then.

Not yet.

But then the fourth time happened, and Joe’d just edged you all night. Was very open about his teasing. Made you tell him if you were getting close, and then when you did, he’d just… ease off. Pull back. Let you whine and cry for it until he thought you’d pleaded enough for him to be nice again.

He’d gotten you so close.

So, so close.

But not close enough.

And then, when he came and just rolled over after, you knew.

This guy was having sex with you without letting you orgasm.

“You’re sick, you know that? Like an actual sociopath.”

“I’m just following instructions.”

Yea, all right.

Yea.

Fine.

He’d gotten away with it up until now, which, well done, Joey. This idiot really thought he held all the aces, didn’t he? Smug little bastard.

But you know what?

Good.

He could feel that way.

You were going to let him feel that way.

There were loopholes.

Easy ones too.

Joe was wrong, and clueless, and maybe, actually… he was a little stupid, after all.

And you were stubborn. Determined. Persistent.

Dead set on proving yourself right.

Which you were.

You held all the aces.

Not Joe.

Joe was wrong.

You were going to outplay the player at his own thought-up little game, and he would see. Oh, absolutely, he would see.

He’d fucking see.

---

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add yourself

[justanotherflemethstan]

this is not a drill, this is a thread on the creation of Flemeth from David Gaider!! as kind of the self professed Flemeth stan blog around here, I had to reshare

(alt text and full text transcript of the images included)

Link to the original post

Full text from the images below the cut:

CHARACTERS - DAY THREE: Flemeth

I have a type. I admit it. There are certain wells I can return to repeatedly and always find something new to explore.

One of them is older female characters. Mike used to rib me about it. Consider Wynne. Meredith. Genevieve. And, of course, the biggie: Flemeth.

Why are they a type? I... don't know, honestly.

I guess I have a feeling that older men fade, they strive to regain their youth or establish a legacy and we've seen that story a thousand times, but older women? They become free to become something new. I guess I see so many possibilities in that.

I had a conception of who Flemeth was, and why, right from the very start. Her creation went hand in hand with Morrigan, as a being whose thirst for retribution hundreds of years ago attracted an entity (slight confession: I didn't know Mythal specifically, at the time, "an elven god" was enough).

I also knew where Morrigan was right and very wrong about her. Misconceptions of the truth are built into DA's foundation, and they were fundamental to this mother-daughter relationship I was building.

Like many seeds I'd put in the world, however, I had no idea whether I'd ever get to explore it.

Knowing that she was a character of possible future importance, if not a major player in DAO, I wasn't much surprised when she was one of the first cuts the art team made in terms of getting a unique appearance. Thus the "batty old woman" players met in DAO. Not as hard a cut as the Qunari, though.

Going into DA2, I wanted both Morrigan and Flemeth, but we could only have one. So I picked Flemeth. This was the game where she really got to come into her own.

I remember the art team coming and asking if it was OK if she got a new model, as it'd be a retcon of sorts. I didn't care. I wanted it.

I honestly don't remember whether Kate Mulgrew was cast before or after Claudia. After, I think? All I recall is that Cab came into my office one day and asked if Kate might be a good fit

The squeal I made was un-manly. Cab took that as a "yes". 😅

I didn't get to talk to Kate until DA2, however. Schedules being what they were, we had a tight window to record Flemeth... so I had to write all her scenes before almost anything else in DA2 was written, before I even had a team! Ack!

It was OK, though, for the most part. I knew where I wanted to take her, and a big part of it was going to explain her transition - to set her up for the future. So I whipped up a script in, like, two days and off we went. Kate was a marvel in the booth. She adored Flemeth and you could really tell.

I didn't get to meet Kate in person, however, until DAI. This came pretty late in its development, compared to when we recorded her for DA2, and we flew down to Virginia (to accommodate her schedule - she was writing her memoir at the time, I think) for a single session. It was going to be *tight*.

I was a mess. I was finally going to meet Captain Janeway... and yes yes, I know she's also more than that. But come ON.

When we sat down, I figured I'd have to talk her through the character all over again. It'd been years since that one session at the start of DA2, right? And even more since DAO.

But, no. Kate remembered Flemeth perfectly.

I remember sitting there as she told me how much she loved the character, how rare it was to get one with so much texture and possibility. She called out my writing - my writing! - and waxed poetic about how she viewed Flemeth's arc. I... I was floored. 🫠

Then we began recording. One issue that quickly reared its head was how Caroline had to speed through the lines if we hoped to finish. Kate was a trooper, and most takes she'd get it in one (which is rare), but I was alarmed because we weren't giving Kate time to read the VO comments on each line.

I brought it up, as there were some lines (so much sarcasm) that required nuance - Kate was getting them, oddly, but I was worried.

"Oh, it's fine," Kate said. "I read the comments as we go."

"How could you? We're going so fast!"

"I'm a speed reader."

Oh. OK, then. That certainly explained it. 😁

We got to the confrontation scene with Morrigan and she nailed it. Over and over. More than once, Caroline would make a call and, before I could even interject and say "no, Kate had it right, actually" Kate would explain exactly why she did it that way and why it worked for Flemeth. I was in love.

She did the "I will see her avenged!" section all in one go. I got chills. Then we got to the final scene.

You know the one. With Solas.

It was this beautiful moment. She took it somewhere quiet and sad... and when she got to that last line, we all felt it: Flemeth was dead. Everyone was in tears.

I suppose I could talk more about the process. How she started off aligned with Morrigan's original Delirium inspiration, but I didn't pull back her loopy way of talking as much (bet you wondered).

I still don't know why it was so easy to slip into her voice, but I'm grateful I got the chance. ❤️

[mxltifxnd0m]

𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗔 𝗩𝗦 𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦

»——•——«»——•——«

Summary: You and Stiles can’t choose a couples costume

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x fem! Reader, Scott McCall x platonic fem! Reader 

Words: 1.6K

»——•——«»——•——«

Warnings: no use of y/n, fluff, language, suggestive, spicy, implied smut, BUT NO SMUT, kinda a college au!

A/N: This was intended to be released in October, but I could not figure out how to finish it for my life. But hey, better late than never, am I right? Anyway I had no clue that Han and Leia’s ship name was Scoundress, but the more you know. Also, it is my first time writing for Stiles!

not beta read but YOLO

𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

»——•——«»——•——«

"I don't know why you insist we should be Anakin and Padme! We would fit Leia and Han more for Halloween." Stiles whispered harshly, not looking up from the notebook that he was scribbling in.

You roll your eyes at him, "What are you talking about? I said we could do either, but I'd prefer if we were Anakin and Padme." You whisper to him. His head snaps up to protest, but a chair scrapes along the carpeted floor and interrupts Stiles. 

"There you guys are! I was wondering where you were." Scott says a little too loud, and the people at the other tables surrounding you and Stiles give Scott a dirty look.

"Scott, I know you don't visit the library often, but we typically use our inside voices." You whisper as he sits down next to Stiles. Scott shoots you a glare. 

"Anyways, I disagree. We should be Leia and Han, and that's final." You can see that Stiles is done with the conversation.

You squint suspiciously at your boyfriend, "You just want to see me in Leia's slave outfit from ROTJ, don't you?" You can see a red flush creep up Stiles's face and the tips of his ear as he stammers, trying to defend himself before giving up and returning to his notes. You chuckled under your breath to avoid disturbing the other students. 

Scott looks between the two of you, confused, "What are you guys even talking about?" 

"We are trying to figure out what costume we will wear to the party your frat is hosting." You explain, your voice low, "But we are split between two costumes. I want us to be Anakin and Padme, but Stiles-" He snaps up at the call of his name, focusing on the conversation, "-wants us to be Leia and Han." You glare at Stiles. 

"I thought Luke and Leia were together?" Scott says cluelessly. Both you and Stiles groan loudly at Scott's words. A girl from a nearby table glares at you and shushes you. You apologize quietly and turn your gaze to Scott. 

"We've gone over this before Scott. Luke and Leia are siblings, and Han and Leia are together. Do you just forget the movies as soon as we watch them?" Stiles asked exasperatedly. 

"No, I tend to fall asleep halfway through the marathons," Scott says guiltily as he scratches the back of his neck. Stiles closes his eyes and uses his hand to rub his face frustratedly. Stiles murmured something under his breath, and Scott's face screwed up into an offended expression.  

"I heard that." 

"Yeah, no shit, you did. I'm the one who said it for your little werewolf ears to hear." Stiles scoffed quietly at Scott. 

Scott goes to retort, but you snap your fingers twice to get their attention. "As much as I would love to see the two of you bicker, we all know how loud you guys get when you do, and I don't fancy getting kicked out of the library." You smile sardonically at them. They roll their eyes at you but yelp in pain as you lean over the table and tug their ears. 

"Could you guys be quiet? Some people are studying." The girl from earlier whispered firmly to you guys. 

You wince at her tone, "Sorry, we're leaving now." You whispered. You glared at Scott and Stiles and started to pack up your things to leave the library. Stiles scrambled to pack his things, and the two boys followed you outside the library. 

Stiles wraps an arm around your shoulder as you walk through the quad. You thread your fingers through his hand, and he squeezes your hand three times. The annoyed expression melted off your face, and a smile replaced it. You take a quick glance at your phone, checking the time. 

Your eyes widen, "Shit! I have to go! My class starts in 10 minutes." You untangle yourself, "Our discussion isn't over." You tell Stiles before separating yourself from him, pecking his cheek, and waving goodbye at the both of them as you speed walk to your class. 

»——•——«»——•——«

The sound of a keyboard clacking echoes through your silent bedroom. You're hunched over your laptop on your bed as you work on one of your papers for your English class. Lofi beats play quietly in your headphones as you read through your paper for the final time before returning to it tomorrow to edit it. A knock at your bedroom door catches your attention. 

"Yeah, what's up?" You say to your roommate as she peaks her head into your room. 

"You have a visitor." She says with a knowing smirk on her face. 

You roll your eyes at her, smiling, "Tell him he's actually banned from the apartment, then let him in." You instruct as you remove your headphones and stretch your back from your hunched position.  

She nods and closes your door before leaving. You can hear the voice of your roommate and Stiles's voice talking lowly in the apartment's entryway. You hear a scoff from Stiles and footsteps quickly entering the apartment and heading toward your room. He burst through your door, pointing at you. 

"You are so mean, you know that?" Stiles says with a slight pout on his face. He removed his backpack and toed off his shoes to leave near your door. He stands in the doorframe for a moment before you see a mischievous glint passes through his eye, and you catch it. 

"Stiles." You say his name warningly. 

He sends you an innocent smile before quickly running towards you and jumping onto your bed. You yelp loudly, closing your laptop and moving it out of the way of Stiles's landing. He lands on top of you, effectively pinning you to the bed. You can feel Stiles's chest move from his giggling fit as you try to squirm from underneath him. You give up after trying to push him off of you and thread your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. He relaxes on top of you, settling his total weight on you. After a few minutes, he eventually rolls off you and sits on your bed.

"Any reason as to why you're at my apartment?" You ask him as you sit up and shift until your back rests against your headboard. You go to grab your laptop, but it's quickly moved from out of your reach, and you turn to glare at your boyfriend. 

"Oh, don't give me that look, you know what that does to me babe." Stiles sarcastically as he moves your laptop to your desk. 

"Besides, I'm here to present my argument as to why we should be Han and Leia for Halloween and not Anakin and Padme." Stiles moves closer to you and boops your nose after he finishes his sentence. You scrunch your nose at his actions and shake your head at him.  

"Nope, not going to hear it." 

He groans loudly, "I knew I shouldn't have asked you out, you prefer the prequels over the originals." He flops down on your bed, his head landing on your lap as his legs dangle over the side of the bed. 

"Is that your way of saying that we should break up?" You raise an eyebrow at him. 

He shot up from your lap, "NO! Absolutely not. You're like the woman of my dreams. I'd be an idiot if I broke up with you. Especially with the amount of shit we went through together in high school. I actually had dreams about marrying you, so-" His hands wave wildly as he begins to ramble. You roll your eyes at him and grab his chin to kiss his mouth to shut him up. He immediately shuts up and melts into the kiss. You peck his lips before pulling away. 

"You're such a dork." You smile at Stiles. 

"You're dating this dork." 

"Yeah, maybe Lydia was right. I am out of your league." You joke, and a noise of offense comes from Stiles. You chuckle at his pouty expression and peck his lips.

"I'm kidding babe." You say as you pull away. You move around the bed to straddle him, your thighs on either of his hips, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you rest your arms on his shoulders. 

"How about we make a compromise? We go as Anakin and Padme this year, and then we can go as Han and Leia next Halloween." Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but you quickly put a finger in front of his lips. 

"I wasn't done, and to sweeten the deal, I'll wear Leia's slave outfit underneath both costumes." You lean closer to Stiles, "How does that sound." You whisper seductively in his ear and plant a kiss underneath it before pulling back to see his whiskey-colored eyes darkening slightly with desire. His hands tighten around your waist before flipping the two of you around, you landing on your back. At the same time, Stiles settles in between your open legs and hovering above you. 

"It doesn't sound fair, but if you wear the outfit often then I'll let it slide." He says lowly, lowering his face closer to yours. 

"Deal." You say breathily, your lips brushing his as you speak. 

"Deal." He says before smashing his lips against yours passionately. Your hands begin to wander and tug at each other's clothes. The room slowly grows hot and fills with low groans and whines coming from both of you. After you finished, you guys showered, went out to get the costumes, and tried them on when you returned to the apartment. 

Let's just say the slave outfit came off as soon as you put it on. 

[big-cheesy-productions]

SXSG SPOILERS

Okay, I finished Shadow's story. And I have thoughts. Mainly:

More thoughts below:

Overall, I enjoyed it. I think as a way to catch everyone up on Shadow's story and who he is as a character, it did great. It was heavy on exposition, but it's assuming most people haven't played SAB-Heroes-STH '05. Fair enough.

It just felt short. I just wish the cutscenes were longer, and I wish there was more Maria and Gerald and Shadow. The interactions we got with Maria were very similar to what we got in Dark Beginnings. It felt more like a refresher rather than a much awaited closure, but I'll take the closure we got and the reestablishment of Shadow's character.

I think I just would have liked if the story had a few more cutscenes dealing with Shadow, Maria, and Gerald's relationships rather than them trying to figure out what was going on and Maria repeating things said in Dark Beginnings. But that's just me.

I think Dark Beginnings was so amazing and it set my expectations very high, set a specific tone, and had threads that Gens wasn't planning on continuing. I think Gens also set up threads that it dropped too though, like, you know, the whole "maybe I can save them from their fate" thing that got mentioned, forgotten, and mentioned again that was only otherwise minimally discussed in the little snippets of conversation in the over world.

Why was Big there and those two robots? There weren't any other characters relevant to Shadow that could be there? Like Abraham? Or, hell, toss Silver in since he wasn't in the original.

Gameplay wise, it was super fun. It felt very clean. I like the direction Frontiers has set for future gameplay. I think it was a little easy, but maybe that's just because I'm an adult and just played a bunch of old games that have old game jank lol.

Would have loved to see more Rouge and Omega, but I'm glad they're setting up for Team Dark to return in future installments. I'll fucking take that.

I've said it already, but the use of Radical Highway and the symbolism of it was probably my favorite part. I don't know why they had Frontiers level though??? Like, why not one from HIS GAME? Instead of one from a game he's not even in??? Odd choice. Maybe they could have done one of the flashback ARK levels? That could have given us some juicy cutscenes.

Also just want to appreciate the fact that the first time Shadow defeated Black Doom it was as Super Shadow. This time is was all Shadow, no emeralds required.

I also like the confirmation that Shadow was not meant to be a weapon originally. I don't think that's always been super clear. Doom wanted a warrior of course, but Gerald going insane was the nail in the coffin. I would have liked to see more of Shadow's feelings towards Gerald on that, though I did like when Shadow first sees Gerald up close he backs away, and almost looks a bit frightened, until he realizes this is Gerald from before the ARK incident.

I think they could have added a bit more. I think that's my overall opinion. Hopefully DLC will add a smidge more? Maybe?

I really did enjoy it. I just wanted to jot down all of my thoughts!

Edit: I don't want this to read as super critical! I think I had very specific expectations for it and I'd like to replay it without those expectations now. I really think it's great overall!

Anyway, SEGA, remaster SAB2, Heroes, STH '05, and Sonic '06 and my life is yours.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Do you sell versions of your embroidery designs? I'm obsessed with your Solas patterns and would love to try them!

Hello!

So, short answer is yes, while the first digital mockups I made were designed just for my own reference and as color guides for transferring the designs painstakingly by hand, I ended up going back to them and turning them all into digital vectors. This means they can be printed onto transfer paper or directly onto stabilized fabric for stitching, which is MUCH easier than drawing by hand. Lots of people asked me if I could sell the designs so I figured this part out and was able to test it myself--the tower embroidery was an example of printing the vector directly onto the fabric and worked out great!

(above: tedious hand-drawing process for the Hierophant design, vs my failed attempt at transfer pencils that did not work at all for the Tower, vs printing directly onto fabric which did work in the end)

Long answer is after I did that, I uh, never figured out how or where to list them for sale online. Or what all to include with them--like what level of written instruction to include, should i also make notes on the thread colors I picked, should I include my colored-in-versions as color guides or just let everyone free-for-all it, in the case of the Tower embroidery i also hand-dyed a lot of grey thread that was crucial for it coming out how i wanted it to look--is it deceptive to sell a pattern when other people can't necessarily recreate it the same way because of that? Should I list in general the dye instructions if they wanna recreate it, or for people who want some of my extra thread or for people who don't have an inkjet printer so can't print the design onto the fabric themselves, should i think about selling full "embroidery kits" that include the printed pattern sized for a display hoop and the thread needed? etc etc etc

(above: photo of the color guide I made myself with tentative thread color selections (warning NOT the ones I actually ended up using), photo of my pile of threads I picked from, and photo of some of the threads I ended up dying myself to get closer to the design I wanted)

Anyway that was all a lot of thinking and work to do, so i put it off!!! and uh here we are 2 years later and I have still not posted them anywhere. I really gotta get around to all that still...

But in the meanwhile, if anyone reading would like a pattern, just let me know directly what you're looking for and I can save the versions of the files as needed for your plans and send them over. like for a digital only version (so no threads or me printing for you) i would probably make a zip file with a transparent png of the design (so you can put it in a word doc to print at whatever size you desire), as well as a pdf with a few copies of it already pre-sized for a display hoop for ease of printing or transfer, the colored-in version i used based on the tarot cards, photos of my finished versions, etc (note to self i must remember to include the design both normal for direct printing and horizontally flipped for anyone who plans to use transfer paper for it since those are mirrored...). Oh and a quick explanation of how i managed to get my fabric through a standard printer if you wanna try that.

But yeah i'm happy to work out something with kofi or paypal or venmo and sell the digital ones for like $20 each or something for now, if you don't mind not having written step-by-step instructions accompanying the patterns and example photos. Or if anyone has suggestions on where to host them for sale, for someone not interested in maintaining a dedicated storefront like etsy or storenvy long term. Maybe Gumroad? If i stuck to digital-only sales something like that might work. I'm open to input for sure. If you want something more than digital like a pre-printed fabric (since it's kind of weird to do yourself), I'm still open to trying, it just would be a little more $ to account for the fabric/stabilizer and cost of shipping, and probably take me a few more days to do.

(above: example of finished DA themed embroideries)

But regardless, thank you for your interest at all!! I'm so glad people have enjoyed my embroidery series :) While I'd love to make lots of copies to sell to whoever wants one, I simply don't have the time, and they are SO labor intensive to make it really is like 80-90% of the cost is manhours. I spend anywhere from 5-15 hours making the patterns and vectors, but the stitching and rest of it itself is easily the bulk at 40-100 hours depending on complexity and number of threads used. So WAY more feasible to sell the patterns than make more to sell myself, and then anyone willing to put in the time can have one too :)

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirate's Promise

This gif! cause Sanji was ready for war!

Chapter 27: Falling into Doflamingo's Web

A/N:  And we are back at it again with another chapter!! Also even though I did say like in 5 chapters we hitting a whole new arc… yeahhhh we aint done just yet… (heheh). Thank you guys so much for liking, following, commenting, and interacting!. We got lots of POVs, From Law, Our favorite lovesick cook Sanji, Zoro, and more!. Imma start making a masterlist and have it pinned on my profile so that way, every chapter will be on it!. But without further ado, let the adventure begin!

WordCount: 5.6K

Sanji x Reader, Sanji x Y/N, One piece X Reader.

Law POV… 

I dodged Doflamingo’s attacks, weaving through the barrage of deadly strings that cut through the air with terrifying precision. “Just a little more!” I thought, my breath ragged as I narrowly avoided another sharp strike. But in an instant, the strings closed in on me, wrapping around my limbs and slamming me against a tree with brutal force. My sword clattered to the ground, and my body strained against the pressure, the sharp wires biting into my skin.

Doflamingo loomed closer, a twisted grin on his face. “Why don’t you just hand over Caesar’s heart?” he sneered.

I smirked, despite the pain. “Is it really Caesar you want?” I asked, my voice dripping with mockery. “Or are you just scared Kaido’s going to kill you when you can’t produce SMILEs anymore?”

Doflamingo’s grin faltered, replaced by a flash of anger. The strings tightened around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. He unleashed another wave of razor-sharp threads, aimed right at me.

“Room! Shambles!” I called out, swapping places just in time to evade the attack. My heart pounded as I landed a few feet away. “2.5 seconds… and I would’ve been sliced to bits,” I thought, my body aching from the narrow escape.

I tried to retreat, to get some distance between us, but Doflamingo’s strings lashed out once more, catching my leg and yanking me back. In a flash, he was on top of me, his knee pressing into my chest, pinning me to the ground. My vision blurred, the weight of his strength crushing me.

“You’re mine now,” Doflamingo hissed, his voice low and menacing. His fingers curled, ready to finish me off.

But then, the weight shifted, and I felt the sudden presence of another force. A sword—heavy and deliberate—pressed down, not from Doflamingo, but from above.

“Fujitora… why did you save him!?” Doflamingo snarled, his voice filled with fury.

The gravity around me intensified, pushing me deeper into the ground, every bone in my body screaming under the strain. “Ahhh!” I groaned, unable to move.

“I have my orders,” Fujitora said calmly, standing above me, his sword still raised. “I didn’t come here to kill him. My objective is to apprehend him.”

The crushing force kept me immobilized, my breaths shallow and labored. I felt my heart pound in my chest, but even that felt distant, muffled under the pressure.

Doflamingo’s cold laughter filled the air. “Now, about Caesar’s heart…” he said with a sinister smile, reaching down and snatching the small, fragile organ from my side.

Sanji POV… 

I stood with Kinemon, watching the commotion at the Coliseum unfold. My mind raced, trying to figure out how we could sneak in and warn Luffy before things spiraled even further out of control. I gritted my teeth, frustration building. There’s no easy way in with all these Marines crawling around.

Just then, I heard a familiar voice that grated on my nerves instantly.

“Hey! What the hell are you guys doing here?” came the all-too-recognizable tone of Mosshead.

“What… that’s—” Kinemon shouted in surprise. “It’s Sir Zoro! Hey, over here!”

“Subtlety, Kinemon!” I groaned, delivering a swift kick to his side to shut him up. "Do you want the Marines to find us?"

Zoro approached us from the shadows of the alley, his usual look of nonchalance plastered on his face. As much as I hated to admit it, I was relieved to see him. But there was something more pressing. Desperation clawed at my insides as I stepped closer to him.

“Zoro, have you seen Y/N by any chance?!” I asked, my voice laced with urgency. Every second without word from her was twisting my gut into tighter knots.

Zoro furrowed his brow and scratched his head. “No, actually I haven’t. But I did hear someone telling me to wait a couple minutes ago.”

I froze for a second, the words hanging in the air. Then, without thinking, I lunged toward him. “YOU IDIOT! That was her!” I yelled, grabbing him by the collar. “She’s in even more danger now, and you couldn’t even stop for two seconds to check?!”

Zoro glared, shoving me back. “How was I supposed to know it was her, dart-brow? I’m not some psychic who can read minds. Besides, I was busy trying to figure out where you wandered off to!”

“Oh yeah? Well maybe if you actually had a sense of direction for once in your life, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” I shot back, my irritation with him rising as it always did.

Zoro’s eye twitched. “You wanna go, love-cook? 'Cause I’ve got time to deal with you!”

“Deal with me? You can’t even deal with finding your way down a straight road!” I snapped, our bickering escalating by the second.

Kinemon sighed in the background, shaking his head at our usual back-and-forth. “Perhaps now is not the time for this—”

Zoro cut him off. “Look, I’m not here to fight you. I’m heading back to the Sunny. It’s under attack by one of Doflamingo’s executives.”

My heart dropped, and my annoyance with Zoro quickly shifted to concern. “What? Damn it! I knew something wasn’t right! Nami and the others are in trouble!” I clenched my fists, turning towards Zoro. “Alright, I’m coming with you!”

Just as I was about to take off, Kinemon stepped in front of me. “Wait, Sir Sanji! We have vital information that we must bestow upon Sir Luffy! We cannot abandon our mission.”

Before I could respond, a familiar voice echoed from the shadows. “There you are.”

I whirled around, and my heart skipped a beat. “Violet, my sweet!” I exclaimed, practically floating over to her. I swooped in and grabbed her hands, swooning as I gazed into her eyes.

“Sanji, this isn’t—” Violet began, but I was too far gone.

“This is fate, destiny bringing us together again in this moment of chaos!” I declared, still holding her hands like we were in some romantic drama.

Zoro groaned, glaring at me. “That kind of crap is going to get you killed, idiot. Snap out of it!” he growled, but I waved him off, completely ignoring his rant.

“Zoro, you wouldn’t understand the complexities of love,” I said, still fixated on Violet’s eyes. “In a world as chaotic as ours, love is a shining beacon of hope and—”

“Shut up, dart-brow!” Zoro barked, his patience wearing thin. “We don’t have time for your romantic delusions! The Sunny’s under attack!”

But I paid him no mind, too engrossed in Violet’s presence. Just as I was about to pull her into a dramatic embrace, Zoro muttered something that snapped me out of it.

“Well, I guess that favor Y/N owes me is finally getting cashed in tonight,” Zoro said with a smirk. “Since you’re not lovesick for her anymore, that’s one less competition I have to deal with.”

I froze mid-swoon, releasing Violet’s hands and spinning on my heel to face Zoro, my eyes blazing with fury. “What did you just say?!”

Zoro’s smirk widened. “You heard me. Now that you’re all wrapped up in your latest fling, maybe I’ll finally have some peace without you hovering over Y/N like some lost puppy.”

My temper flared. “As if Y/N would ever fall for someone like you, you brainless swordsman! She has taste and refinement, something you severely lack!”

Zoro’s smirk turned into a full grin. “Oh yeah? Then why is she always hanging around me, huh? Maybe she prefers a real man who doesn’t get distracted by every pretty face that walks by.”

I clenched my fists, my face turning red with anger. “She does not! Y/N deserves someone with class and elegance, not some brute who can’t even find his way to the nearest tavern!”

Zoro crossed his arms, clearly enjoying how riled up I was getting. “Keep telling yourself that, love-cook. But when she realizes you’re too busy swooning over every girl in Dressrosa, don’t come crying to me.”

“Why you—” I lunged at him, ready to knock that stupid grin off his face.

Before I could get any closer, Violet’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Listen, Black Leg!” she said sharply, stepping between us. “Your ship has been hijacked by my colleague Giolla, and they’re making their way to Greenbit right now.” She looked at me with a mix of urgency and empathy. “If you don’t act fast, you might lose everything you’ve been fighting for.”

Laws POV… 

Doflamingo’s laughter echoed through the forest as Fujitora’s gravity technique kept me pinned to the ground, each second more suffocating than the last. I could barely move, my breathing labored and strained.

Doflamingo’s mocking voice cut through the haze of pain. “You know, Law, all this time you’ve been fighting against something far greater than you realize.”

I forced myself to focus despite the crushing weight. “What are you talking about?” I managed to croak out.

Doflamingo’s grin widened. “The World Government, Law. The 20 kingdoms that formed the foundation of this world, the Celestial Dragons—those who hold absolute power. The agreements made to keep this twisted system in place. It’s all part of the grand design.”

I struggled to piece together his words through the pain. “All this time you were a...” I began, my voice labored.

Doflamingo’s laughter grew louder as he continued to toy with Caesar’s heart, dropping it and catching it with cruel precision

Sanji POV… 

I stood at the crossroads of my decisions, torn between rescuing Nami and continuing my search for Y/N. The weight of my choices was heavy, but the thought of Y/N still missing gnawed at me. "Y/N, where are you, my sweet?" I muttered under my breath.

Flashback to 10 minutes earlier…

“Listen, mosshead, butt out of this decision!” I snapped at Zoro. “I’m looking for Y/N and also saving Nami and the others, got it?”

Zoro crossed his arms, glaring at me. “Idiot! How the hell are you going to be in two places at once? You can’t just split yourself in half!”

“Listen, I’ll head to the Colosseum, tell Luffy what’s going on, and then I’ll be the one in search of Y/N, got it?” Zoro shot back, his frustration evident.

“Alright, alright!” I relented, rubbing my temples in frustration. “I’ll go rescue Nami, and you find Y/N. Deal?”

Zoro nodded, a hint of relief on his face. “Deal. Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed while you’re at it.”

“Same to you,” I shot back, a smirk on my face despite the tension. “Don’t mess up and make me come rescue you too.”

End of flashback..

Here I was, riding the toy stallion with Violet. It still pained me to make the decision to split up, but if Y/N was anywhere close by, Zoro and Kinemon would be the first to find you. I tried to focus on the task at hand, though my heart ached with worry.

“Now, Violet, I told you to wait at the harbor, you naughty girl,” I said, fawning.

“I would, but the place is covered with Marines,” Violet replied, as we sped through the streets. “You and your friends may want to rethink your rendezvous point. I counted four battleships total, which means there are about 3,000 Marines scattered around.”

“And you managed to find that out in such a short amount of time?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s one of my abilities,” Violet said with a laugh. “Clairvoyance.”

“Clairvoyance, huh? That’s impressive,” I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. Violet assured me not to worry about her safety, but then she suddenly tensed, her gaze distant.

“I should be able to see your ship, but it’s simply not there,” Violet said, her tone turning serious.

“Wait, like it disappeared?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“It’s bad. It seems your ship emerged by now… where? And your ship was struck by lightning!” Violet said, her concern evident.

“Struck by lightning? Then Nami must be safe!” I said, relief washing over me as I made my way toward where the ship should be.  

Law POV… 

Doflamingo continued to taunt as Fujitora’s gravity powers kept me pinned to the ground. Each breath was labored, and the crushing weight felt like it was suffocating me.

“Damn that power,” I thought. “I’m completely immobilized.”

“There’s no way you’re a Celestial Dragon!” I managed to heave out, my voice strained.

“That’s me, well, that was me at least,” Doflamingo sneered. “But not anymore. Not many can say they’ve lived a checkered life as I have.” His taunts were infuriating, each word dripping with arrogance.

“Who cares, stop rambling, bastard!” I gasped, trying to push through the crushing weight.

“Sorry, Law,” Doflamingo said with a mocking tone. “Believe me, I would like nothing more than to knock back a few drinks and tell you all about my life story. But I don’t have time for all that. The Straw Hats are in Dressrosa, and I need to address that. And while I’m at it, I need to get my hands on that princess. It makes me most excited thinking about it.”

His words stung, and I could barely keep my eyes open as the pain intensified. The thought of you and the others in danger fueled my resolve. I had to find a way out of this, no matter what.

Fujitora’s head tilted slightly, his attention shifting. “I heard a thunderclap. I may be blind, but I’ve always had a keen sense for weather,” he remarked, his voice calm but focused.

From the bushes, Caesar emerged, desperate and frantic. “Joker! What are you doing?! Give me my heart back! I want it back now!” he whined, his usual panic setting in.

Doflamingo glanced at the heart in his hand, an amused grin spreading across his face. I struggled under the weight of Fujitora’s gravity power, each breath coming harder than the last.

“No good… I never said whose heart it was,” I managed to say between gasps of air. The words caught Doflamingo’s attention, and his grin widened.

Without a second thought, he crushed the heart, testing my claim. Caesar let out a dramatic wail, collapsing to the ground as if the very life had been squeezed out of him. But when nothing serious happened, and the realization struck that the heart didn’t belong to Caesar after all, Doflamingo’s amusement vanished. It was a marine soldier’s heart.

Taking the moment of confusion, I made my move. “Room!” I summoned my ability, the familiar blue dome surrounding us. “Shambles!” In an instant, I swapped myself out with a log, grabbing Caesar by the scruff and making a run for it.

“Joker, help me!!” Caesar shrieked, flailing in my grasp as we made our escape.

“You’ve got a lot of energy left, Law,” Doflamingo called out, already chasing us down with terrifying speed. Each time he attacked, I would switch the trajectory with an object, barely staying ahead of him.

We were heading toward the bridge, the path narrowing with every step. In the distance, I heard the panicked cries of the Straw Hat crew.

“Idiots! Keep your mouths shut!” I barked at them, knowing their noise would only draw more attention.

“So that’s your plan,” Doflamingo cackled, his eyes locked on the Thousand Sunny. “You think you can escape me by hiding behind your little pirate friends?”

“Doflamingo, wait! This doesn’t involve them!” I shouted, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Too late, Law!” Doflamingo’s laughter echoed through the air as he closed in. “Besides, I’m here to collect what’s mine.” His gaze fixed on the Sunny, and I could feel the threat looming over them.

I gritted my teeth. I had to stop him, no matter the cost.

Sanji POV…  

"Hey! You made my crewmates cry! You're going down!" I yelled as I launched myself into the sky with my Skywalk, my leg igniting with Diable Jambe. I aimed straight for Doflamingo, landing a burning kick right to his side.

"Sanji's here!" I heard Nami, Chopper, Brook, and Momo shout in relief. But Doflamingo simply laughed.

"This should be fun," he said with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with malice. "So, you're with the Straw Hats… Black Leg Sanji."

He moved so fast, I barely saw it coming. "Penta-Chromatic Strings!" Doflamingo shouted, and I felt the sharp pain as his strings sliced into me, knocking me out of the air.

"Sanji's hit!" Brook cried. "How? I didn’t even see him move!" Chopper added, panic in his voice.

I grunted in pain as I was falling from the sky clutching my side. "You don't have the strength to protect anyone," Doflamingo mocked, his laughter cutting through the pain. "Sanji!" Nami yelled, her voice filled with worry.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, forcing the pain away. "Don't you dare turn your back on me… or my Diable Jambe!" I snarled, my left leg igniting in flames once again. "Poele a Friere: Spectre!" I unleashed a barrage of fiery kicks at Doflamingo.

"Let's go, Sanji!" Nami cheered. "Kick his butt!" Chopper added.

But then, I felt it—the sudden stop, my body freezing mid-attack. "What… I can't move! What the hell is wrong with me?!" My limbs wouldn't respond, as if they were bound by invisible chains.

Doflamingo laughed again, his voice filled with sadistic pleasure. "You’re no match for me, Black Leg."

I could see the crew in the distance, watching, their faces filled with fear. "What the hell are you guys waiting around for?! Use the Coup de Burst and get out of here!" I yelled, desperate for them to escape.

"We're not leaving you!" Nami shouted back, defiant.

But Doflamingo wasn't done. A flaming whip formed in his hand. "Overheat!" he called, launching the attack at me. I braced myself, but my body wouldn't respond.

"Shambles!" A voice from my left—Law. In an instant, I was teleported away from the strike, landing safely back on the ship with everyone else.

"There's been a slight change of plans. To the ship!" Law ordered, already assessing the situation. My left arm throbbed with pain, but I clutched it, trying to hide it from Chopper’s worried gaze.

"Sanji!" Nami shouted, running toward me.

"Oh… hey, Nami," I said, forcing a grin, but the pain and exhaustion were starting to catch up.

"Doflamingo is heading back!" Chopper cried out, his panic rising again.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, trying to regain my focus. Then Law turned to me, his voice low and urgent. "Sanji… what about the factory?"

"We found out where it is, but Franky says it's going to be tougher to infiltrate than we thought," I replied, my tone serious.

"And… Y/N?" Law's voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words hit hard.

I looked down at the deck, my chest tightening. "No, I couldn’t find her… Zoro's looking for her now." My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.

"Wait, Sanji… what do you mean find Y/N?" Chopper asked, his concern growing. I could see the worry in their eyes.

"I lost her," I confessed, my voice strained. "I’ve searched everywhere, but she’s nowhere in Dressrosa. I don’t know where she is…"

"Hmph, the young princess is missing, huh?" Caesar chimed in, a smug grin on his face. "Maybe Doflamingo’s men already captured her."

I clenched my fist, anger boiling in my veins. "If they’ve touched her…" But I didn’t finish the sentence. There was no time for that now. I had to believe Zoro would find her. I had to believe she was still safe.

"We still need more time!" Law said, clutching something in his hand—a heart.

"Is that… my heart?!" Caesar wailed in panic.

"I'm afraid this is mine," Law responded coldly. "Yours? I've had that hidden this whole time." He held Caesar's heart firmly, showing no signs of letting it go.

"Listen, you guys need to head to Zou," Law continued, his tone sharp. "There are only two tasks left—destroy the factory and find out where Y/N is."

"Wait a minute!" Nami interrupted, her voice full of fire. "Hold on! We’re not going anywhere yet! If you think we’re going to set sail without our captain, you're nuts! We take orders from Luffy, NOT you!" she declared, standing her ground.

Just then, a massive explosion rocked the ship as we were hit with a cannonball from a nearby Navy ship. "Not good," I muttered, glancing at the damage. Things were escalating fast.

"Hold up, Law," I said, turning to him. "I realize we need to get out of here now and keep Caesar safe, but the operation with Caesar was just a waypoint. Our shared goal was to take down Kaido, wasn’t it? Why are you getting so hung up on Doflamingo?"

Law’s face darkened, but before he could answer, Nami shouted, "Time to go! Everyone ready?"

"Listen, Nami, you need to get to a clear sky!" Law called out. "Doflamingo possesses the String-String Fruit. He uses the clouds to get around."

"That explains it!" I said, realizing how Doflamingo had been moving so quickly.

Law then placed his blade against Giolla’s throat, using her as leverage. "One wrong move from Doflamingo, and she’s done," he warned, eyes cold.

With no other option, and knowing the clock was ticking, we initiated the Coup de Burst. The Sunny rocketed away from Greenbit, leaving the chaos behind us for now.

Zoro POV… 

We made it to the Coliseum, but there was still no sign of Y/N. Frustration bubbled up as I muttered, "Damn it, Y/N, where the hell did you go?"

"Do you have any ideas on how to get in? It’s all locked up," Kinemon asked, his voice low but urgent.

"No, but I could slash the bars down," I replied without thinking.

"We're trying to avoid exposure!" Kinemon snapped, clearly annoyed.

"Okay, so I can slash it quietly?" I offered with a smirk.

"That’s no help at all!" Kinemon shot back, his patience wearing thin.

Just then, we spotted someone passing by the bars of the Coliseum. "Hey! You!" I yelled, trying to get his attention. The guy froze, looking like a deer in headlights, then started freaking out.

"Hey, don’t leave yet! There’s something important I need to ask you!" I called out, but he just continued freaking out and cheering wildly.

"You sure this is a Coliseum and not a mental institution?" Kinemon muttered.

I rolled my eyes. "Hey! I’m talking to you! Second floor, over here!" I kept shouting.

"Tears of joy shall flow to the end of time!" the guy screamed, completely ignoring me.

"Look, I don’t know who you are, but is there a way into the Coliseum? All the entrances I’ve found are closed up!" I shouted again, growing more irritated.

"I’m so glad I became a pirate! I can die happy!" the guy yelled, tears streaming down his face.

"What the..." I muttered, trying to process the madness.

Kinemon sighed. "Wait a moment, he said he knows Sir Luffy?" he asked, clearly confused. "How could he tell with our brilliant disguises?"

"Yeah, I know..." I muttered, wondering the same thing.

Just then, my transponder snail rang. I grabbed it quickly. "Hello?!" I barked.

"Now, Roronoa, there's no need to yell," came the familiar voice, making my heart stop.

"Where the hell are you, Y/N?! We've been looking for you!" I yelled into the transponder.

"Me?! I was yelling for you to wait!" she snapped back, clearly annoyed.

"Listen, that’s not the point," Y/N continued. "Doflamingo's men have been chasing me block after block. I had to change out of my disguise. Doflamingo has something planned for me, along with all of us and the rest of Dressrosa. That’s why I can't be anywhere near you guys yet."

"Where are you?!" I demanded, clenching my fists.

"Don't worry, I'm safe for now. I'll call again in a few minutes, Zoro. Please stay safe," she said, her tone softening at the end.

"Wait, don’t—!" I started, but the call ended.

I stared at the transponder snail, frustration building. "At least we know she's safe, Sir Zoro," Kinemon said, trying to ease the tension.

"Yeah, but we still need to find her. She could say she's safe, but that doesn't mean she's out of danger," I replied, my mind racing. "We need to talk to Luffy, tell him everything, and figure out where Y/N is before it's too late."

Y/N POV… 

"You got in contact with your crew?" Sabo asked as I handed back the transponder snail.

"Yeah, I reached Zoro," I replied, wiping my brow. "Told him I'd call back in a few minutes to explain the plan I have. Too bad that thug passed out from fear though... but we've still got two more left to make the call to Doflamingo." I smirked, glancing at the remaining thugs.

"And what's your plan?" Sabo asked, stepping closer with a curious yet cautious look in his eyes.

"Simple," I said, crossing my arms confidently. "We get one of these fools to call Doflamingo and tell him they’ve caught me. Lure him to the front of the Coliseum, kick his ass, make him chase me, let him think he's cornered me—only to have me lead him straight to the palace where we shut the whole operation down." I grinned, like I'd just outlined the most brilliant plan in the world.

Sabo stared at me, clearly skeptical. "Listen, Y/N, I'm all for kicking ass and taking down Doflamingo... but I don’t want anything to happen to you," he said, his voice growing serious as he placed his hands gently on my hips. "I just got you back, and I'm not about to risk losing you again."

His voice cracked, and I felt the weight of his words as tears began to fall from his eyes onto my chest. He was trembling, and I could feel the grief beneath his tough exterior.

"I already lost one brother... I can’t..." he said, choking on his tears.

The depth of his pain hit me hard. I stared at him in shock. 

"You were Ace's brother?" I asked, the shock of the revelation settling in.

Sabo nodded, his hands still holding me tightly. "And since you're Luffy's brother... that means you lost Ace too," I whispered, the weight of it all hitting me.

Sabo’s expression darkened, his eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. "When I found out... I lost it," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I crashed. I... should have been there for him. I should have been there for Luffy."

"When did you find out?" I asked gently, placing a hand on his cheek and wiping away his tears.

"The day you were knocked out by King, and he caught us," Sabo replied, his body trembling. "When John and I went to treat your injuries, I went to an office and… saw the newspaper."

"Sabo..." I whispered, my heart aching for him.

"I should have been there... I should have been by his side. Luffy needed me, Ace needed me, and I wasn’t there for either of them." His voice cracked again, the pain of regret clear in every word.

I pulled him closer, feeling his pain radiating through me. "You can't blame yourself... you didn’t know," I whispered softly. "And now, you're here. You’re fighting for Luffy, and for everything Ace stood for."

Tears continued to stream down his face as he rested his forehead against mine. "I can’t lose anyone else, Y/N. Not you, not Luffy," he said, his voice barely a whisper. 

 I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, letting him feel the safety of the embrace. "You’ve been through so much, Sabo. And even with all that, you were there for me."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes full of emotion. “But that's the thing, Y/N," he said, his voice rough with raw emotion. "You’re not just another person I’m protecting. You’re a part of my world. I’ve lost so much, I can’t... I won’t lose you too."

He exhaled deeply, his grip on my shoulders tightening as if grounding himself. “That’s why I have to go to that Colosseum," he said, determination flaring in his eyes. "To win the Flame-Flame Fruit. So I can carry Ace’s legacy and protect those who are important to me. If I have that power... I can make sure no one I care about gets hurt again."

I was about to respond when I heard groaning from one of the thugs. Giving Sabo a knowing look, I released the hug and made my way toward him. "Good morning there," I smirked. "Now, are you going to pass out like your buddy here, or are you going to follow directions?"

The man nodded frantically. "Good," I smirked, grabbing his transponder snail. "Now make the call."

We waited until Doflamingo picked up. His voice oozed malice. "Hello. This better be important, as I am dealing with an important matter."

"Sir, we got her... We got the girl, young master!" the thug said.

Doflamingo laughed. "I knew she couldn’t run forever. Now tell me, is she tied up nice and snug?"

It took everything in me not to snap back. "Yeah, she is. She’s tied up. Meet us at the Colosseum at the front, so you can take her."

"Splendid work you did. I’ll see you soon," Doflamingo said before ending the call.

I clenched my right hand, crouching in front of the thug. "Good job!" I said, landing a punch to his cheek and sending him flying into the wall. "Now what?" Sabo asked.

"Now, I call Zoro again." I grabbed Sabo's transponder snail and dialed Zoro. "Hello?! Y/N?!" Zoro's voice came through urgently.

"Y/N?! Where have you been?!" Luffy's voice followed, almost grinning through the call.

"Hey, captain. How’s it going? I was checking on your fight. I wish I was there to kick some ass too!" I said.

"Same here, Y/N," Zoro said.

"Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is I’m safe, but Doflamingo has had me tracked since I got here. He’s even got three men chasing me block after block," I explained.

"Where are you?!" Luffy demanded.

"Don’t worry, Luffy. I’m safe. I’m with... someone very special," I whispered that last part, hoping he wouldn’t pry. "I have a plan, but I want to ask your permission first."

"What is it?" Luffy asked.

"I’m going to have to get Doflamingo to take me to his palace," I said.

"WAIT, AS IN KIDNAPPED?!" Zoro’s voice cracked with disbelief.

"Yes, as in kidnapped. I need to get him away from the Colosseum and into the palace where I can hopefully shut things down. There’s more to the plan, but I can’t say much right now. I’ll see you guys in the palace."

Zoro's frustration was palpable. "This is a terrible idea! We can't just let you get captured!"

"I know it sounds risky, Zoro, but it's the only way to draw Doflamingo out and get him where we need him. If I stay hidden, he’ll just keep searching for me. This way, I can use the opportunity to get to the palace and stop him from causing more chaos," I tried to reason. 

“This is insane!” Zoro snapped. “You’re not just walking into a trap—you’re running into it! How many things can go wrong here, Y/N? Do we need to pull out the list? You’re going up against a warlord who is psychotic, you could get thrown in a dungeon, or worse! And we won’t even know where you are!”

“I know the risks, Zoro. But it’s the only way to distract him long enough for us to make our move.” I said

Luffy, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly chimed in. “Y/N, this is risky, even for you...”

“I know,” she answered, her voice steady. “But I can do this. If I can get him off the streets and into the palace, it’ll give us the upper hand. You just need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I scoffed, rubbing the back of my neck in frustration. “I trust you, but this plan is reckless even by your standards! Do you even know what you're up against?”

“Zoro, I’ll be fine. Just make sure you guys get to the palace. I’ll be waiting.” I laughed as I continued speaking to Zoro over the transponder snail. 

"Trust me, Zoro. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was the best option. I need to be where I can make the most impact, and right now, that’s in the palace. The plan is risky, but it's our best shot at stopping Doflamingo and getting back to safety."

Luffy cut in before Zoro could respond further. "Okay, Y/N, but I need you to be careful. We’ll be there just as soon as I figure out a way out of this Colosseum!" 

“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice lighter now, trying to ease the tension. “I trust you guys to back me up.” 

Zoro is not fully convinced. “This is still a terrible idea... If anything happens to you, I’m coming to drag your reckless ass out of there myself.”

I laughed trying to ease the tension. “I know you will, Zoro. But you won’t have to. Just be ready when it’s time.”

I ended the call and turned back to Sabo. “Okay, that’s phase one of the plan. Phase two will be when Luffy gets to the palace. You need to get to the Colosseum,” I said, giving his arm a playful shove.

Sabo’s eyes lit up with a roguish smile. “You know, a bit of encouragement would go a long way. How about a good luck kiss?”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “Focus on the plan, Sabo. We got things to do.”

He leaned in closer, his smile widening. “Oh, come on. Just one kiss for luck?”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re incorrigible. Just make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Sabo gave me a lingering look before nodding. “You’ve got it. I’ll be careful. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook for that kiss.”

I watched him go, a mixture of worry and affection in my heart.

I continued to run, my feet pounding against the cobblestones as the towering walls of the Colosseum loomed in the distance. The sound of distant battles and the chaotic energy of Dressrosa filled the air, but I focused only on reaching my destination.

Finally, I arrived, stopping just outside the Colosseum. I caught my breath, glancing around to make sure I wasn’t being followed. "Alright," I muttered to myself, scanning the area. "Now, I wait."

From my vantage point, I could see Zoro and Kin’emon standing near the entrance, talking to Luffy, who was behind the bars. Their conversation seemed tense, as Luffy’s impatience was written all over his face. I narrowed my eyes, watching carefully, making sure no one else had eyes on them.

This was it—the moment before everything would change. I just hoped I could intervene at the right time

.

.

.

.

[lost-inanotherlife]

"White Rabbit" meta: a perfect episode. pt II

Here I am back with “White Rabbit” meta part 2! You can find Part I here if you want to take a deeper look, otherwise here’s a brief summary:

“White Rabbit” focuses on three main themes: water as death (Joanna dies drowning, Jack’s “dead” father is first seen in the sea, the losties have no drinkable water left on the beach); fathers as obstacles to their sons’ individuation process (in young Jack’s flashback Christian tells Jack who he is, i.e. not a hero, while we the audience clearly see that he does have “what it takes” to be one and make hard calls); looking for (water)/following (the image of the father) as a journey, for Jack, to confront his beliefs about leadership, taking responsibility and, ultimately, “growing up”.

For part 2 I think we now have all necessary info to tackle the episode last and subtlest theme: time is running out/ time has run out. The water in the remaining Oceanic Air bottles functions as a hourglass towards imminent crisis until they also eventually disappear. At the same time, Claire, who’s pregnant and a literal time-bomb in terms of responsibility, is clearly in distress and absolutely needs to stay hydrated more than anyone else on the island (common sense but also see part I reference to the “women and children safe first” rule).

As I’ve written, precisely when the losties look at Jack for leadership, Jack disappears into the forest following the “hallucination” of his dead father into the forest. “He’s gone” are the words Jack’s mother, Margo, tells Jack when she more or less commands him to go to Australia in order to look for Christian. Jack is also gone. (do you see? Looking for water, looking for the father, going “down under”, going down the rabbit hole, following the white rabbit… I swear, this episode is so good it gives me brain orgasms).

But what else is gone?

“Water’s gone […] the doctor [‘s] gone”

The character that will connect all these narrative threads is the same that utters the following words:

“When the others find out the water's gone it's going to get ugly. And when they find out that someone pinched it, it's going to get uglier. I'll go. Camp needs you two here, especially with the doctor gone. And besides, I know where to look”.

Amid all these characters that are looking for something/waiting to follow someone that’ll tell them what to do (in this episode Sun’s looking for guidance, Claire’s looking for commodities, Shannon’s looking for help… and I could perhaps go on but you get how beautifully written this episode is just with these few examples), John Locke knows where to look. And, true to his word, he does know.

While Jack follows his father/white rabbit/hallucination (brief note: please remember that Christian is wearing white shoes. It’s not important now but it’ll be in “316”, which is this episode’s counterpart, where we’ll discover the significance and centrality of the shoes with which Christian was buried), he falls into a cliff/rabbit hole-stand-in that goes directly towards a dry stream. The metaphor couldn’t be clearer than this.

Who saves Jack from said cliff? Well, our own very John Locke in one of the best moments of this tv show. I’ve said elsewhere that Jack and John’s relationship is not easy to define. Sure, Locke is Jack’s foil from a narrative point of view, that is very clear. What I mean is that they’re not clear-cut foils: they meet each other at their borders, their own limits and limitations, and they don’t always align. Well, to be fair they almost never align.

In “White Rabbit”, however, they do. Locke is presented not exactly as a father figure to Jack but as a mentor figure, a proxy (this word will be useful for the analysis of "316") the mentor Christian could never be for his own son. Locke gives Jack a few words of advice and encourages him to continue his search: Jack needs to finish what he’s started because “a leader can't lead until he knows where he's going”. Their journeys separate there but it’ll be more than enough because this moment (the one in the screenshot) will start a chain of fatal events that constitutes the show’s backbone.

Little aside: in the meantime our other losties are also looking for water and they think that Sawyer has been hiding it to trade it for goods. Sayid tells Kate “if you wait, a rat will always lead you to its hole”. Funny right? With all these talks about white rabbits and rabbit holes, Sayid compares Sawyer to a rat, lol. Much to say about this in relation to Jack but let’s move on.

So the Doc’s been found, what about the water?

After his conversation with Locke, Jack continues his search until we find him crying alone in the jungle in the most “Alice in Wonderland” scene EVER.

All of a sudden, Jack hears the sound of ice in a glass and, deciding to follow it, comes upon the caves where fresh, spring water is waiting for him. Water’s been found! And… what else? The association between Jack and Alice continues as Jack first finds one doll and then a bunch of them scattered on the cave’s floor. Because it’s a very curious happening (dolls? In the jungle?) his attention is taken away from his Big Discovery (fresh water! Life! Nourishment!) and it’s slowly directed towards… his father’s coffin. How fucking brilliant this scene is? No, seriously, tell me.

This moment seals what we’ve been wondering for the whole episode: following his dead father, confronting the reality of his death (Christian’s death is real, it’s not a hallucination) will lead Jack to water, to a life, to nourishment for the future. He needed to take his time with it and he needed to do it alone. To cry and feel lost. All four themes have been weaved together so we’re ready for the episode’s ending.

'Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead'" (Matthew 8:21-22)

Is it a LOST episode without a good old Christian (pun intended) reference? Of course not, so get ready for a bit of Christian lore.

In case we were wondering whether a character literally named Jack Shephard was intended as a Christ-figure by the writers, “White Rabbit” basically states that this is indeed the case, we can all cease wondering. Let’s have a look at the conversation Jack has with the Oceanic Air agent at the ticket counter:

JACK: Look, you can't do this to me. I'm ready to go now. AGENT: Perhaps another carrier? JACK: No! JACK: I want you to listen to me, okay. Because I'm asking you a favor, Chrissy. I'm standing in front of you in the same suit that I'm wearing to my father's funeral and I'm asking you a favor. In 16 hours I need to land at LAX, and I need that coffin to clear customs because there's going to be a hearse waiting there. And I need that hearse to take me and that coffin to a cemetery. Why? Chrissy, why can't I just bring him to a funeral home and make all the arrangements? Why can't I really take my time with it? Because... because I need it to be done. I need it to be over. I just—I need to bury my father.

I can’t even begin to comment this little monologue here because it’s just so fucking.perfect. TV writing at its peak, I’m telling you.

First off: Jack is obviously everything but ready to “go now”. Understandably, I must add. And, I mean, he even says so: why can’t he take the time with it? There really is no explanation for it but Jack’s direct refusal to deal with his father’s death. The irony is, of course, that it’s precisely his inability to “take time with it” that’ll lead him to the island. Where he’ll very much have to confront his father and follow him into the jungle like Alice and her white rabbit. Jack states a series of “needs” that are pretty self-evident but two of them strike me the most: “I need that hearse to take ME and THAT COFFIN to a cemetery” and “I need to bury my father”.

Well, the first is also pretty self-explanatory but I just wanted to point it out to tell you how beautiful I find it: Jack and the coffin are the same thing (empty, dead, lost, add what you want here the possibilities are endless). Looking for his father means finding his coffin… but also finding water and… Jack’s sense of personhood: I am my own self, I’m not what my father told me to be.

The “I need to bury my father” is a reference to the Gospel:

"Another of his disciples said to him, 'Lord, first let me go and bury my father.' But Jesus said to him, 'Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead'" (Matthew 8:21-22).

Follow the white rabbit, follow the father and now FOLLOW ME: Jack’s ready (well… not really but I’ll come to that) to take responsibility and become the leader he can be.

Jack’s not ready because…well…. When he opens up the coffin, it turns out empty. So, in a literal way, he cannot bury his father. Also, in a more figurative way, there’s that little detail where Jack smashes his father’s empty coffin with a metal pipe so… I don’t know about you guys but this doesn’t exactly scream “I’m okay, I’m healing”, or "I'm moving on" lol.

As I’ve said in part I, “White Rabbit” seems to end on a positive note because of Jack’s famous “live together or die alone” speech but Jack’s mental health is far from okay. He does take responsibility and decides to step up and accept the burden they want to place on him mainly because of his profession (medical knowledge is power), but, as we all know, he won’t be a unifying leader (and, since we’re here, let’s also say that it won’t always be his fault like the show likes to portray). As a matter of fact, his “leadership era” actually starts with a division: one group’ll follow him to the caves and another will stay on the beach. So, not the best start after the rousing “we must all learn to live together” speech. They literally split in two after that.

“Now, I found water. Fresh water, up in the valley”.

By finding the water right on time (Jack says in his speech: “It's been six days and we're all still waiting. Waiting for someone to come. But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out”) Jack established himself as the de facto leader of the group and the group’s sacrificial lamb.

His speech actually references Jesus himself (“A woman died this morning just going for a swim and he tried to save her, and now you're about to crucify him?”), although he compares Boone to Jesus, Boone who was the guy who had hidden the water because he wanted to create a need in order to emerge as a hero when he would eventually “bring” the water to the people. But even much deeper than that, Jack’s speech reminds me of this:

they are before the throne of God     and serve him day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne     will shelter them with his presence. ‘Never again will they hunger;     never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them,’     nor any scorching heat.  For the Lamb at the center of the throne     will be their shepherd; ‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’     ‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. (Revelation 7:14-17)

Jack is the Lamb that will be their “sheperd” and will lead them to springs of living water (the sea in the Bible is oftern portrayed as malicious/evil in contrast to springs of water that are nourishing/good). Jack’s the guy who’s found water in the valley. Who’s figuratively turned the undrinkable, deadly water they’re all surrounded by into fresh, drinkable water, the “living water” (let's all remember how LOST ends and how central "springs of water" are in the ending)

And how did he do it? How did he manage to accomplish such a heroic deed? By following his father, the figurative God of Jack's story. The father Jack can’t bury.

It's a bittersweet ending. Good for the people because they all now have fresh water and good for Jack as well because it's important that he starts to rebel against his own "internal" Christian Shephard. But, in the end, Jack's not moved on at all. He will need more time. He will have to... go back.

Okay, woah, finally we’ve reached the end of this meta! Would you like to read more meta along these lines? I was thinking about writing about “316”, “White Rabbit”’s companion episode as I’ve said. What do you think? Would you read it? Let me know!

[spicybeefnoodles]

acts of devotion

summary: liu kang brings shang tsung a gift

warnings: none :)

Liu Kang knocked upon Shang Tsung’s bedroom door and waited patiently for the sorcerer to open the door. Behind his back, Liu Kang held a delicate bouquet of flowers and a small box holding a simple but beautiful comb. The god had noticed that the hairpiece that Shang Tsung often used to hold his hair back had grown old and worn, the design fading off with the constant use, and Liu Kang wanted to get a gift for his partner.

Creaking the door open, Liu Kang spotted Shang Tsung peeking through the door carefully. The sorcerer sighed and beckoned in the Fire God, and Liu Kang did so happily, shutting the door behind him as the sorcerer walked back to his dresser and finished applying the last of the product to his face. Liu Kang came up behind Shang Tsung and kissed the top of Shang Tsung’s head, breathing in the scent of rain and herbs. His lover always smelled fresh, no matter the occasion, but Liu Kang figured that made sense since Shang Tsung loved to take great care of his appearance.

“My love.” Liu Kang brought the flowers from behind his back and presented the bouquet to Shang Tsung. The sorcerer quirked up an eyebrow and breathed in the scent of the fresh flowers and smiled at the Fire God.

“Thank you, Liu Kang.” Shang Tsung smiled and turned around to press a gentle kiss to Liu Kang’s lips. The sorcerer sighed into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of being so close with his partner and having a brief moment of peace among the heavy weight of responsibility. Liu Kang pulled back and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen loose from Shang Tsung’s simple bun.

“I also got you something else.” Liu Kang presented the small gift box and opened up the lid, showing the new comb in the box. Shang Tsung smiled and picked up the comb gingerly, admiring the carvings and the designs of the metal. It was surprisingly lightweight and relatively simple looking, but Shang Tsung could tell this was expensive.

“Let me.” Liu Kang hummed. Shang Tsung nodded and turned in his seat. He watched the Fire God release Shang Tsng’s hair from its bun and took a comb to gently card it through the strands. Soon enough, Liu Kang started pulling back Shang Tsung’s hair into the signature half ponytail that he usually sported and inserted the new comb into the hair to complete the look. It made Shang Tsung look regal. The sorcerer slicked back a few strands that had escaped from Liu Kang’s nimble fingers but was satisfied with the overall result.

Liu Kang smiled and held his hand out for Shang Tsung to take. He stood up from his seat, and Liu Kang suddenly pulled the sorcerer into his arms and rested his forehead against Shang Tsung’s. Shang Tsung rolled his eyes but let it happen. The Fire God tended to be clingy when work on the hourglass got especially tough.

Liu Kang lightly swayed side to side, simply enjoying the peacefulness of the birds singing outside and the smell of a rich incense that Shang Tsung liked to burn. He enjoyed these rare moments with Shang Tsung, but they both had duties they had to attend to. And so, Liu Kang reluctantly peeled himself away from his partner, not before pressing a gentle kiss to the sorcerer’s forehead.

“What’s got you so needy, hm?” Shang Tsung smirked at the god, but Liu Kang didn’t respond, rather just smiling and threading their fingers together and leading him out of the sorcerer’s bedroom.

“Have I ever told you that if I could, I would spend the entire day worshiping you?” Liu Kang said it so bluntly that Shang Tsung blushed. Typically, the Fire God had a bit more tact, but he didn’t mind the more direct communication from the god.

“We’ll have to plan for that sometime soon. I think it’ll be a good look for you.”

“Yes, we should do that soon.” Liu Kang hummed as he walked the sorcerer to his laboratory. “It will be a good day.”

Shang Tsung rolled his eyes one more time but pressed a soft kiss to Liu Kang’s lips before disappearing into his lab. He was much too prideful to admit it, but Shang Tsung enjoyed these soft and rare days very much, where Liu Kang showered him with love and attention. Never would he have thought that he would devote himself to a god, but life has a funny way of bringing people together.

[mykingdomforapen]

spinning silk | writer's commentary

Hello! It has been a long journey but my Link Click fic, spinning silk, has come to a finish. It has been a joy to write and to share with you, and I really hope that you enjoyed the journey. I am so excited for you to read it now in its completion!

I thought it would be fun/interesting to include a writer's commentary about the story, as I've included elements that I'm excited about and would love to talk about the thoughts behind them, the history, foreshadowing, et cetera.

I will try to shy away from explaining too much in case we wanna preserve some level of the Author is Dead skskks . Happy to answer questions on a separate post or DMs though if there is interest! If you are interested in this commentary, please join me! If not, no worries and merrily we roll along.

Spoilers ahead!

The Epigraph

It's easy to miss the epigraph in this story, which is at the beginning of chapter 1 and is very brief. I don't know if anyone here is Chinese-literate, or if you popped it into a Translation app. If you have, you would have realised that the epigraph actually spoils the ending of the story!

A reminder of the epigraph:

君埋泉下泥销骨 我寄人间雪满头。 -Bai Juyi For his friend, Yuan Zhen

Bai Juyi and Yuan Zhen were famous Chinese poets from the Tang Dynasty, and good friends. Bai Juyi would have written this after Yuan Zhen died. The poem's translation is thus:

Your bones are buried under the spring mud; I remain in the mortal world with my hair white as snow.

In the context of this poem, white as snow can indicate someone growing old as they sit at the grave of their friend, therefore their hair turning all white. It can, depending on the translation, indicate someone who sat through the winter until snow layered upon their head , by the time spring comes. Or, in the context of Link Click, Lu Guang's white white hair. Which interpretation should it be? 🙂

Also fun fact I accidentally miscredited the poem for the longest time to Li Bai, another famous Tang Dynasty poet. Oops!

Silk

Ah, this story is built on silk. I think it is fairly famous, the 'red thread of fate' from East Asian/Chinese culture, the concept that you are somehow tied to your soulmate by a long, connecting red thread. I wanted to use the concept of thread as fate, but expand it beyond just about soulmates and relationships. That was the motivation behind depending on silk imagery for Liu Xiao's plan, to play on a well-established concept in Chinese mythology and add my own twist to it. Especially since Liu Xiao was the one in S2 to make the comparison, of people having a thousand parallel fates/threads.

As I was musing on an idea for this fic, that was when I happened to visit an exhibit that included the life cycle of a silk worm. My mother then told me how when she was little, she used to raise silk worms as pets. That got me to muse on the process of making silk--how you have to boil the cocoon and then unravel it slowly until it is a single, long thread. You have to be so careful with it because if it breaks it's kind of pointless, and how magnificent it is that such a cocoon could be so uninterrupted, singular, continuous.

Which brings me to the climax with Lu Guang, when he is trapped in a literal and figurative cocoon of silk. So as Liu Xiao had said (or at least, I think he said it...I forget lol)--when you make silk by boiling the cocoons, you kill the silkworm inside. Silkworms leave the cocoons by chewing a hole through it, which essentially renders the silk unusable because it's all chewed and broken, but now the silkworm is a moth and flies free. The thread of silk, the cocoon, must be ripped and ruined, only then can a silkworm emerge with wings, transformed. Only then can it live.

(Fun fact: one of the first things I knew I wanted from this story was the scene of Cheng Xiaoshi using his threads of fate to sew up all the ripped seams of time. That was, in many ways, the impetus of this story's idea--the image of him so selflessly giving up his own future and life to the act of something as gentle as mending)

Wen Xi

I loved writing chapter 2, honestly. Not only because I get to write about a dive, which is the charm and heart of Link Click, and not only because I get to write about my culture and province (Cantonese represent!) but also because in my eyes, the Wen Xi dive functions similarly to how I interpret the earthquake arc functions for canon.

There was a moment where I almost had a scene where CXS actually interacted with Wen Xi in person. He would have run into her at one point, and of course he can't act like he knows her because she doesn't realize he was the one who did the job for him, but he would have had a moment with her. She was sitting on the curb, struggling with some of the mangosteens she bought. He remembers how she doesn't like getting her hands sticky and wet and how Song Liming used to open them for her when they were kids, so he would have asked her if she needed help and gave her that little bit of kindness. This was ultimately scarpered so that he and Qiao Ling could have that more plot-driven moment of worrying over Lu Guang.

Other Deleted Scenes/changed scenes

Not so much a scene as it is a theme that I wish I could have expounded on more but ultimately couldn't figure it out. Which is to say, I wish I could have played around with Liu Xiao more. Liu Xiao, Lu Guang, and Li Tianchen are the trio who are manipulating fate and the future. They are also three characters who are, in their own way and for their own reasons, trying to use the control of time to answer for a painful trauma that they cannot bear to face full-on. For Liu Xiao, that flashback scene of Liu Min would have played a bigger role in the story. I wish I could have completed this, but at the same time, in my head in order for him to confront it is to own up to it, and find healing from it. He did not want to do that in the playground of my imagination. So I left him be.

Actually, Liu Xiao was supposed to be a little more villainous in this story! He would have been a bit more purposeful about Cheng Xiaoshi, knowing that CXS' abilities are causing the 'knot' in the silk and then intending for CXS to die alone/far from Lu Guang so that Lu Guang would not repeat the cycle. Ultimately I preferred Liu Xiao to be a bit more morally gray. He struck me as someone who didn't have a personal grudge against CXS at the end of the day. All he wants is his own peace of mind.

There was also going to be a moment, although I ended up scrapping it early on, where the photograph of Cheng Xiaoshi and his mother would have played a bit more of a role in the story. There would have been a moment where, upon discovering what Lu Guang was doing with the silks and realizing how much damage it was causing not only to him but to the world, Cheng Xiaoshi would have felt like he was the cause of all of Lu Guang's misery and now also the misery of the concept of time and space, since Lu Guang was essentially destroying the world because of him. In a moment of being in a pretty terrible head space, Cheng Xiaoshi would have half considered diving back into that photo as his mom and straight up Terminator his childhood self to save everyone the trouble. Qiao Ling would have strongly talked him out of it. Ultimately I felt that was, well, a bit dark, and not really fitting to the rest of the story.

Speaking of the photograph's purpose, the opening scene used to be a wee bit different, where Cheng Xiaoshi would actually give Qiao Ling the photo of his mother and ask her to hide it from him. He would never explain why, but Qiao Ling would have a guess as to what the reason was. I changed it because I wanted the story to have a bookend. It begins with Qiao Ling holding Cheng Xiaoshi as he slept to keep him warm. As does it ends.

Culture(???)

I'll be honest, I'm borne of expats, so I'm not the one to break down the traditions and culture of the characters. At the same time, I definitely was raised in Chinese culture and spent formative periods of my life in China, so there are a lot of things I take for granted and not think to explain when in fact it is not actually a universal experience.

But anyway! This is a section to explain my caveat. I am Cantonese. Link Click very likely takes place in a northern city. China's food culture is EXTREMELY diverse, so the food that I have eaten in China, because I spend all my time in a specific province, is probably food that Cheng Xiaoshi, Lu Guang, and Qiao Ling seldomly eat! But I couldn't help myself, so I wrote about my favorite foods. Because I write fic for ME.

That also goes for the daily living aspect as well. For all I know, Cantonese doctor visits, city walking, food delivery, groceries, etc. are the same as Northerners. For all I know, it could be wildly different! I have no idea. I do reckon though that our trio live in a quieter, smaller city than what I'm used to. I mean, look at their neighborhood.

Not regarding shanghuo, though. Shanghuo is everywhere in China.

Anyway, a quick rundown of things:

black sesame porridge: A very Cantonese sweet porridge. Technically considered dessert, but also lauded to be full of nutrition. Technically considered 'soup' but I write fic for me.

Also, black sesame soymilk. Soymilk is great.

Sun Wukong- LG compares himself, or wished to compare himself, to Sun Wukong escorting Tang Sanzang to the west. This is in reference to our beloved Monkey King in The Journey to the West! He is an iconic literary figure dating back to idk I think the 1400s or something and his story is quite long and mythical but long story short his mission was to escort a monk westward, towards South Asia, to collect some important scripts. He had to protect Tan Sanzang from all sorts of demons and devils along the way.

Pixiu- Lu Guang makes a passing comment in his point of view about putting a Pixiu at his doorstep and hoping it pays off Cheng Xiaoshi's debt. Pixiu is a little guy (arguably dragon, probably not) that likes to gobble up gold. If you put a little Pixiu statue in your area, the idea is that he will bring wealth to you. He's got a whole story about him where he ate up all the gold of the heavenly palace and the Jade Empress was so mad she sewed up his butthole so he would have eternal constipation, or something like that. Don't correct me if that's wrong because that's how the story was told to me and I delight in it LOL. I love him. He's my favorite idiot.

Clay pot rice -Also a very Cantonese dish. Frankly, the rest of China is missing out if it is only contained in the Canton province. Rice that is cooked with meats in a clay pot which makes the rice v ery aromatic and deliciously crispy around the sides. Qiao Ling was NOT going to take that out for takeout, that girl was 100% just gonna treat herself in a restaurant and CXS was gonna have to deal with scraps and leftovers.

Zhinü- I'm realizing that Lu Guang makes a lot of references in his internal monologue LOL. This is in reference to the Weaver Girl and Cowherd folktale, one of China's Four Great Folktales (which include Lady Meng Jiang, Legend of White Snake which is my personal favorite, and the Butterfly Lovers). It's a very classic Chinese story about a celestial weaver girl, Zhinü, who is the daughter of I think the Jade Emperor who is like the heavenly king of gods, and her lover the mortal cowherd. Long story short, her father was unhappy that she fell in love with a mortal and so separated her from her husband and children with the Milky Way. One day a year, the birds take pity on the lovers and form a bridge across the galaxy so that they can reunite. Between her and Lu Guang's weaving--or rather, spinning silk--I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a reference.

yangmei wine - Liu Xiao is drinking some Yangmei wine. Yangmei is a type of fruit in China and I am pretty sure I actually made him drink a different wine than what I'm imagining. What I intended for him to drink is a wine that is made of a particular fruit that isn't strictly speaking edible, or at least not eaten for enjoyment. It's usually always only used for making wine, and you let the little plums (so t ospeak) soak in the alcohol until it is a bright red. Very sweet. Very strong.

Sanmao- At one point Lu Guang compares Cheng Xiaoshi to Sanmao because Cheng Xiaoshi had a small sliver of hope for his parents snatched right from underneath his nose. Sanmao is an iconic Chinese character from a long-running comic that began in the 1930s. He is a poor orphan boy during the era before and during WWII, who is just trying to survive extreme poverty. He is often mistreated by passerbys and is very lonely, often looking longingly at other kids who have food to eat and have parents. Every time someone treats him with kindness and he has just a little bit of hope that he can have a family or some good fortune, some awful circumstance happens, usually tied to tense socioeconomic injustice or war.

One of the less traumatic panels of the comic lol:

Jiuzhaigou- Cheng Xiaoshi mentions wishing that he could go there one day, and then at the end Qiao Ling and Lu Guang say that they will go together. Jiuzhaigou is in the Sichuan province, it is a nature realm that is very beautiful. There are natural deposits that make the lakes ultramarine blue and crystal clear. It's so beautiful! A photographer's dream.

Tangyuan- sweet and sticky rice dumplings that can be filled with sweet filling such as peanuts, black sesame paste, sweet egg, or more! They are often eaten during holidays, both during Winter Solstice and the 15th day after Lunar New Year. Indeed they are symbolizing family togetherness, although less because of stickiness and more because of a pun in their name. But maybe stickiness has something to do with it? Winter Solstice foods in different regions of China are also somewhat sticky, even if they don't typically eat tangyuan. I just know what I'm told lol.

Doraemon-A popular Japanese manga/anime from the 50s or 60s that is immensely beloved by the Chinese to this day. He is a robotic cat from the future with a fourth dimensional pocket full of futuristic gadgets that he uses to help Nobita, a fourth grader in the 50s, with his every day problems. He's wonderful. Also, he has a time machine which is tucked in Nobita's homework desk. Fitting....

Yixiu- Another popular Japanese anime, I believe from the 80s, that was also quite popular in China. It's about Ikkyu-san, a little monk/prince whose profound wisdom solved all sorts of grown-up's shenanigans.

Jiejie- A reader had asked the significance of Cheng Xiaoshi calling Qiao Ling this in the penultimate so I figured I'd bring it up here as well. 'Jie' is an indicator of older sister, or a bit of a respectful but also affectionate term for a young woman. Just like how Lu Guang calls Qiao Ling 'Qiao Ling jie' in the show. When he does it, it's friendly but also not actually meaning that he sees her as a sister sister because it's attached to her whole name. Cheng Xiaoshi in this story, not necessarily canon, refers to her as Ling jie every now and then. To me, this is him hearkening to childhood terms, as that is what his parents would refer to her as when he was growing up.

Take this with a grain of salt because I am a diaspora and not originally from the culture. Qiao Ling referring to Cheng Xiaoshi as 'didi' (little brother) in the show, and in the end Cheng Xiaoshi calling Qiao Ling 'jiejie' (big sister) in this fic are not rare, so to speak, or inappropriate, but you don't typically refer to someone who isn't related to you as your 'didi' or 'jiejie' unless they are blood related to you. You can call your sibling this, or your cousins this, but uuuuusually not someone who is like a sibling to you--singularly, yes, like Ling jie, but not typically Jiejie. Them calling each other this means that they truly see each other as their sibling. Also, those terms are a little bit childlike, so to speak. There are more 'grown-up' ways to refer to your little brother or big sister. In Cheng Xiaoshi's case, someone his age will probably refer to a sister as 'a jie' or 'jia jie'--at least, in Cantonese this is the case. 'Jiejie' is a little kid's way of calling their sibling. Like, up until I was about 7 years old I would have referred to my sister this way. To call someone 'jiejie' now, particularly to their face, I feel is a very vulnerable address. It's like if you as an adult who usually calls their mother 'Mom', in a time of deep distress or sadness and in need of comfort, revert to calling her 'mama' or 'mommy'. Like, you're both probably in tears to get to this point. At least, that is my experience with addresses, and therefore Cheng Xiaoshi's lol. Any fellow sinos out there can correct me but that was my intention for that part of the story. Cheng Xiaoshi is vulnerable, and he is seeking comfort from his big sister.

Mama's nursery rhyme- The story of the little rabbits and their Mama Rabbit is a very well known children's story in China. The story wasrecounted as close to memory as I can, so the only other thing I can say about it is that this is how the song goes.

Well, that's all I can think of right now! If there are any questions or you're curious about something, feel free to send me a message! Otherwise, I hope I didn't resuscitate the author too much.

[vodika-vibes]

first off just wanted to say congrats for 500 followers!!! that’s such a great achievement🎉

and second i saw that you’re tup girlie and figured i’d drop a request for the event with tup!! i was thinking something with diamond bc our boy deserves a love that is everlasting😌✨✨ and could you make it gender neutral please?

Just The Two Of Us

Summary: You love Tup. It’s easy. Simple. The easiest thing you’ve ever done. You just aren’t sure if he feels the same way.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Tup x GN!Reader

Word Count: 540

Prompt: Diamond - Everlasting Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you! And I'm always happy to write for baby boy Tup! I don't get to very often because people don't request him very often.

“Alright, are you ready?” You ask as you take Tup’s hand and tug him down the street.

“I am, but where are we going, cyare?” Tup asks, his gaze alight with fondness as you pull him through the crowds.

“It’s a secret!”

He laughs softly, and takes several large steps so that he’s standing next to you, and he threads his fingers with yours, “But wouldn’t it be more fun if you told me where we were going?” Tup asks, as he leans in so his nose is almost bumping yours.

“...are you trying to seduce me into spilling my secret?”

“Is it working?”

“....yes.”

He laughs, his forehead lightly bumping against yours, “Great! So where are we going?”

“I…might have reserved a room at the botanical garden for our date tonight.”

Tup blinks at you, “Cyare, that can’t have been cheap-”

“You’re worth it.” You say quickly, “Now! Hurry up!” You tug continue to tug him though the streets, until you reach the garden. Where you then lead him to one of the small greenhouses.

A greenhouse full of blue and white flowers.

You intentionally chose this greenhouse.

And there, in the middle of the room, is a table for two, with lit candles and a cooler full of food next to it. There’s also soft music filling the room. “Ta-dah~” You say nervously, as you look at his face to try and determine what he thinks.

“You did all of this for me?”

“Yup.”

“The picnic-?”

“Your favorite curry, the cooler is specially designed to keep hot food hot.” You explain quickly.

“The music-”

“You really liked it when we went dancing that one time-”

“The candles?” Tup asks, a slow grin crossing his face as he leans into your personal space.

“Uh…scented candles. The spicy scented ones you really like.”

“Mm,” His arms wrap securely around your waist and for some, ridiculous, reason you’re feeling kind of flustered with how he’s looking at you, “The flowers-”

“I like blue and white,” You say sheepishly, “and they make me think of you.”

“You didn’t have to go all out for me, cyare.” Tup says, a wide grin on his handsome face as he leans in so that his lips are hovering just over yours.

“Well,” You say, somehow even more flustered, “I love you and you’re worth it-”

You’re not able to finish your statement as his lips claim yours in a deep, and passionate kiss.

“You love me, huh?” Tup murmurs against your lips.

“Was that ever in doubt?”

He chuckles, “No. You’re not terribly subtle.” He kisses you again and again, “I love you too. Just as much.”

“You do?”

“You doubt it?”

“No. Never,” You kiss him quickly, “But you’ve never said one way or the other-”

“I’m sorry for making you worry. I didn’t want to pressure you. And then I just thought that you could tell.” Tup murmurs, “Will you ever forgive me?”

You beam at him, “Already forgiven.”

He releases a sigh of relief, “Good. That’s good.” Tup leans in and kisses you again, his arms tight around you.

You have a good feeling about tonight, and about the rest of your life. After all, you have Tup, and he has you.

[crabs-with-sticks]

Happy Friday! Could I suggest "[ADJUST] Sender straightens/fixes receivers clothing (Tie, coat, hair accessory, etc.)" for your Political Marriage Powerhouse Duo? (What an iconic description!)

Combined with this prompt by @tevivinter. Lucanis and Electra are so sibling coded it was too incestuous to make them kiss lmao (they're not related at all), so free Davrin smooches instead! And also Electra's clusterfuck of a sex life (she gets around okay)

@dadrunkwriting veilguard spoilers

Electra was dressed in her wedding gown when Davrin pulled her in close by the small of her back. He pressed his lips to hers, and she inhaled his scent of maple wood and griffon. She slipped her tounge into his mouth, and Davrin deepened the kiss, tipping her backwards so she was clinging to his shoulders. She didn’t care if she fell, all she cared was that he was here. Davrin pulled apart from her first, breathless as he looked down at her. Electra laughed, and wiped at a smudge of her lipstick on his mouth with her thumb.

 “You know,” Electra said, with a cheeky smile “that probably shouldn’t have happened. I am getting married to Lucanis today after all.”

But Davrin was having none of it, keeping her close, “well,” he said with a jovial tone, “I figured you should have at least one enjoyable kiss today.”

“What,” said Lucanis from behind them, “you think I’m not a good kisser?” Lucanis finished with a raised eyebrow.

Electra snickered at Davrin’s jump and silent curse in elven. No matter how long he was around Crows, Davrin had not yet managed to get used to being snuck up on. He attempted to regain his dignity with a shrug, though it was not particularly effective. “Well, I mean… in comparison to this,” Davrin said, gesturing down his body, cocky smile on his lips, “it’s not my fault you’re competing against the best of the best, Lucanis. I’d offer you tips if you were marrying anybody other than Electra.”

Electra rolled her eyes, “please don’t remind either of us that we have to kiss today.” She shivered, “it just feels wrong. Like kissing a brother.”

She turned in Davrin’s arms to look at her fiancé properly. He was dressed in a tailored suit, clearly expensive, his waistcoat embroidered with thread of gold crows in flight. Still, he looked uncomfortable in it, and she could see his hands tugging at his sleeves and readjusting his tie.

Electra stepped forwards and swatted his hands away and straightened his suit for him. “Stop fussing,” she commanded, “you’ll mess up your entire look, and then you’ll make Caterina sad. And if Caterina is sad, then you know that Teia is just going to start pulling out knives.”

“Might actually make the ceremony more interesting,” Davrin chimed in.

“Oh hush you,” said Electra. Turning back to Lucanis she gave him a reassuring nod, “we’ve got this Lucanis. Nothing to worry about.”

He relaxed a little and smiled, bringing Electra into a hug, “right,” he said over her shoulder, voice wavering as she squeezed him tightly. “Nothing to worry about.” He looked like he wanted to start fidgeting again, but stopped under his fiance’s baleful gaze. “Well, I just wanted to come let Davrin know that the event organiser has been asking for him.”

“Ugh, really?” Asked Davrin, “you humans make such a fuss of things.”

“She has knives so you might want to hurry.”

“Fine,” Davrin said sullenly, though both of them could hear the barely contained sarcasm. He trudged towards the door, Lucanis following after him. Electra pulled Lucanis back, waving Davrin out of the room.

She smiled, and he seemed to ease ever so slightly. “You nervous? She asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

Electra shrugged, “I just know you well. If you get nervous during the ceremony, just think about what a rare occurrence this wedding is!”

“Talon’s have political marriages all the time, you know.”

“Not that bit. I don’t imagine there’s many weddings where the bride has slept with every member of the wedding party except for the groom. We won’t even do it when we’re married!”

Lucanis frowned as he went through the names, “mierda, you’re right,” he said, laughing with wide eyes. Viago was giving her away, Davrin was Electra’s Man of Honour, and Illario was Lucanis’ Best Man.

Electra bit her lip, “do you think there is enough time to seduce the Grand Cleric before the ceremony starts?”

Lucanis squinted at the clock on the wall, “you’ve got 45 minutes?”

Her face scrunched up, “it’ll be close, but I’m sure I can manage it.”

[royaltysuite]

Behave! (A Park Jung-gil NSFW Oneshot)

Summary: Y/n never ‘liked’ working with or around Jung-gil. Each time, they did their best to irritate him to no end. However, word soon reached the Director about Y/n’s antics, so she decides to punish Y/n by sending them off to an abandoned house with Jung-gil in hopes that they’ll get along with one another. However, one wrong move from Y/n snaps the last thread holding Jung-gil’s sanity together and he makes it very clear who’s in charge……

Warnings: SMUT, just pure filth, rough sex, hate sex, oral receiving (male), slapping, spitting, degradation, dacryphilia, a bit of breath-play, over-stimulation, possessiveness, etc.

Word Count: 1.9k

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“HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY!” The loud, annoying chattering of Y/n echoed loudly as they followed behind the Escort Team’s leader, Park Jung-gil, as he strolled through the empty corridor towards his office. “HEY, you brick wall, you don’t know how to greet a colleague? Wow…….” That was just the first encounter of many to come. 

A week later, their paths crossed once more in a hospital. “Hey, rookie, you good?” Y/n asked Jun-woong, who collapsed on the floor 10 feet from his hospital room. They didn’t get a chance to answer when he was suddenly grabbed and flung through the hall. Jun-woong hit the wall with a loud thud, grunting in pain and letting out a stream of curses. Taking in the scene, Y/n turned to Jung-gil with an irk in their eyes. “Isn’t it against the rules to attack a fellow reaper in the World of the Living?” “Isn’t it about time for you to shut your mouth?” Jung-gil answered, growing annoyed.

After that encounter with Jun-woong in the hospital, any time Jung-gil and Y/n would cross paths, the banter would grow more and more annoying. It became too much once the Director caught word of it. Calling Y/n to her office, the Director began to format a specific punishment for them. 

A couple of minutes had passed before a loud knock echoed in the garden. “Come in, Y/n.” The Jade Emperor called out, prompting said reader to enter and close the door behind them. “You called, madam?” Y/n asked, bowing their head in respect. “Yes. I’ve caught wind from a little bird that you’ve been causing a bit of mischief to a certain someone. And that someone being Mr.Park from the Escort Team. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” She spoke, her gaze focused on the plant in front of her.

“It is just playful banter between two colleagues. Nothing too extreme.” “Hmm, while it may not be extreme, it revolves around one specific person and that cannot happen. So, instead of me scolding you with a lecture on respect for your seniors, I want you to go to this location. Once you arrive, you cannot leave until you finish the tasks. You may go now.” She explained. “Yes ma’am.” “You are dismissed.” “Yes, ma’am.” Y/n responded.

After her meeting with the Director, Y/n left to the address written on the paper given to her. It took a few hours to get there, but as they closed in on the destination, Y/n saw a figure in the distance that looked vaguely familiar. “Is that….Jung-gil? Why is he here?” Y/n mumbled with confusion. Once they got closer to the house, they parked at the end of the driveway before exiting the car. “Mr. Park, what are you doing here?” “The Director sent me here for an assignment though seeing as you’re also here, it would seem that she set us up on purpose.” He replied. 

“Well then, I guess we’re stuck here together.” “What do you mean?” “She didn’t tell you? Until we can get along and be respectful to one another, we aren’t allowed to return to Jumadeung. Now, I don’t know about you but I could use a break.” Y/n spoke, shuffling to the front door and entering the house. Jung-gil sighed in annoyance before entering after Y/n. 

Once inside, Jung-gil couldn’t help but feel annoyed at his current predicament. Just why was he the one to be stuck with Y/n of all reapers? “Aren’t you going to sit down or stand there like an idiot with his hand stuck up his ass?” Y/n chided. “Why must you act this way?” “Because it’s just how I feel. Is that so wrong? Should I act like you instead? All cold and frigid with no care about the world?”

“This is why no one can respect you in the workplace. You act so childish and ignorant.” He berated, frustration clear as day. “Childish?! Ignorant?! How dare you?” Y/n shouted, feeling embarrassed at his statement. Y/n stood up in a huff and marched towards Jung-gil until their chests could almost touch. “I pity the souls you had to escort. They should have been escorted by someone who they didn’t fear, like me. Tell me, in any of your past lives, were you ever happy?” 

That lone remark tipped Jung-gil over the edge. Wrapping his hand around their throat, Jung-gil pressed them harshly up against the wall. “Shut your mouth!” He seethed. “Or what?” The tension grew thicker as each beat of silence grew louder and louder. Soon enough, Y/n couldn’t hold it in any longer and pressed their lips against his. The action caught Jung-gil by surprise but it soon faded into an intense lust.

Their lips moved with such vigor, it left them breathless. Soon, they pulled away to breathe. “Take them off.” “Take what off?" Jung-gil huffed, a dark look of lust clouding his eyes. "Your clothes. I want them off. Now." "Don't forget who's in charge, you filthy brat. On your knees." He barked. "Make me~" Y/n chided with a teasing smirk.

              That smirk was quickly wiped off with a hard slap to Y/n's face. The pain was quick and heat pooled quickly in between Y/n's legs. "Don't make me say it again. On your knees, slut." "Yes sir." Sliding down to the hard floor, Y/n looked up at Jung-gil through their lashes with droopy eyelids.

             "If you don't want this, say 정지. Do you understand?" Jung-gil stated. While they may have been crossing many lines, Jung-gil wanted to be clear about what Y/n wanted while they were still somewhat clear-headed and not wanting to take advantage of them. "I understand, but could you hurry up and fuck me already? Or will I have to do all the work by myself?" They responded.

          Jung-gil scoffed and pulled Y/n into another heated kiss, letting go and allowing them to move closer to the couch nearby. Taking a seat in between Jung-gil's legs, Y/n made quick work of his pants and shuffled them down to the middle of his thighs. They slowly ran their hands against the imprint of his length prompting a sharp hiss from Jung-gil’s mouth.

         "Someone's a bit sensitive~" "Shut up…" "Whatever." Not wanting to waste a moment longer, Y/n led a trail of open-mouthed kisses along his clothed cock all the way up to his waistband. Sliding two fingers in between, they pulled down his underwear and revealed what they wanted most. Eyes widening, they let out a breath they didn't know that they were even holding.

          In all its glory, Y/n began to wonder if they were going to be able to stand after this. "So beautiful…" They whispered before moving in closer and taking his cock into their mouth. The sudden warmth overwhelmed Jung-gil in a rapid wave and he bucked his hips upwards gagging Y/n for a quick second.

          Placing a hand on his pelvis, Y/n signaled for Jung-gil to relax a bit. It was enough to cause him to pull back just a bit before he began a shallow pace. With each thrust, Jung-gil could see a slight imprint of his length in Y/n’s throat. Just the sight of it made his cock twitch in immense pleasure. But, that pleasure was ripped away before it became too much for him to handle. “Don’t worry, big guy, you’ll get more. But, I need you to hurry up and fuck me.” They murmured, rising to their feet and stepping out of the rest of their clothes. 

             The sight of their naked bodies could be barely seen in the soft moonlight, but Jung-gil could easily see how flushed they looked. “Bend over.” He commanded with an authoritative tone. “Yes sir…” Y/n responded without any hesitation. They rested their body across the arm of the couch, arching their back as if they were presenting themselves to him. 

              Jung-gil pressed his hips against the curve of their ass, sliding his cock in between their thighs. Giving a few thrusts between the supple flesh of their thighs, he let out a soft groan before aligning himself with their entrance. “Hurry up~” They whined, but were cut off by the sudden pressure of his cock slipping past their entrance. Y/n and Jung-gil moaned loudly, the pleasure slowly building once more. “Holy shit, feel so full~~” Y/n wailed, tears pricking at the corners of their eyes. Once adjusted, Jung-gil set a languid pace to get used to the tight feeling of their hole.

          However, that didn’t last for long. Jung-gil slipped out before plunging deep into them at an even faster speed. Each thrust sent shivers down Y/n’s spine as they let out short screams in pleasure. “F-fuck!!!” “So fucking good…”  The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly as the room got hotter and hotter. “Please, please - more!” “Who’s in charge?” Jung-gil, yanking Y/n’s head back, hissed into their ear. Barely understanding, they let out a whimpering moan in response. “Who’s in charge, baby girl? Tell daddy who’s in charge of this slutty hole~” “Y-you, daddy! You’re in charge!” 

           “That’s right, slut…” Tilting my head to his, Jung-gil squeezed my cheeks together before spitting directly into my open mouth. Y/n groaned deeply, the act bringing them closer to finishing. The coil in their stomach was so tight that with a sharp thrust, it snapped. Y/n came with a loud scream, eyes rolling back so far in their head all they could see was white. This triggered Jung-gil’s release and he filled their hole with warm ropes of cum. Slowly coming down from their highs, the two fell back against the couch while breathing shallowly. 

            “Just know that I’m still going to annoy you.” “Yeah, whatever.”

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                The following weeks after their night together, Y/n stayed true to their statement of annoying Jung-gil at work. Only, just not as much as they used to. Jung-gil, on the other hand, slowly began accepting the taunts with a smirk. This didn’t go unnoticed by the Director. “I guess my plan succeeded then..” They whispered with a small smile.

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Author’s Note: After such a long while, I have finally finished up this request. I swear I’ve written and rewritten this so many times that I slowly forget how to spell words. But, that’s besides the point. I hope that you guys enjoy this and don’t forget that commissions and requests are open. They’ll be open until the end of my birthday week (ends on August 12th) so that way I can catch up on any other requests. With that being said, Stay Classy~~~