#anxiety coaching program | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whowritessometimes · 6 months ago

Text

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

#art donaldson x reader #mike faist #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #mike faist imagine

2K notes · View notes

deancasbigbang · 2 months ago

Text

Title: Mind Your Own Business

Author: BunnyHunter

Artist: Melle OtterWise

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, background Sam/Jess

Length: 50000

Warnings: No major archive warnings apply

Tags: Alternate universe, Stanford/College AU, Dating, First times, Past Dean/others, non-graphic descriptions of violence and drug use, hurt/comfort, falling in love, Dean and Cas both working through some stuff

Posting Date: October 17, 2024

Summary: While the ability to overhear the secret thoughts of the people around him was distracting at best and anxiety-inducing at worst, Castiel has found ways to cope that include a pair of noise canceling headphones and burying himself in his research. After hearing inner thoughts for his entire life, there were very few things he overheard that surprised him anymore. So imagine his shock when his roommate Sam's brother, Dean, came to stay with them. While Dean may have been able to keep a straight face on the outside, he was constantly thinking about banging Castiel.

Excerpt: The bus arrived ten minutes late, hissing to a stop at Castiel’s corner. He boarded, swiped his monthly pass, and claimed his usual seat by the back door. His trusty, over-the-ears noise-canceling headphones drowned out all external noise with the soft sounds of faraway thunderstorms. The vehicle was nearly empty, filled only with a handful of weary commuters. The day had been a marathon. Fall quarter had barely begun at Stanford, yet he was already drowning in work. Assisting Professor Adler with Physics 101 was proving to be his most time-consuming endeavor. The prospect of coaching stressed-out undergrads through basic physics for the entire quarter filled him with dread. Of course, he couldn’t complain. He knew what he was signing up for when he enrolled in the graduate program. It wasn’t the work itself that bothered him. Preparing lectures, grading papers, even the occasional teaching gig were necessary evils in academia, although his true passion lay in research. No, the problem wasn’t the workload. It was the people. Physics 101 was a behemoth of a class, encompassing multiple sections and hundreds of students. He predicted that his office hours would become a hectic battleground around midterms and finals, which he was not looking forward to. Dealing with any amount of people, especially large groups of people, was a challenge for Castiel. On the nearly empty bus, he could, theoretically, take off his headphones without much issue. There were only a few others around, and he could handle that. But if the bus had been crowded, like it was in the mornings, wearing his expensive noise-canceling headphones with the volume cranked up would be a non-starter. Castiel didn't mind being around people. He just couldn't stand hearing them. Especially when no one was speaking. Because for as long as he could remember, Castiel could hear people's thoughts as clearly as if they were speaking aloud. Thoughts were sometimes loud, sometimes just whispers. People who had internal monologues running through their heads were a near-constant source of noise. Those without them sounded like random ideas or concepts drifting through the air like lost bumblebees. But he always heard them. It was especially bad with large groups of people. The more people around, the more thoughts built up into an unrelenting orchestra of noise. That's why he wore headphones, to block it all out and escape the constant barrage of sound. It was also why he was looking forward to going home.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

82 notes · View notes

luvhughes43 · 1 year ago

Note

After Blake’s own injury’s she’s so hyper aware and sensitive about injuries. She must’ve had such a difficult time when both Nico and Jack were injured and then seeing Luke get hurt at last nights game.

this!!!

after her injury, nobody really anticipated how she would react when her siblings, nico, anyone she knows gets injured

a few months after her injury, her parents encouraged her to watch a game with them and she agrees. jack gets hit HARD. and he’s slow to get up

blake feels like she’s back in that arena all those months ago, pain shooting up her back as she sobbed out in pain.

she’s having vivid flashbacks to her fall, and she starts hyperventilating but her parents don’t realize what’s happening because jack finally gets up off the ice.

when they turn their attention to blake, she’s shaking and there’s tears streaming down her face. they can see the cameras start to focus on the family’s reaction to the hit and so now they’re trying to shield blake from everyone while also trying to calm her down

they leave the game early, and while blake rests her parents come up with a plan to get her into extra therapy sessions + find programs that can help support her.

a few years after her injury she’s made a lot of progress in her mental health journey, but injuries still affect her.

like with nico, her anxieties and traumas make her step away from him. she doesn’t want to suffocate him, and she’s so worried that she’ll say or do the wrong thing or maybe make his injury worse by being around him? (her coaches were always manipulating her and so sometimes she has this warped sense of reality where she doesn’t know how to properly process/react to things. like they’d blame her for all of her injuries and not take responsibilities for their abusive tactics, etc.)

so a big thing in their relationship is to communicate and listen to each other. nico is always super accommodating to blake’s struggles and he’s always there to reassure her that she’s not hurting or going to hurt him.

anyway, with her siblings it’s a little different. whenever they get injured she sees herself in them. she recalls her injury and she gets so stressed / upset that they’re going to get seriously hurt and maybe even have to end their careers prematurely.

she struggles a lot when it comes to the people she loves being injured, but everyone’s super understanding and patient with her healing process. everyone makes sure to call or show her that they’re fine, going to get better, etc. there’s a lot of therapy and heart to hearts with family/nico for sure.

#blake hughes au #hughes!sister #nico hischier x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #nhl imagine

167 notes · View notes

strawberryblondebutch · 13 days ago

Note

Any more analysis about Boston team wise or specific player wise?

Anon, you have given me a platform that I am going to use to push my agenda.

Let's talk about my favorite college player and the steal of the 2025 draft.

This is Casey O'Brien, a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin. She's a captain this season, a center, and the combination of her cage placement and her earrings on the ice gives me anxiety. For reasons I do not understand, she has never been a USA Hockey darling - she's gotten some camp invites but has yet to appear at the senior level (outside of a very brief appearance in one Rivalry Series game), which is why her draft stock is so bad. Because, for whatever reason, she hasn't played the national team politics game.

So what's there to like about her?

I've talked before, in the context of the NHL and the PWHL alike, about things you can develop in the pros, things that come along with age, and things that you need to hope you come to the pros already knowing how to do. It's one of the reasons I liked the Jett Luchanko pick so much: the hardest things to teach (puck IQ and fearlessness) are the ones he has already developed at 18. Anything he needs to work on with his game will come along naturally - the kid is only 18. His speed and strength are both gonna keep going up for another decade. Contrast this with Jamie Drysdale, whose biggest hole in his game is that he freezes when he touches the puck. And that might take years to coach out of him. It's also my biggest problem with Fillier - she used to be a dynamic, instinctive player, and somewhere in the last two years, she lost that.

I do not think I am exaggerating when I say that O'Brien has one of the highest game IQs that I have seen at the NCAA level. Watch her over a full 60-minute game, and she is always exactly where she needs to be. As of my writing this, she ranks second all-time in NCAA program assists and is closing in on the record of 208. One of the reasons I suspect she hasn't gotten as much attention as her teammates, or the other members of her draft class, is because they score goals and she gets assists, which shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the role that a good playmaker takes on the ice. She can score when she needs to, but your favorite 50-goal scorers aren't getting those numbers without someone who can get them elite chances. O'Brien is also a face-off striker, which is critical in, well, any zone. You never want to start on the backfoot.

Her one flaw isn't much of one at all - she's small. She's really small for a center, clocking in at 5'4". That's half a foot shorter than Heise and Knight, who are more typical power forward centers. But, as with Kendall Coyne, being undersized gives you an explosive acceleration that bigger players don't always get as they drag more weight behind them.

So, we're looking at a high-IQ center who wins faceoffs, excels at setting up scoring chances for her teammates, and is smaller than her position usually dictates. Bonus points if she's undervalued relative to her peers and... goddammit I'm describing Claude Giroux aren't I.

If you have not been personally victimized by the Philadelphia Flyers, first of all, I envy you. Second of all, this is Claude Giroux, longtime captain who we sent to a farm upstate (Miami, technically, then he escaped the farm and went home to Ottawa). G, while starting to show a little rust with age, is one of the most dominant playmakers of this era. Since moving permanently off the wing ten years ago, his career face-off rate is 57.4% - Patrice Bergeron, considered one of the best centers of all time, retired at a 58.2% clip.

G is also on the smaller end. The NHL website lists him at a very generous 5'11" - having seen him, I think he's closer to 5'9". While he can't physically overpower opponents the same way a bigger center can, he has that speed and acceleration advantage, which also contributes to his agility. G's ability to turn on a dime is what lets him always get to where he needs to be, which we see with OB.

So, if G is this good... why is he always put in the A-tier conversation, and not S-tier? Part of it is that, for a playmaker to thrive, those teammates need to execute those plays, and Giroux had the misfortune of playing for the Flyers, whose roster-building skills are best considered incompetent. Yes, I said best. OB has never had this problem, thus allowing her to put together 73 points in 41 games last year (1.78 PPG). The other reason G is so underrated? He had the misfortune of being in the same era - and division - as Crosby and Ovi, the two best snipers of their generation and two bona-fide Hall of Famers. His less-flashy, more cerebral skillset receded into the background against their instant stardom, the same way that OB has dropped on draft lists against consensus 1OA Abbey Murphy, a USA Hockey darling with a reputation that precedes her.

Whoever gets OB in this draft is getting the steal of the year. She can quarterback a power play, clear space in the D-zone, and set up your Spooners, your Poulins, your seeing-eye snipers. GMs... leave #26 open. You're gonna need it.

#answered #kiera watches hockey #pwhl #wisconsin badgers #casey o'brien #claude giroux #philadelphia flyers #ottawa senators

31 notes · View notes

bluwavez · 6 months ago

Text

YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO PLAY AS KIWOO !

THE DEEPDIVE EXPERIENCE is a simulation game where you will experience the members' lives up until now. Currently playing as KIWOO, the story will contain themes and situations of GRIEF, DEATH, SUICIDE, DEPRESSION, NEGLECTFUL PARENTS, and MANIPULATION. Please click off now if these themes and situations will be too much for you.

CLICK HERE TO CHOOSE WHO TO PLAY AS NEXT.

— 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝟏 ; 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃.

CURRENT INVENTORY:

Your favorite teddy bear named Lucy. A copy of "Weathered Blossom" by Park Wang-Suh. A cup of tea you'll share with your mother. A bandaid for your scraped knee. Your love for your big sister, Namjoo. Stickers you stole from Namjoo's room. Strawberries for later. Your favorite treat, gummy worms. A collection of CDS your father gave you.

The house you grew up in is dusty and small. Your parents work typical office jobs that you don't know much about. You just know they're tired and don't have much time to clean the house. You wish it was cleaner here, but that's only when you think about it for too long. You have an older sister, Namjoo, who loves to sing and dance like your father did, but only on the weekends. It's been a long time since you've seen your father smile.

You're the apple of your sister's eye. She cares for you like a mother should. She brushes your hair before school, helps you with homework, and even makes dinner for you when mom is working too late. You love your sister very much. She's your best friend. You smile every time you see her even when she makes you learn silly girl group dances.

Namjoo says, "I have dreams of being a dancer. You can be the singer. You're a good singer, you know?"

You didn't know, but now you do.

— 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝟐 ; 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒.

CURRENT INVENTORY:

A camera you bought at a thrift store. Depression and Anxiety, a blossoming friendship. An invitation to train at Angelico Entertainment. A journal your mother gave you. Your love for your big sister, Namjoo. Books, lots of books. Tea you drink by yourself.

At fourteen, you realize you're gay. It wasn't a shock to anyone else but yourself. Your mom was more understanding than you thought she would be, but deep down, you know it's because she doesn't really care about your life, just getting you out of the house. Your father didn't react, just saying, "Tell me something new." He went back to eating his dinner with nothing in his eyes. Namjoo was supportive but told you to keep it to yourself. She says, "People are mean to gay people. I don't want them being mean to you for something you can't change." So you didn't tell anyone else.

At fourteen, Namjoo drags you to an Angelico Entertainment audition. You didn't really care about K-pop or being an idol--In fact, you want to be a librarian, but Namjoo can't do anything without you, just like you can't do anything without her. You two sing "Give Love" by AKMU without missing a beat, and doing the choreography Namjoo flawlessly made you practice for weeks. You're good at dancing, even if it hurts your ankles.

The table of judges loves you two. They adore your sister, but they favor you more. You're younger and a boy, but you can hit high notes like a girl. The man who sits at the center of the table, Son Jinhwa, his nameplate says, tells you that you have the potential to be a star. You've never thought about being a star before.

You start training the next week and move out of the house at just fourteen. You think it's normal.

Training is hard—really hard. You get called ugly by the managers, a pig by the dance instructors, and useless by your vocal coach, but you pass your evaluations with flying colors every time. In fact, you're one of the top trainees in the company. Even being in the top ten trainees, you feel useless and tired. You're so tired.

When Namjoo fails her third vocal evaluation, she's cut from the trainee program. You see this as your way out, and without question, you begin packing your bags with her.

"No," She tells you firmly. You knit your brows.

"I'm going with you. I always go with you."

"Not this time. This is a big company, Kiwoo. You heard Jinhwa. You're going to be a star."

"I don't want to be a star."

"Sometimes we don't have a say in what we become." You had never seen Namjoo this serious before. You hate it. You start to cry because the thought of doing this without her sounds even worse than hell. You experience your first panic attack right there on the spot. Crying, gasping for air, feeling like your heart is going to explode, you can't breathe even with Namjoo counting down from ten to calm you down.

Despite this, you keep training and Namjoo goes to a different company. A smaller one. She's sure to debut there.

You're fifteen when you get put on the survival show. The New Wave. It's awful.

Most of the boys are mean and don't want to be friends. Everyone but you is desperate to debut; you're only desperate to get to your phone to talk to your best friend and sister. Namjoo's debut is coming up soon, and if you want to be there for her debut stage, not competing on a survival show, you have no chance of winning.

Or so you thought.

The people like you—they like you a lot. Your rank only gets higher every week, and by the finale, you're in sixth place. You barely made it, but you made it. You're debuting with six other boys you either don't like or don't know the name of. Either way, you're excited. You cry when Jinhwa announces your name because you just can't believe it. The worst is over, you think as you stand on that bright blue stage.

You were so naive.

— 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝟑 ; 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒.

CURRENT INVENTORY:

The keys to your parents' house, you rarely use them. Tea bags for you and Noah. Matches because you hate using lighters. Hunger. The grief it's weighing you down significantly.

You never told anyone, but when you were 17 and Namjoo was 21, you two began planning how you two were going to kill yourselves. After only two years of activity, she brought it up first after her group disbanded. You were initially indifferent to the idea, but the more you two talked about it, the more serious it became. Truthfully, what did you have to live for?

DeepDive wasn't doing well. They weren't doing horrible, but they were underperforming to the point that Jinhwa often shipped you guys off to Japan. The group did well in Japan—nothing crazy, but better than they've ever done in Korea. You two texted about the plan daily since you couldn't see Namjoo in person. Every day, every hour, paragraphs about how and when you both will die and how freeing it will be to be dead, to feel nothing, to sleep forever.

Aside from the endless Japanese promotions, you found great success in singing OSTs for dramas you've never watched. Your songs perform well; they chart more than your group's songs, but you can't even bring yourself to care. The impending thought of your own demise sucks every bit of energy from you. Your success means nothing because it's fleeting. Death is forever.

Then you're eighteen, and Namjoo jumps off the bridge over the Han River. The detective told you she most likely died on impact when you went in with Jisung to identify her body. Your parents weren't in the country, but for once, you were.

It's an awful experience. It alters your perception of life, death, and everything in between. Seeing your best friend's dead body, feeling how cold and stiff her hands were, it changes everything—Her death changes everything. After the funeral, you go on a hiatus. You can tell by the looks in your groupmates eyes they don't think you'll come back and you truthfully don't know either. This failing group of boys you can barely bring yourself to care about is the last thing on your mind.

After a week of not getting out of bed, Jisung calls your mom because he's worried. She tells you to move back home, saying, "We should all be together right now."

You throw a fit—a massive fit. You shout at your mother the loudest you ever had, screaming at her to leave you alone, spewing the unspoken truths at her, and laying your family's business out for the entire dorm to see. There's not much business to air out, and that's the problem. Your parents weren't there. Namjoo was. She was the only family you ever had, and now she's dead, completing a plan that was supposed to include you without you. Your mother had no right to mourn, and neither did your father.

After that, you stay in the dorm, mainly in your room, rotting in your bed to the point your sheets fuse to your skin.

Jisung and Noah take care of you. Jisung helps you shower no matter how humiliating that is; Noah brings you food and sits with you even when you don't say anything for hours; Jisung sometimes sleeps in your room on the floor to wake you from the nightmares that become a nightly occurrence. Despite their kindness, you wish you were dead. You fantasize what it would be like to overdose in your bed and have one of them find you, altering their life forever.

You don't know why you think this way. You just do.

It takes you six months to rejoin the group and step outside again. The small group of fans DeepDive has collected rejoice when you step on stage again, screaming and clapping for you despite not even opening your mouth. For a brief moment, you have a purpose.

Suddenly, you're nineteen, and Jisung looks at you differently. At that point, you've never had a boyfriend, never even kissed a boy, and you're too busy. You've always been working. He calls you cute, and it makes your heart flutter. He puts his hand on your waist during promotions and when you two are in the kitchen, and he needs to get by. He watches your lips when you talk instead of your eyes. It's love, you think every time you look at him.

It took a lot of convincing, pestering even, for you to agree to have sex with Jisung for the first time. You're nervous and don't know what you're doing, but it's fine because it's love, and by the end of the discomfort, you'll be his boyfriend.

You never end up being Jisung's boyfriend. When you ask about it, he looks at you with so much pity you'd think he was looking at a wounded animal, not you. You feel stupid and used. You hate that feeling, so you end up hating him.

After that, men become easy. You go through them like tissues. It's low risk because no one knows who you are. DeepDive is slowly gaining traction, but it is not enough to make your face notable.

2020 hits like a brick. DeepDive has topped every chart and won every award you're nominated for. You're unstoppable, quickly becoming the global face of K-pop. It's very jarring, but idol life seems to be that way. One day, you're living off cup ramen that tastes like plastic, and the next, you're on Jimmy Fallon telling him about how much you love Arthea Franklin.

You're so busy you forget you're depressed. For once, you really feel like you're living your life. You're not happy, but you're not depressed.

You're finally just living.

— 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝟒 ; 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄.

CURRENT INVENTORY:

Books, you still love to read. Sweet treats you baked yourself; baking puts you at ease. Your journal. The anger, you don't know where to put it. The grief, you just can't let it go. It's too comforting.

You're twenty-three now.

You're wildly successful career-wise. You have a ton of money because of your golden voice. You're adored by your group's massive fanbase. Life worked out pretty well for you all things considered.

But the depression made you mean, and the grief made you bitter. You belittle your friends' decisions, and you shoot daggers with your words at the man you say you love. You're not sure you can love anyone at this point. You haven't spoken to your mother in years, and your father hasn't spoken to you even longer. You have no plans to speak to your father ever again, but sometimes you long for your mother's hand through your hair when you're upset.

You live a good life, you suppose.

#˗ ˋ 🌊 dive deeper ﹕ underwater !#kpop oc #fictional idol community #idol oc #kpop addition #fictional idol oc #kpop au #oc kpop group #bts addition #idolverse

33 notes · View notes

amanchandracoach · 7 months ago

Text

Calming the Chaos: How an Anxiety Coaching Program Can Help You Find Peace

Anxiety. It's a word that evokes a whirlwind of emotions – worry, fear, unease. It can manifest in a variety of ways, from persistent low-grade tension to full-blown panic attacks. If you're struggling with anxiety, you're not alone. Millions of people worldwide experience some form of anxiety, and it can significantly impact daily life.

The good news: you don't have to live at the mercy of your anxiety. There are effective tools and strategies to manage it and reclaim your sense of calm. Enter anxiety coaching programs.

What is an Anxiety Coaching Program?

An anxiety coaching program is a personalized approach to tackling anxiety. It differs from therapy in that it focuses on empowering you to develop the skills and strategies to manage your anxiety independently. While therapy can delve into the root causes of anxiety, coaching emphasizes equipping you with present-moment tools to navigate challenging situations and emotions.

How Does an Anxiety Coaching Program Work?

Anxiety coaching programs typically involve a series of one-on-one sessions with a certified coach specializing in anxiety management. These sessions will likely include:

Identifying Anxiety Triggers: Together, you'll explore the situations, thoughts, or events that typically trigger your anxiety. This self-awareness is crucial for developing coping mechanisms.

Cognitive Restructuring: Anxiety often stems from distorted thought patterns. Your coach will help you identify these and develop alternative, more balanced perspectives.

Relaxation Techniques: Learning relaxation techniques like deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and mindfulness meditation can significantly reduce anxiety symptoms. Your program will likely incorporate practice and guidance in these areas.

Goal Setting and Progress Monitoring: Setting realistic goals and tracking your progress towards a calmer state is essential for staying motivated and on track.

Benefits of an Anxiety Coaching Program:

Participating in an anxiety coaching program offers a range of benefits. Here are a few key advantages:

Reduced Anxiety Symptoms: By learning to identify triggers, challenge negative thought patterns, and implement relaxation techniques, you can experience a significant reduction in anxiety symptoms.

Improved Self-Empowerment: The program equips you with tools and strategies to manage your anxiety on your own, fostering a sense of self-control and confidence.

Enhanced Emotional Regulation: Anxiety coaching can improve your ability to recognize and manage your emotions effectively, leading to greater emotional well-being.

Increased Resilience: Programs typically focus on developing coping mechanisms to navigate stressful situations more effectively, building resilience for future challenges.

Improved Quality of Life: By managing anxiety, you can experience a significant improvement in your overall quality of life – in your relationships, work, and overall sense of well-being.

Is an Anxiety Coaching Program Right for You?

An anxiety coaching program can be a valuable tool if you're experiencing:

Persistent worry or fear

Difficulty concentrating

Physical symptoms like rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, or muscle tension

Avoidance behaviors due to anxiety

Difficulty sleeping

While anxiety coaching programs offer significant benefits, it's important to consult with a healthcare professional to determine if they are the best course of action for you. They may recommend additional support, such as medication or therapy, in conjunction with coaching.

Finding the Right Anxiety Coaching Program

There are many anxiety coaching programs available, both in-person and online. When searching for a program, consider the following:

Coach Qualifications: Look for a coach with a certification in anxiety coaching or a related field like life coaching with a strong focus on anxiety management.

Program Structure: Choose a program that aligns with your needs and preferences, considering factors like duration, session format (individual, group), and cost.

Coaching Approach: Some programs emphasize specific techniques such as CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), while others may take a more holistic approach.

Next Steps: Take Charge of Your Anxiety

Anxiety doesn't have to control your life. By taking charge and exploring options like anxiety coaching programs, you can reclaim your sense of peace and well-being. With the right tools and support, you can learn to navigate challenges, manage your anxiety, and live a more fulfilling life.

#anxiety coaching program

0 notes

girish-jha · 5 months ago

Text

Mindfullness Program in Gilbert Arizona | Girish Jha

Renowned mindfulness expert, Girish Jha, is excited to announce the launch of a transformative Mindfulness Program in Gilbert, Arizona. This program is set to revolutionize the way individuals approach their mental and physical well-being. Girish Jha Contact Us Visit: https://girishjha.org/programs-master.php Mobile: +1 609-447-5421 Mail At: [email protected] Address: Gilbert, AZ | Scottsdale, AZ | NJ, USA | Delhi, India | Poltava, Ur

#Mindfullness Program For Begineers In Gilbert Arizona #Mindfulness Meditation coach in Arizona #mindfulness meditation therapist in arizona for anxiety #mindfulness meditation centre in arizona #Mindfulness Meditation Classes in Arizona #mindfulness meditation program in phoenix #Life Coaching Program Gilbert Arizona #Relaxation Classes in Arizona

0 notes

tani-b-art · 7 months ago

Text

Janine’s district era has officially come to an end.

This episode activated my emotions more than I was expecting. [The way Quinta emoted her anxiety…had me — you (and your acting coach) absolutely deserve a standing ovation for capturing it in motion.]

I wanted to reach through the screen and hug her and calm her down on the fact alone that you could literally feel the sensory overload she was experiencing. I felt myself on the verge of crying because you could see Janine wanted this to work. So bad she wanted it to. Work in that she could do both somehow. Everything was bombarding her and she was panicking. And the reality was the position was becoming real in that she was finalizing everything to say “yes”. I thought she was about to have a breakdown right then and there. She was overwhelmed and feeling the permanence of her decision to be away from Abbott.

But there was no way she was staying away from her Abbott kids a school day longer! Because she luh them kids! So much and that’s the most touching thing about her. Her enormous love for what she does, where she does it and who she does it for.

Janine was never going to stay at the district. You could see that the minute the position was offered to her that her heart was already in limbo. She was never going to stay there only because she didn’t belong there. Her heartstrings were always pulling towards her home and her home is Abbott.

But what’s she’s gained in development professionally and personally is probably what was her true purpose to be there. And the confidence she gained while there. She’s always been confident but now her confidence is with assurance. They had full support for her and championed behind her. Her voice was heard. Her ideas were heard and backed up and she was acknowledged in a way the Abbott crew really hadn’t and didn’t (they partially do now but initially not at all). All the achievements, gains and successes she accomplished in her short amount of time there was so Janine-esque! Boss-mode! Big Teagues! Sis created and got whole approved programs in less than a year. She gets to see the fruits of her efforts too now that she’s back at Abbott and everyone (students and teachers) benefits from it (the library and gardening programs that both her crushes Ava & Gregory are enjoying).

Had a glow up in many ways (check the new and improved fits, hair, makeup, accessories)! An inward and outward glow up! It looks good on her—all the glow!

Even came back to Abbott able to be more assertive and standup to her peers that she otherwise wouldn’t have had the courage to do before (her work mom Barbara).

She should be proud of herself. I am proud of her!

Her district peers gave her a boost of confidence I’m sure she’ll always be grateful for. And now, the Abbott crew has a new kind of respect for her. Btw - y’all saw how overly excited the squad (the quad being Barbara, Melissa, Gregory, Jacob, Mr. Johnson and Ava (even though she tried hard to pretend) was when she announced she was back!? They missed her and probably won’t ever admit that they really do like and enjoy all her quirky Janineisms! She fits with them and they fit with her and they’re a family.

Even though it was temporary, She needed to be at the district (if even for a season).

#abbott elementary #janine teagues #quinta brunson #2 ava 2 fest #her official district photo is the cutest #discovering janine had still been wearing her Abbott lanyard as an accessory made me snort

35 notes · View notes

luxyue · 3 months ago

Text

knife boots — part vi.

xiao x reader, figure skating au

masterlist | previous

➥ NEW VOCAB ❝ lutz ❞ a toe jump, taking off from a backward outside edge, and landing on the backward outside edge of the opposite foot.

vi. through his lens

[2 YEARS AGO: GRAND PRIX FINAL, WOMEN’S FREE SKATE]

SCORES AFTER WOMEN’S SHORT PROGRAM:

Y/N (SNE) | 81.35

SHENHE (LIY) | 73.25

AYAKA (INA) | 70.59

EULA (MON) | 67.59

GANYU (LIY) | 66.72

FURINA (FON) | 64.78

...

Xiao’s gaze floated around the arena. Xianyun and Zhongli sat at the kiss-and-cry with Shenhe, awaiting her scores. The next and final skater entered the ice, starting her warm-up.

A quick look at the short program standings told him that Shenhe had a nice margin between herself and the skater in third place after her skate yesterday. As expected of Zhongli and Xianyun’s student. After her clean free skate, she could definitely stay ahead. But there was still one skater left in this event, and her eight-point lead from the short program could easily put her in first place, even with a few minor mistakes.

Speaking of which, the final skater was still warming up with some swizzles and crossovers. She certainly didn’t look special. Anything but that, really. Xiao could spot the tremble in her knees even from his spot at the very top of the stands. She looked nervous and unsure of herself, but he supposed that was to be expected. It was her first Grand Prix Final, after all. But even he knew that she had to have an impressive set of jumps in her arsenal.

Xiao had heard of the girl that landed a triple axel during the women’s short program yesterday. It was impossible not to, considering it was the hottest topic among all the skaters at his hotel. In fact, he couldn’t stop hearing about it. First, during breakfast, from a few of the Mondstadter junior skaters that had finished their events already and were sticking around to watch the seniors compete. Then again, during lunch, from two Inazuman coaches discussing the best performances of the day. Apparently, they had actually coached the girl herself before. At dinner, the triple axel girl was mentioned yet again, this time by his own teammates. Shenhe had come in second after the short program yesterday, but she was still eight points behind the girl who was in first. With no triple axel or quads, she was steadily coming to terms with the fact she probably would not be taking home the title of GPF Champion.

This better be good, thought Xiao, considering that he couldn’t go a single meal without overhearing discussions about this girl. There were even talks that she would attempt a quad lutz in the free skate.

“And the scores, please, for Shenhe of Liyue. Her free skate score is 132.11, making her total score 215.76. She is currently in first place!”

Not bad, he thought. But would it be enough?

“Representing Snezhnaya, please welcome Y/N L/N!”

Xiao turned his attention back to the ice. Y/N circled back around and presented towards the judges. She then hit her starting pose, one foot behind the other, her toepick pressed into the ice while her arms were gracefully flexed behind her back.

He watched as Y/N’s demeanor changed with the flick of a switch. As her music began to play, any hint of her anxiety seemed to melt away as she began her program, setting the atmosphere for what was to come.

Just from her first crossovers, he could tell she was good. Sure, Snezhnayan skaters were always praised for being some of the best of the best. But her? She gained speed almost immediately, naturally covering all of the ice with her movements. Not only that, her edge quality was simply divine.

Xiao followed her movements as she prepared for her first jump. As she did a three-turn across the shorter end of the ice, bending her knees softly before launching into the air with no trouble at all, Xiao knew at once that she would land that triple salchow.

But she didn’t.

It wasn’t a triple, after all—she landed a quad. A quad salchow. If Xiao remembered correctly, that jump had only been landed a limited amount of times within the last decade or so.

She’s…..incredible.

Xiao never watches competitions, especially not the night before his own. But this? He’s secretly thanking the archons that Zhongli forced him out of his hotel room to support his teammates.

He watches her breeze through her triple jumps and combinations with ease, and her spins looked pretty solid. Although he had a few things to say about her toe jump technique, her edge jumps were nothing short of beautiful.

Entering the second half of the program, he figured most of the difficult elements were finished, unless she was going to attempt another triple axel. He watched as she turned backwards and skated towards a corner of the ice, ready to launch into a lutz.

Quad lutz. Apparently the rumors were right, and Xiao was wrong.

Skaters receive a ten-percent bonus for elements completed in the second half of a program to account for fatigue. Some could choose to backload their difficult jumps in order to maximize points, but it was also risky to do so, especially on tired legs, which is why many opted not to. She, apparently, did not care, because Xiao’s train of thought was broken as she completed her final jump—a triple axel.

She started on her final spin, but he didn’t have to stick around to know that she had definitely won the competition. And yet, he stayed anyway. It was a night of firsts for him.

He was right, of course. With a free skate score of 160.41 and a combined score of 241.49, she set a new record and finished a whopping 26 points ahead of Shenhe, earning her first place and the title of women’s singles Grand Prix Final champion.

As he got up to leave the arena and head back to the hotel, he couldn’t help but think to himself—

Wow. I need to up my game for tomorrow.

…

Xiao won his event, of course. One could not expect anything less from him.

“…..I wasn’t aware that you wanted to switch the quad lutz and quad flip to the second half,” spoke Zhongli, who stared at him questioningly.

“It doesn’t matter. I knew I could land them both, I just wanted to see how it could affect my score,” Xiao responded, brushing it off.

“That wasn’t my concern. Just don’t be so afraid to discuss these matters with me next time. You did well, I’m very proud of you, Xiao,” said Zhongli, a soft smile gracing his face.

Although he didn’t show it, Xiao was beaming with pride on the inside. But instead he said, “…..Thanks. Although I know my artistry was lacking in the second half—I started to neglect my presentation skills because I was too focused on the jumps.”

Zhongli frowned. “I felt that it was fine—fatigue is normal, and you did well regardless. Your component scores reflected that. Honestly, Xiao, you always seem to find more critiques about yourself than I do.”

“But I—”

“You’re the Grand Prix Final champion. You still have over a month before nationals, and while I hate to put it this way…..you don’t have much competition there. Rest, Xiao—take some time off for yourself. I don’t want to see you at the rink for at least a week after we get back to Liyue.”

“I—fine. But just this once.”

He sighed. “That’s good enough for me, I suppose. You should go—explore the town. Meet some other skaters. A lot of the juniors seemed to be big fans of yours. Make some friends before the exhibition and banquet.”

Zhongli was referring to the exhibition performances and closing banquet that always took place at the end of these kinds of events. Xiao would love to skip out, of course, but it wouldn’t reflect well on his nation or his teammates, so he had to oblige.

“…..Alright. I’ll see you at the airport.”

He walked off without another word.

…

He should’ve skipped the exhibition. He was dragged into the group dance performances, and let’s just say he did not enjoy it one single bit.

Although, he had to admit, Y/N L/N put on a good show. He watched her solo, doing a fun performance to a trending pop song, and it seemed like she was every bit as natural of a performer as she was a naturally elegant skater. She seemed happy, much unlike the way she was two days ago right before her free skate.

That’s why he found it odd when he overheard her and Tartaglia, otherwise known as Childe, engaging in a heated conversation outside the locker rooms. Although no match for him, he had competed against Childe for a few seasons, but he wasn’t competing this season for an unknown reason. Instead, it seemed that he had taken it upon himself to be a part of Y/N’s coaching team, given that he had accompanied her at the kiss-and-cry along with Arlecchino, a well-known coach with the Harbingers.

“What do you mean, they ‘don’t want me to attend’ the banquet?” she said with exasperation. Childe hushed her, looking around for potential eavesdroppers.

“I don’t know—I think Arlecchino told them you were actually having fun, and I bet they don’t want you actually socializing with too many other skaters right now.”

Y/N didn’t seem to be satisfied with his answer. “Why? It’s not like they ever stopped you. I already won for them, it doesn’t matter if I—”

“Quiet, Y/N, we don’t want someone listening. And it does matter. To them, you’re still too young, too impressionable. They can’t risk you telling—”

“Psh. What, that they make me—”

“Shh—Y/N. Not. Here. I’ll try to convince them to let you go to the banquet, but keep a low profile for now, okay? Not because I don’t want you to have fun, but because it’s for your own good.” He lead her through the other side of the hall way and they headed for the exit of the building.

What the hell was that?

48 notes · View notes

cocteaucherry · 6 months ago

Text

her way chp.2

summary- you were once on top of the world, unfortunately that was taken away from you, but all of a sudden two men, the best at their sports ask for help.

tags- 18+, mentions of bruises, anxiety, broken bones, anxiety attack, ooc probably for some characters, maybe some smut (or threesome) in further chapters. figure skating (can you tell I used challengers for inspo? I also rewatched YOI) gojo x reader, geto x reader, female reader, drinking, gojo has some unresolved feelings

“I'm sorry you want me to do what?”

“I know you heard me for the first time!” He rolled his eyes playfully with a groan adjusting himself on the bench, “I want you to coach me for the Grand Prix,”

You felt like you could pass out right there, your eyes widened shifting your eyes aggressively to your casted leg. “Gojo listen-“

“Please call me Satoru, and! Before you say anything your ankle wouldn’t be a problem, I just need you to teach me!” Satoru pleaded, taking off his sunglasses, his eyes were shut as the soft snow began to fall and melt on his warm skin.

huh, this was the first time you were seeing Satoru’s face without the glasses in person. It was almost unfair how majestic he was.

you let out a sigh tilting your head back, “Why do you need my help? You were winning golds quite perfectly without me,”

“Well now I have competition, in case you missed it Suguru took first.” Satoru deadpanned, opening his eyes, “I’m anything but upset to be honest, I’m glad I have people to face off against now.”

“Wait people? I thought Geto is your only worry.” You peered up at him as his head turned to meet your gaze.

“There’s a few new skaters on the rise, one I’m kinda worried about at the moment. I’m not on my usual game, I feel.. unstructured. You’re one of the best figure skaters in the world.. I really can’t do this alone.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you felt the stare of Satoru gleam through your soul, you had never thought he’d be this vulnerable to you, “you have a way with words Satoru,” you smiled softly before nodding. “I’ll coach you, but you go by my rules.”

Satoru’s face lit up and his demeanor changed completely, “I promise you won’t regret this!”

“One question, how’d you find me?”

“Oh, your coach told me in exchange for a picture together!” He held out his phone pushing the bright screen in your face to show your blonde haired teacher smiling happily with him.

“Of courseee..”

The first night Satoru had stayed in your house, he vouched that finding a room for an inn on short notice was impossible (even though your countryside town profited off of tourism, and he was a sensational superstar)

He walked in, placing his five luxury bags down in your mid sized house, “Wowww, keeping it humble I see!” He said, collapsing onto your couch, “So I will be sleeping in a bed tonight, huh?”

“Oh no no no, couch for you, besides your training starts now. I need to know your plans for the season, movements, songs-“

“Blahhhh!” He fake retched dramatically playfully rolling his eyes, “Come on! How come we can’t just chill and get to know each other the first night?”

“Satoru we talked about this, you need to focus and judge on your last program. I already know where you lack.” You said curtly as you slowly walked towards the small dining table sitting in the chair.

Satoru sat up squinting his eyes at you, “Oh really? Tell me then,”

“Both of your programs were the same genre, you usually always play ‘sexy’ or ‘charming’ you rarely show a style that could make you vulnerable to the audience. That’s something Suguru seemingly excels with he can play sexy and vulnerable very well,”

Satoru pouted but sighed deeply, damn you were right. “You got me there, so how do I become.. vulnerable and loose?”

You spaced, placing your head on your hand. “That’s something for you to figure out yourself, self discovery type of shit. Who is Satoru Gojo without all the glamour, money and fans?” A silence filled the room with Satoru somehow blanking?

“I’m gonna get some rest, blankets are in the hall closet if you need them, night Satoru,” you hummed standing and walking to your room closing the door behind you.

Hours later when the house was completely dark he was still pondering your question under the fluffy spare duvet, he didn’t need to be vulnerable.. He could just act and pretend, right? You wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“AHT! try again! Make it believable!” You yelled from the sidelines as Satoru panted heavily with an annoyed groan, “ Am I not?! This is my fifth time!” His face was pink with frustration.

You shook your head, “Your fifth time because you look like you’re acting, I want to see YOU be vulnerable for this piece.”

Satoru grumbled, annoyed he skated back to his starting position. Would he actually need to do some homework for this? His eyes were brought to yours, your determined gaze made his knees buckle and his heart race.

He took a deep breath starting his routine for the.. 6th? 8th? He lost count, his thighs and stomach burned too much for him to care,

He couldn't remember the last time a skating coach scolded/corrected him (unless you count his first teacher Yaga) . He usually always did his routines flawlessly but your statement was heavily taxing on him.

alright just a simple axel jump he could ace this just as he got to the back position beginning to push himself off, he heard a familiar voice.

“Practicing without me huh, Satoru?”

Satoru stumbled back landing straight on his ass, regaining his vision he brought his attention to the figure. Long raven hair bought in a bun and the all familiar bang that hung out.

“Satoru! You didn’t tell me Geto was coming!” You smiled, turning your attention to Geto, “Not to sound rude but what are you doing here?” You questioned walking towards him.

“Satoru said he was going to train with someone special and he wouldn’t tell me, so I decided to find him myself.” Suguru grinned and Satoru mentally cursed himself getting up and skating his way to the wall edges.

“Yeah, but how’d you find me?” Satoru grunted stepping onto the hard floor, “Did you forget we both have Life360? You insisted on it.” Geto held his phone up showing the blue and black pings now conjoined together.

“Anyways, how about we all get something to eat? I’ll treat us.” Geto said, plastering a sickeningly sweet smile.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“No way! Satoru, how come you didn’t tell me you knew each other earlier!” You stared at Suguru’s phone in disbelief in the picture, they couldn’t have been more than ten years old as they both smiled brightly at the camera.

“I was gonna tell you soon!” Satoru crossed his arms, he insisted on sitting on the same side of the booth as you, leaving Suguru on the opposite side.

“You were both so adorable!” You gleamed sliding the phone back towards Suguru as Satoru grinned nudging your knee with his, “ahh so you do find me cute-“

“you’re pushing it Satoru,” you glared at him and he immediately backed down, “So Suguru, any plans for your skate programs this year ?”

“Can’t tell you that just yet,” he winked playfully, “We only have a few months anyway before the first qualifying competition, you’ll see then.” He leaned back in the booth, his arms stretching across the seats. “How about we order some drinks?”

Satoru looked at you in an almost pleading look and you nodded, “Let’s not get too wasted. Satoru has training, also he’s the only one who can help me walk,” you giggled and Suguru smiled with a nod.

You somehow didn’t get blackout drunk but Satoru was pretty close to, who would’ve known he was a lightweight? You and Suguru watched in disbelief as you both sipped on your second drink while Satoru was on his fifth.

The night came to an end at 8 PM as you waved Suguru goodbye, even though he stared he’d be around. Satoru leaned on you drunkenly babbling something about his past competitive seasons.

He didn’t say whether or not he actually got a hotel room so it was back to your house.. again.

You propped him on the couch where he constantly whined about you staying with him and not abandoning him on the couch, “Satoru, I'd like to shower and rest please!” You groaned annoyingly rubbing your temples,

“Noooo!noooo! Just stay and cuddle with me..don’tleaveme!” He whined sitting up against the couch arm running a hand through his somehow tangled hair.

“Satoru..come on just get some rest-“

“Pleaseee..y/nnn I’ll leave you alone!”

“Fine! Fine!” You huffed sitting next to him and like a magnet he immediately clung to your waist laying his head on your plush thighs, “y/n I don’tthink I can actvulnerable..” he murmured and you raised an eyebrow.

“How come?” You said placing a hand on his exposed forehead as he attempted to lean his head into your touch.

“I wasnever taught to be like that, my father would kill me if he found out.. I-i always had to be strong, even at nine..” his tone sounded desperate, almost like he was on the verge of crying. You hadn’t seen this side of him before and you had an idea.

“Well, you just became vulnerable right now Satoru, you’re on the right track. I want you to get some rest now.. okay?” Satoru nodded burying his face into your stomach as he let out a small exhale, “Thankyou for being my coach y/n..” you felt him smile into your clothes as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

What did you get yourself into? You sighed quietly, slowly sliding your phone out of your pocket to check any recent messages, one being from Suguru dated a few minutes ago.

suguru

really enjoyed tonight 🖤 maybe we can do this again but just us? How about this Friday at 7?

you shut off your phone with a grin, you really didn’t know what you got yourself into.

(a/n- I really love this series <3)

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto angst #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #ice skating

42 notes · View notes