#its also extremely meditative

[cinamun]

My spotify wrapped just proved that I am the Blackest person to have ever existed.

Good morning.

[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

[beastyeastfreak]

Read your Beast Cookies x Human Sized Reader! Can we get a part 2 of that with the Beasts navigating life with their beloved? Such as going to work with them? Learning about new foods and such?

Absolutely!!! I think at some point the beasts figure out how to turn human/humanoid so the first half will be cookie sized and second half will be human sized

Cw and tags: lighthearted, romantic, fluff

Written pre silent salt update

Mystic flour

🌾 - At first, shes reluctant to ask for help. She navigates and learns silently, usually out of sight. After some adjustments she’ll ask you for help. Not directly, she’ll look at a place she wants to be and stare expectantly at you to hold your palm out for her. She can re-enter the game at any point, and she definitely will if you don’t treat her like a fellow human and like a small cookie. Its testing to say the least, you have to be completely dead faced when shes backhandedly threatening another cookies life or hold back “awww”. She is this powerful figure in the cookie world, able to end kingdoms if she sees fit. But here she was, sitting in the palm of your hand at chest height.

🌾 - After she gets used to being around giants, she decides to attend family gatherings and occasionally work with you. Of course in hiding, she’d rather not be treated like a toy. You end up sewing in a comfortable spot in your bag where she can sit and not be crushed. Why she wants to come with you is beyond you until you have a bad experience at work. On your lunch break she comes out and speaks to you. Reminding you it doesn’t matter and helps you calm down. This is done out of care but hopefully it will also be further convincing for you to join her in the cookie world when the time comes.

🌾 - She loves getting gifts from you, if you give her something she always takes it with her back into the game unless its to help her in the real world. Letting her touch you or following what she asks is another way to earn her affection. She’ll often sit with you while you’re at your desk, if she sees you stressed she’ll have you lay your head down and meditate with her for some time. She tries to get you to come with her, suggestions to join her in the cookie world. You deny, she doesn’t mind, you will come around, she’ll drag you in if you have to.

🌾 - Of course soon she figures out how to make herself human. She doesn’t come to work with you one day, you come home and set your things down, as you do she comes behind you and places a hand on your shoulder. You freeze, she speaks. “I understand why you wont become a cookie with me, this form is an improvement.” She says and you turn around and hug her much to her surprise.

🌾 - Now in this form, she has to get used to a body rather than surroundings. You’ll catch her not using her thumbs and grasping things like she would in cookie form, all fingers stiffky wrap around something. She’s hesitant at the thought of water and the food you eat but slowly gets used to it. she insists on going in person where you go (obviously not to work anymore). She speaks for you at restaurants, she follow you in to the store like a ghost and stare threateningly at anyone who looks at you weird. She comes with you into family parties if they’re tame enough, they all wonder why she already knows their names.

🌾 - Not wearing her usual icing felt odd, you explain its far too formal for this day and age. After a while she sort of develops a more modern style still matching her aesthetic. Thats one of the many lifestyle changes she goes through, she of course cant eat jellys for sustenance so she’ll try food off your plate often times or put something she’s interested in in the shopping cart.

🌾 - She is extremely scary, you could be laying in bed cuddling with her at night one minute and the next she’s no where to be found. You get up and see two bright slit eyes and a dark figure in the hall nearly scaring your dinner out of you. She’s calm every time, by the end of the first month of her being human you’re immune to scary things in the dark. Mostly because she scares you unintentionally but also she scares everything else off intentionally.

Burning spice

🏜️ - Burning Spice doesn’t ask this being thats a hundred times larger than him for permission. He just does what he wants. Unfortunately, the cookie world is more fragile than your world due to it being all baked goods. No matter! He’ll find a way to break everything anyway. Where Mystic Flour will have you hold her, he just climbs onto you. It leaves tiny little holes in your clothing you have to sew up.

🏜️ - His destruction is humorous in your eyes, he talks a lot of crap for someone you almost step on once a week. The both of you poke a lot of fun at eachother, he calls you weak you call him small and cute, its all out of love though. He threatens to kill anyone who gives you an issue, you just lean your head on the table and nod along. He can tell you find his threats amusing but just you wait.

🏜️ - He likes to blare loud music, anything with hard bass, guitar and drums he loves. He likes animal planet or nature documentaries, i know that sounds crazy bear with me(pun intended). As herald of change he watched countless civilizations rise and fall, animals are constantly fighting to stay alive and relevant. He’s amused seeing beings with such short life spans documented being born and dying, just like those kingdoms on a much smaller scale.

🏜️ - his favorite form of affection is touch. He’s the equivalent of your cat laying on you and burning you up, its amazing how much heat a little cookie can have. Going to sleep with a snoring beast laying in your hair or on your chest is surprisingly comfortable. He likes to accompany you places when you’re not expecting it. “How are you not soggy?” You hear outside the shower curtain one time. “He should not have spoken to you like that…” you hear from your bag as you exit a conversation with a coworker. It ends up becoming rather helpful, pep talks are the best from him. He seems to think customers are enemies to be slain the way you describe them.

🏜️ - Finally at some point he figures out how to become human. You had just gotten home and complained to him, still in cookie form, how much you hated your job and he told you he’d make sure you were respected and protected as his partner should be. You thanked him but it was clear you were just playing along. You went to take a shower and change and when you exited he was standing there, a very imposing human bearing an axe longer than your table, longer than you are tall. He laughed heartily, “Is a change of form convincing enough? Will you believe me now when i say i will bring destruction upon those who harm you?”

🏜️ - It took some time but you convince him to not murder people and destroy public property in your world. He’s fond of rage rooms which is your way of appeasing him. He’d really like boxing and wrestling if you could figure out how to get him an id or explain his gem and antennae, if not he’s fine just watching it with you. If you do get him into some matches, he is a MENACE. He’s easily winning matches, taking punches like a brick wall and dishing them out like a professional. Of course you may have to pull him out before they start questioning his identity. You take him to a lot of concerts too, he enters a mosh pit no one comes out alive unfortunately. He’ll also put you up on his shoulders so you can see and no one bumps into you.

🏜️ - You don’t need to be assertive, he’s doing that for you. Someone got your order wrong? He’s opening up the car door and walking inside to get it fixed, no questions asked. His warmth thankfully carried over to his new form, he definitely lays flat on his back taking up the whole bed so you have to crawl on top of him to cuddle. You dont even need blankets, he’s a massive heat pad. He’s more of a cuddle bug than you’d think.

Eternal Sugar

🌷 - She doesn’t really need help getting around, you often find her hovering around the ceiling on a soft blue cloud, or lazing on the leaf of a blooming houseplant, or on your bed. If you have a pet, she has them obedient to her within days. If they only knew sit before, suddenly they could fetch items or move things for her. She’s the worst influence if you’re a procrastinator, she wants you to be happy and so why should you worry about that little issue? Just relax, turn on the movie you both love! She loves to just lounge around with you, seeing you happy and relaxed is her biggest goal and she’ll do anything to achieve it. Anything.

🌷 - From the second you walk into the house she’s softly fluttering to you with a yawn. She’ll sit on your shoulder and have you talk about your day. “Oh i have to do this-“ no you dont, you’re tired! You need to lay down, she’ll help you relax. With her, you lose track of time as if it didn’t exist to begin with. She’s easy to talk to, she just wants you happy and you want her happy, win win when you’re both lazing around rewatching a show deep into the night.

🌷 - She wont ask anything of you, but if you give her things its appreciated. You may try to accommodate by adding house plants when you notice a flower growing marvelously all of the sudden when shes around, soon you have a garden. You obviously can’t keep actual cakes and desserts out like decorations, but candles and anything to make the house smell sweet she’d like. If you take her anywhere, she’s the easiest to have unhidden. From a glance she looks like a bird, you can probably just keep her in your pocket or on your shoulder.

🌷 - She’s napping in the crook of your neck one spring day, you’re both laid on the couch. You’re fast asleep when you feel like theres a weight on you. You stirr but then hear the sound of her yawning, but it sounded loud. You open your eyes to see you’re being laid on by Eternal Sugar still, but shes now a human still with large wings and pink skin. She opens her eyes as if sensing your eyes on hers. “Is something wrong?~” she says before kissing your flushed cheeks with a small wing twitch.

🌷 - Unfortunately she’s impossible to bring anywhere unless you figure out how to hide her wings. She doesn’t mind not leaving the house, just gives her a reason to keep you lazy and in her arms. When its dark, she can definitely go out if you want to walk but rarely will she choose to. She’d much prefer to lay in bed with you eating sweet snacks, in fact when you have to go to work thats exactly where you’ll find her when you’re home if she’s not in the game.

🌷 - You smell so sweet from your proximity to her. Sweet in a way that a carnivorous plant is. You are her little tempting treat, witches forbid anyone else become tempted to take a bite or harm you. She doesn’t want to learn transformation from Shadow Milk but she will if she finds her future garden goer is being bothered. Your coworkers and friends are probably sick of hearing how much you talk about her when they haven’t even seen her. It’s mutual though, the beasts have to endure her gushing about you as well.

🌷 - She’ll always wrap you in your wings when you get anxious or sad, letting you hold onto her while she guides you somewhere better. She makes sure you know theres always the option to live the rest of your life in the garden, but if you decline thats ok. Because slowly she had wrapped you around her finger. From the first time you listened to her to take a break to the millionth time you had watched something with her instead of going to visit a friend. You didn’t need her garden, she had turned your home into one.

Shadow Milk

🃏 - Can you imagine the reaction on his minions faces when he returns with one big lipstick mark on his face? No, but gradually their jaws drop less and less when he comes back with that same mark nearly every day. He swears he’ll bring you back one day but Black sapphire doubts it and doesnt show it, Candy Apple hopes he doesnt.

🃏 - He doesn’t need much help getting around, he floats and summons small things. He will request things from you like him sized furniture or maybe a stage. Like Burning spice he kind of just accompanies you wherever. He likes to put you in situations that make you have to lie. One month you have a pet cockatiel then the next a cockatoo. Little changes to play with your friends minds, yet the evidence was right there. He would change his form to play along with these lies.

🃏 - He hates tvs at first, he’s appalled at the idea that you can just watch something that isn’t live performance. But after a couple episodes he slowly eases in, if you mention his affinity for it while he’s nestled under the covers on your chest, he’ll get mad, deny it and float off to watch it in secret. His favorite thing to watch are recordings of theater shows and while you’re not home he watches cartoons. (argue with the wall i know he does) He asks you to go watch some new show at least twice a month. He also preforms for you occasionally, arts and crafts is his favorite way to spend time with you.

🃏 - Well, the time comes and he hones the ability to One day he promises that soon he’ll be able to preform for you without you needing to be so close to his little stage. On a big stage, with other actors. And he’d dip you down and kiss you romantic movie style You clearly didn’t take it seriously but still went along with it because you liked the idea, he just grinned and asked you to go get something for him. When you return he’s gone, great… hide and seek. You look around for a moment but out of no where your hand is brought over your head and you’re spun without warning. After a moment you find yourself exactly as Shadow Milk said he’d do, and there he was in human form doing just that.

🃏 - From then on he’s sort of just this sudden boyfriend you have to introduce to everyone. He had poor social skills in the cookie world, he has abysmal social skills in the real world. He’s interesting though. He brings his minions out (in human form of course) if you ask or if he needs help with something. His first intention was to bring you into the cookie world but now that he’s entered a world where misinformation is spread left and right he’s decided he’d add your world to the roster of places to conquer.

🃏 - Black Sapphire absolutely starts a podcast or a radio show from your house, Candy apple cookie becomes a horrible influence on local children. Shadow Milk is rather mysterious about his free time. You know he gets into a lot of acting roles(after changing into something less blue) but for some reason it seems like hes always up to no good. Had you just released a potential monster onto society? Yes, but for now he seemed relatively harmless so maybe he wasn’t too much of a concern. unless he decides to run as a politician

[fireflysugarpie]

need to get this idea out about Shang Qinghua being an actual god/deity lmao

okay, so we all know that Shen Qingqiu's system has Luo Binghe as its power source and shut down when he was in another dimension right?

and that Shang Qinghua transmigrated before Luo Binghe's parents even met each other, but his system was still active, albeit less so because it was before the plot and he was a side character.

what if Shang Qinghua's system used him as a power source to run not just itself, but the entire world of SVSSS/PIDW?

I mean, the guy was transmigrated as a baby, and he's had a lot of time to butterfly effect things in ways he probably didn't even try. and since the System's main goal seems to be fixing/improving the core story for the audience's entertainment, it potbelly had to nudge a lot of stuff back into place to ensure the core plot was still recognizable.

it would make sense as to why Shang Qinghua's system was a lot more emotionless, infrequent, and stingy with points than Shen Qingqiu's system and why it was more restrictive in certain ways with Shang Qinghua.

it could be a cool concept that as the happy ending was reached and the System stepped back, Shang Qinghua slowly got more control over his world and storyline. he proudly wouldn't even notice at first, with all of the work and information he has to deal with in both realms. it would start off small with him just knowing certain things about the quality of goods a merchant was trying to sell his King, thinking he read it somewhere in his mountain of paperwork. then it could escalate into 'remembering' specific details about the lives and dynamics of side characters' families and relationships that he doesn't actually remember writing down, but obviously he must have of he knows that the 3rd sister of the Hé family hates tanghulu because she chocked on one as a child. And then that would snowball into him actually having prophetic abilities and the power to alter fate.

it would also be pretty interesting if the world itself obviously favored him, like flowers moving to face him if he meditated in the same spot for a few hours, birds and other wildlife generally being friendly or non hostile, the wind carrying his humming to the ears of those who are down in their luck, ancient and extremely rare treasures and artifacts really wanting him as their wielder, other divine or mythical beings that are able to tell something is off about Shang Qinghua but can't tell what because of the System, and other people not noticing him because he really really doesn't want them to.

just, Deity Shang Qinghua that doesn't know that he's a deity lol

[autumnsvoice87]

Spoonie Witchcraft- Full moon

So I have been thinking about low energy magic. As someone who is disabled I haven't had the energy to do withcraft the way I used to. I have not been doing much at all for the last year. There has been no moon water made, no ritutual magic, and I haven't even been able to smoke cleanse my home.

I have been stressed financially, as well as in extreme pain this past year. I decided to see what other spoonies had to say about what to do on a full moon. I want to do something, but I am not sure what I can or am able to do. I went to my witchy discord servers and Facebook groups and asked around. I also thought of a couple of ideas on my own as well.

Here are some ideas to use for the spoonie witch.

Sit outside under the full moon. This would be called moon bathing but sometimes theres a full ritual around it. However, just sitting out under the full moon and basking in its light is good enough. This is also only if weather permiting. Don't go out into a hurricane or other severe weather. You may just end up being blown away instead.

Prayer. Praying to the God's you believe in or work with in silence. Praying to your ancestors and giving them thanks for thier guidence and wisdom. Obviously this is more for pagan witches and not for the atheists.

Sigils. You can do sigils everywhere. You can draw a sigil on your palm and visualize its purpose. For example, drawing an abundance sigil and visualize money coming to you. It's a good simple spell. Can also draw sigils in your food with a knife or other utensil depending on what you are eating. Peanut butter jelly time!

Birthday candles. Using birthday candles in candle magic instead of regular candles can be a quick spell and still work just as effectively. Making wishes on cake is magic. Maybe make a wish on a chocolate swiss roll.

Tea and coffee. You speak intentions into your drinks. Maybe have a full moon tea blend and do this when the sun goes down. You can buy different blends of tea on etsy or at a farmers market.

Watching youtube videos. Watch videos about magic and the full moon. There might even be a live meditation on there you can join in on.

Tarot readings. A low spoonie tarot reading. A basic 3 card spread that is for fun and not the deep soul searching/healing that you may normally do. Another tarot idea is just to pull one card to just see what the message would be.

Gemstones on nightstand. Put stones on your nightstand that have the intentions you'd like to draw to you. For example, amethyst for protection against nightmares. Maybe green adventurine for bringing in luck and abundance to your life. Use black obsidian for protection against gossip. Well, by now, you get the idea.

Cleansing. There are multiple methods of cleansing. If you have enough energy, a small ritual shower could be what is needed to get more energy. Or, at the very least, feel more refreshed. If you can't stand for a shower, soaking in a tub with salt water will work. You may use a shower chair for the shower if you have one. I use a bar of soap that is hand-made by other witches. They tend to put essential oils and intentions, so there is a cleansing effect. If you are too low energy for that, going back to youttube idea; they have cleansing meditation music. You can sound cleanse with the music. You may also play witchy ambient music. There are a vast number of options for sound cleansing.

Journaling. Journaling is something that can be done lying down. You can find some journal prompts on Tumblr, or you can find them on pintinterest. You can do shadow work journaling as a form of releasing. It's fun to select a new journal or even get a fancy pen.

Dressing up. If you have a witchy shirt, dress, or robes. It is fun to dress up on the full moon in honor of the moon. Like going to a magical witchy party. I have 2 witchy dresses, a witchy sweater, and a long sleeve stars and moons blouse. I also have a regular black dress for if I want to be more subtle.

Self care. It is okay to just watch a movie or binge watch a favorite TV show. You could also read a book for fun. If you are very into astrology, depending on the astrological sign of the moon phase, self care would be more important. Tomorrow, the full moon is in Pisces, and there is a lunar eclipse. Self care may be the best option during this full moon in September.

I wanted to say a big thank you to The Four Winds Coven on Discord as well as the modern witch collective for helping me brainstorm this list. There are more of us spoonie witches out there than we think. This list is also great for someone who is just too busy to do much either. I hope you all enjoy these tips and tricks!

[msmysticfail]

How to manifest (Law of Attraction) for 8th house and Scorpio placements:

The 8th house, like Scorpio, is ruled by Pluto, the great God of the underworld, of the bowels of the Earth. It is the magnetic force of Pluto that acts on the Earth's core, which is why people with important placements in the 8th house and Scorpio are magnetic, they have that sublime magnetism that pulls people in, attracting them with that something that people generally don't know how to define it exactly.

Unlike the magnetism of the Sun, which is hot and radiates light and which everyone wants to be close to its heat, Pluto is quiet, cold, it’s extremely silent, it is that spirit that stands still in one of the corners of the room, without anyone noticing it. It's energy is not clearly perceived, felt, but it's so strong, so strong, that it doesn't need clear manifestations, "scandalous" situations to show itself. Its vibration is extremely low but he is extremely powerful. Pluto gets what he wants because his strength is vibrating so strongly within itself that it becomes a pole of magnetism for the things around him. Pluto governs irresistible attractions, governs the depths of the earth (the richest and purest gold), governs the most lethal bombs, governs the most dangerous places, Pluto governs the strength to walk through “Hell”.

Okay, so how to manifest using Pluto?

1- Look inside yourself and see what/how your thoughts are.

Have you ever stopped to think about where/what your thoughts are most of the time? You may be dwelling on what someone did to you, your mind may be fixated on the bad things that happened to you in the past, you may be furious with your insufferable boss or your ex's new girlfriend. You're going to have to start paying attention from now on - while you're manifesting - where your thoughts are in the moment.

2- Change your thoughts from what bothers you to what you want.

You know what you want, 8th house and Scorpio individuals always have something they really want and they know what it is. So, from the moment you start manifesting you will have to redirect your thoughts from the things that bother you to the things that please you, the things that you really want. This process is not easy, you may need to heal some wounds from the past first, so that you can finally have a strong and clear mind to act on your desires.

3 – Write what you want and don’t show it to anyone

Write down what you really want to manifest, you can use any type of manifestation method (scripting), write with all your heart what you want to manifest, be it a boyfriend, be it a position at work, be it the fame you want to gain, connect with the desire and let your words flow. Keep the notebook/sheet in secret (Pluto), and let its manifestation be something intimate between you (8th house or Scorpio placement) and Pluto (force of the Universe).

4 - Activate your personal power

You are angry that things are not going the way you want, you feel ugly, you feel disconnected from yourself, you feel bad inside yourself. Look, this is the hardest part. You will have to change your entire emotional universe to work deeply with your emotions, remember, the 8th house is the house of deep emotions, just like the 12th house, you will have to dive completely within yourself, to discover what hurts you (8th house), what you are afraid of losing (8th house), what gives you pleasure (8th house) even if it is prohibited. You will enter one of the most sensitive areas of yourself. There's no getting away with Pluto, however. If you want your gold, you'll have to walk through hell first. Remember, however, that Persephone had the help of Hecate, Dante had the help of Virgil, so you can also ask for help, whether from a psychologist, through witchcraft, meditation, or through physical or emotional self-care.

5 – Keep working on your personal power

After you understand your inner universe, now it's time to activate the power of Pluto. “What I want also wants me”, “What is mine is coming to me”, “I love myself, I accept my intensity, I accept my power. My power doesn’t scare me”, “I’m not going to give that power to him/her, I have the power to move forward, I have the power to change this situation”. These are some of the phrases that you will repeat to yourself, at any time of the day, while you are manifesting, you can create others, just remember that they should remind you of your personal power, that they should affirm your power, be creative and repeat firmly because Pluto will listen to you.

6-End: Don't be afraid of the journey

Pluto rules you, baby! Don't be afraid of the shadows, let them work for you, not against you, the dark cannot scare you, you are a creature of the depths, a child of the realms of the darkness. Good luck!

[vinelark]

Hello! Was going through your fic rec tag and saw someone asked for your favorite pangy Jason fics, and was wondering if I could request the same but with Tim instead?

okay, you’ve asked the golden question for me, because tim pangs are my favorite pangs—and this fandom has such an abundance of them. i had to narrow this list down so much, and tried to focus on fics where the pangs feel like a core part of the story for me. i came up with a mix of go-to recs that have definitely appeared on this blog before and some stories i don’t think i’ve mentioned yet. so here we go, serving up some tim pangs:

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by @bonesbuckleup

tim joins the batfamily early, and in one of the pangiest ways possible. featuring an actual uncle and tim being so very isolated and alone (until he isn’t!)—excellent recipe for great and sustained pangs. i rec this one often and for good reason: i love the characterization of this pre-robin tim (smart! competent! lonely! believably a kid!), the writing is fantastic, and it still hits on each reread.

A Meditation on Railroading by @eggmacguffin

another one of my favorite rereads—this is all about robin-era tim being hurt in his home/civilian life and trying to deal with that on his own, because he’s drawn a clear line between “robin” and “tim.” this is pangs galore—from tim’s positioning of himself in relation to the bats (especially bruce and dick), to the large and small ways he is hurt + how he deals with that hurt, and, especially, the way we get to see jason observe & recharacterize tim based on what happens in this story.

Surveillance series by @smilebackwards

this series has these very specific “tim comes into the picture late” flavor of pangs that i am (more than) a bit obsessed with—it does such a compelling job navigating what this version of tim would think and do and feel as he forges relationships with the bats/assorted heroes a few years later than in canon. and some of those feelings (especially in the first and last installments) are beautifully pangy; here we have tim dealing with a lot on his own without ever expecting outside help, and even later when be finds himself with a support network, this still teases out the great, subtle pangs of tim having to learn how to navigate that.

equivalent exchange by scribblemetimbers

holy tim pangs, batman! this really hits the sweet spot—a tim who is competent and cunning and stubborn as hell AND is lonely with terrible self-worth unintentionally reinforced by bruce, all of which collide in a self-sacrificial gambit that sets its long plot in motion. (this fic is complete, but is part one of a series.) this does one of the top-tier, prime pang setups: in which one character unintentionally reinforces another character’s deepest insecurities (with devastating consequences).

between hands that relaxed by @deitybird

one of my new fav reverse robins fics (that recently completed!), in which tim, the second of batman’s partners, was killed by the joker—and that’s just where the horrors begin for him. lots of pangs re: tim’s sense of identity/worth, his aching loneliness as he slowly finds his way back to the family, and especially notable angst re: his relationship with an older damian. (before he died it was: bad. this story takes a very hopeful approach to their future.) i also adore the timkon & core four threads here. as a bonus, the first fic in the series is damian pov and, imo, extremely worth reading both fics for maximum pangs.

Hear it in your tone (you’re slowly letting go) by sexyPineappleMan (wip)

a take on “bruce is tim’s biological father” that is so far doing everything i would want with this premise, and delivers a buffet of pangs from chapter one. tim is brilliant, lonely, and hurting in this joins-the-family-late au—that also sees him as a (former) olympic hopeful gymnast, a non-robin tim identity i love—and i’m equally compelled by the angst/looming reveals, and by the intrigue of the plot itself. i’ve been well fed so far and am eagerly awaiting more.

Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by @sunflowersandink

in which robin!tim is dealt a very specific kind of difficult hand and (you may be sensing a pattern here) tries to deal with it entirely on his own. the way there’s so much tension and angst hanging over a scene about eating pancakes speaks to the kind of story this is: one where every single detail is used for maximum potential. i return to this one for its prime tim pangs, and i still forget, every time, just how well executed they are and how the plot builds to a top-notch reveal and resolution. (heads up for food insecurity/disordered eating in this one, do mind the notes!)

some of us have childhoods that aren't poems on sight (but darling, you're doing alright) by mrs_d

specifically chapter 21, which has a fully executed pang arc that almost lets it read like a standalone story. don’t get me wrong, there are pangs threaded throughout—tim in this story is very lonely and primed to expect lack of care—but the misunderstanding between alfred and tim in the second half of this chapter is really notable. it’s simple and technically low-stakes compared to what else is happening in the plot, but the stakes feel high to us (and to the characters).

How to Proceed by @philosophersandfools

another reverse robins fic, this one a oneshot that pulls off its premise both efficiently and potently. here we see a teenage eldest brother damian, who has softened a bit (especially since a very young jason and dick have already been brought into the fold) but still distrusts and dislikes his father’s new mentee, 14 y/o tim. that distrust stems from damian’s misunderstanding of tim’s intentions/situation and leads to some excellent pangs before a decisive resolution.

this is nowhere near an exhaustive list and i reserve the right to update with additions later 💪

[ghostlyferrettarot]

✨️🫧📀The 12th House in the

Signs📀🫧✨️

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

📀If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!📀

🫧Masterlist🫧

🫧It is considered a house of introspection, subconscious and ending cycles. This house is associated with the sign of Pisces and is considered the most spiritual and mystical of all astrological houses🫧

📀Aries in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and do things your way. They may feel the need to distance themselves from the world and seek their own direction. They use much of their energy to confront their inner struggles, to which they never give up. In some cases you may be on the verge of losing the battle, but your perseverance will ensure that in the end you will be able to overcome your intimate problems.

📀Taurus in the 12th House: may indicate a need for connection with nature and the need for emotional security. They can be very intuitive and feel most comfortable in a calm and relaxed environment. They long for security. They like to have everything under control regarding their lives and that unforeseen events do not occur that alter their daily lives. Taurus natives in the 12th house are happy and self-confident and are willing to work hard so that they lack for nothing. .

📀Gemini in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own truth and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very imaginative and creative. They relate more to their spirituality, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

📀Cancer in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find a spiritual home and connect with your family and your past. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. Their projects are linked to the affectivity they receive in the environments they frequent, it being important that these do not clash. with his own emotionality.

📀Leo in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with your creative and artistic side. They can be very creative and passionate, and may feel the need to work on their self-esteem and confidence. allows you to act with great independence. Enjoy being alone, reflecting calmly. He lacks that fear of loneliness that terrifies many people. For Leo it is more of a blessing. He knows how to fill space and time without needing to turn to anyone else.

📀Virgo in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work on your own personal development and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very analytical and perfectionist. Being interested in even the smallest detail in each project or action they undertake is a typical trait of Virgo in the 12th house. However, although at first glance it can be considered something effective and advisable, the truth is which can also have its dark side. Of course, as long as it is taken to the extreme.

📀Libra in the 12th House: May indicate a need for balance and harmony in your spiritual life. They can be very intuitive and balanced. They want to have tranquility and peace in their lives, it is a period of retreat and without much social interaction. They have a sense of justice and a desire for equality that is not manifested very visibly in their environments. Furthermore, when Libra is in the 12th house, the fantasies and dreams of the natives are awakened.

📀Scorpio in the 12th House: May indicate a need to work through your emotional issues and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very intuitive and sensitive, and may feel the need to work through their emotional problems through therapy and meditation. They are strongly drawn to mysteries. Everything that is hidden before the eyes of ordinary mortals is most interesting to them. They do not hesitate to immerse themselves in the enigmas they encounter, eagerly trying to reveal what they hide.

📀 Sagittarius in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with nature and the subconscious world. They can be very adventurous. Sagittarius natives in this house go through times when their religious beliefs are shaken. They discover that there are other points of view from which to see life in a different way. Sometimes open-mindedness will come from the recommendations of the most unexpected people. But they know that they must always be attentive to be able to listen, think about what they have learned and act later.

📀Capricorn in the 12th House: May indicate a need to find your purpose in life and connect with your spiritual side. They can be very disciplined and ambitious. The conception of Spirituality of individuals in this phase can be confused with social justice, with the existence of opportunities for everyone to have a dignified life. However, they are more driven by values of the practical life, to the satisfaction of the needs of employment, home, decent conditions for the development of the family, rather than with realities transcending the material world.

📀Aquarius in the 12th House: may indicate a need to find your own spirituality and connect with the subconscious world. They can be very innovative and creative. In this positioning, people can fulfill themselves through humanitarian activities of a spiritual nature. The concepts of harmony and wisdom develop. They feel a universal responsibility that involves spirituality, compassion and humility.

📀Pisces in the 12th House: May indicate a natural connection to the subconscious world and a need to explore your own spirituality. They can be very sensitive and empathetic. They are a compassionate person, although they do not usually show it externally. You have to dive a little inside yourself to discover someone who does care about others and always tries to do as little damage as possible in their discussions. You must let yourself be carried away by your sensitivity to know the different options through which you can channel your creativity.

[csuitebitches]

How to Wake Up Early

I always wanted to be one of those girls who would wake up early, go for a run and be super productive with their mornings. The issue is - i really love sleep. Every time i would start a routine, i would eventually fail. I would wake up to turn the alarm off, think to myself “5 mins more” and boom- it’s suddenly 8:30 am and i need to leave for work in less than 1 hour.

Two videos on YouTube really changed my mind. One was Andrew Huberman’s, and the other was Jihyo, a k-pop star.

I came across Andrew Huberman’s video about dopamine, and somehow, it helped me to understand why the difficulty waking up early is so important. Now I’m no expert of neuroscience, but let me explain to the best of my abilities.

Dopamine is essentially the build up to the reward; it is not the reward. It is the satisfaction and happiness you feel (when your body releases), after you have achieved something that was painful/ required you to struggle a bit. In order to receive this reward, you have to feel pain, because pain and satisfaction are directly related to each other. Satisfaction without pain is useless and does nothing for you essentially.

That got me wondering: for me, waking up early is difficult. It’s painful. I dont want to do it. But if I do it, its my first win of the day. It’s the first challenge I have overcome of that day, and I always do feel amazing after. The dopamine release after the struggle of waking up and winning the battle of not going back to sleep is definitely there. I feel more confident because a) I have done the “right” thing b) selfishly, i can do something so simple that a lot of people struggle with c) it weirdly makes me feel more confident and like I’m doing the first step of being an adult right.

Jihyo’s video was quite random - she did some show where it shows her daily life when she’s not working. Parts of it made me feel like she’s unable to just relax with herself (probably because her body and mind are so used to chaos, performing, her girl group living together for so many years) so she busies herself a lot. I took the positives from the video; she’s extremely disciplined which I admired, she gets her chores done, she’s good at ensuring that her space is truly her space.

So I decided to build a relatively foolproof routine; but mind you, it does require quite a bit of willpower.

I’ve developed a habit of waking of waking up at 5 am. I head straight for a 30-45 minute meditation and then at least an hour long workout. I stack my habits that way; right after meditation, I put on my running shoes. I used to really struggle with waking up, even if I had to wake up late. This is the strategy that worked me, see if it works for you.

1. Reset your space the night before

This makes you feel less stressed in the morning and also genuinely makes you feel like you have your shit together. Put your clothes away, keep your bag in its place, clean up your desk, reorganise your make up and skin care products. You’re going to go to sleep and wake up to a clean space.

Make sure you define both your bedtime and wake up time. My bedtime is 9:30 pm - so i manage my chores, reading, dinner, everything around that.

2. Early dinner

I’ve noticed that early dinners help me sleep better. I’ve built the habit of casually walking for 25-30 minutes post dinner (not right after eating, after about 15 mins). I’m not walking fast to a point where I’m sweating and puffing, I’m casually strolling outside. During this time, I don’t listen to music, interact with anyone or my phone. I use this time to connect with myself and think about whatever I feel like.

3. No devices before sleeping

I don’t want to stimulate myself before sleeping, so I prefer reading before bed. If you don’t like reading, you can instead do your skincare, maybe revise some physical study notes, etc.

4. Using Alarmy app

This app is torture and I swear by it. This little thing makes you a solve a challenge of your choice in order to make the alarm stop, like math problems, puzzles, etc. I chose 5 math problems.

5. Keep your phone across the room

Don’t charge it near your reach. Keep it as away from you as possible.

6. Stand for two minutes after shutting off the alarm

Don’t allow yourself to snooze, or go back to bed. This is the part that really requires you to tell yourself: “i am not going back to sleep. I’m going to wake up and do the things I have to do for my own benefit.” Remember - the states of heaven and hell are not outside of you, they’re inside you. They are mental states. You have to fight with your lazy demon and tell him/her/whoever that NO; we are NOT going back to bed.

I charge my phone across the room so that forces me to walk first thing in the morning. To stop myself from going back to sleep, after i have shut the alarm off, i just stand for 2 minutes. I dont sit, or go back to bed. I stand and tell myself, we’re doing this. We’re going to wake up and have an amazing day.

Your mind is like a child with tantrums and mood swings. Your rational self has to discipline your mind the way a parent would to a child.

7. Turn a small light on

Not something that is jarring or overwhelming, but enough to help you start waking up. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and keep it on my desk.

8. Be consistent, even on weekends

The biggest mistake you can make is not being consistent. Your body doesnt recognise weekends, your mind does. Your body doesn’t know that tomorrow is Monday, so its time to wake up early. By staying consistent (yes, I wake up at 5 am on weekends too), it allows my body to develop its own body clock and not wrecking the system I’ve kept in place.

What do I do if I have a late night?

It really depends. Let’s say I come home relatively early (+2 hours around my bedtime) around 11 pm, and im in bed by 11:30. I’ll wake up somewhere close to 5 am, like 6 am instead. The next day I ensure I’m in bed by the bedtime I’ve kept for myself and wake up at 5 am again.

If I come home really late, like 3 am - i keep my alarm exactly 8 hours from that time. I need to get sleep, but oversleeping is an issue and that wont allow me to wake up early the next day. I want to get enough sleep where im rested for the day, but not excessively. Unfortunately, sleeping so late would definitely mean that i wont be able to fall asleep at my dot 9:30 pm bedtime, but i turn the lights off and get ready to sleep by then anyway, and mentally prepare for my 5 am wake up call.

[deathbxnny]

Hello! Can i request some Mavuika, Raiden Ei and Makoto (if you can't do makoto then I'll like to exchange with Yae Miko) (seperately) x Gn! Reader , who is an immortal elemental being (The reader can transform into a phoenix), who is extremely smart and powerful gifted in fire magic and has a absolute mastery of pyro element.

Genshin women with an Immortal!Elemental being!GN!Reader | Mavuika, Raiden Ei, Yae Miko

Hello anon! I decided to go with Yae, mainly because I had a hard time understanding how to write Mikoto due to us not having much on her. But thank you for your request and I hope you'll like this!!<3

Content: Immortal reader, some angst?, fluff, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader is gender neutral!

((Not proofread))

》MAVUIKA

From the day she met you, Mavuika saw you as a symbol of freedom for Natlan. She met you as a Phoenix 500 years ago, which set her heart ablaze with determination, especially when you showcased your intelligence and strength in many ways that left her in awe. Every decision, every word you spoke, aided her plan to save her nation. She felt relief when you agreed to be her lover, a loneliness deep inside her finally filling at your presence.

Many centuries later, she still finds herself seeking out your wisdom for any decision she makes. She respects you as a powerful elemental being that has served her nation for years at her side and therefore made your word more important than her own. Your mastery over the Pyro elemental that rivals her own leaves her in awe every time, too.

And as she watched you fly over her home country as a Phoenix like you did so long ago, she felt at ease to know that her nation could too rise from the ashes of its defeats alongside you.

》RAIDEN EI

Ei, at the height of her obsession with eternity, saw you as someone who perfectly conformed, yet at the same time rebelled against her ideals. A Phoenix flew too close to the sun and got reborn from the ashes its old self left behind, but that meant that you were changed and the same alike. Your wisdom and intelligence are what made her often rethink her thoughts and ideals whilst she meditated in her abode. You often join her there for some tea and sweets, claiming that she wasn't alone anymore and shouldn't act like it either.

Your absolute mastery over the pryo element is something she definitely admired. She likes to train with you every now and then to strengthen herself, as she saw you as a better equal. This also means that she greatly respects your opinions and thoughts, despite her own ideals usually having a priority.

She sees you as the voice of reason that guides her through tougher situations she can't handle.

》YAE MIKO

Yae enjoys spending her own immortal life at your side in the shrine. Your life together is never bland, especially not with her teasing and playful nature. Your intelligence and wisdom meshes well with her own mischief and cunning version of it, which makes you both a very powerful couple unbeknownst to many. She likes taking the backseat, though, and let's you take over most things when she's feeling especially lazy that day. It just proves how much she trusts and values you and your knowledge.

With that said, she's not shy in expressing her love for how strong you are. She'll stay around to watch you train or use your abilities for even the mundanest things with an admiring glint in her eye. She compliments you for it at all times without a fail, practically making it her goal to fluster you as much as she can. She just adores you so much.

Expect her to make jokes about you essentially being a bird and her a fox... they tend to be at times concerningly grim.

[tears-of-amber]

Hearth & Home Witchcraft That I've Learned

One of the biggest things that stands out to me when reading about hearth & home witchery is that everyday items are considered magical. Everyday moments, tasks, and chores as well. Its a beautiful way to live, if you really think about it. Big rituals are great, but as someone who is disabled, they rarely are doable. Here is a list of Hearth & Home Witchcraft Tips that i actually practice.

-Enchant a blanket by embroidering a sigil in the corner and using its color correspondences for your needs. It also helps me feel shielded from negative energy during meditation.

-Play music that makes you feel safe and AT HOME. This is almost like grounding, but also can be cleansing to the environment and especially the listeners. For me, its smooth jazz. The chill sound of the standup bass and the wandering piano notes that always seem to find their way to a comfortable key... its soothing to my soul.

-Talk to and about your home (kindly). So often its easy to complain about your living space. How you wish it looked or functioned differently. The house (in my belief) hears you. Treat it with kindness and gratitude for the shelter it provides. I say thank you to the house spirits and my home every morning.

-Find a convenient home protection ritual to do each month. I say convenient because if you overcomplicate things you'll feel less enthusiastic and less motivated to do it, and might even skip several months.

-Make a home cleansing spray using essential oils mixed with an appropriate amount of moon water. I like using a few drops of lemon, rosemary, lavender, and cinnamon. DO NOT spray this in the vicinity of your pets. I only use this spray in rooms where there arent any animals, to avoid complications with their health.

-Wash your bedding as often as you can and say a short incantation before you put it in the wash. It could go something like this. "I cleanse this bedding of all negative energy, from bad dreams, and from and all stress." Sleep is so important to your sense of safety and wellbeing at home.

-Open the damn windows when you can! Stagnant energy is known for dragging down people's moods. And there's nothing quite as uplifting as fresh air. This provides a healthy flow to your house's energy.

-Don't bring things in your home unless you want to incorporate their energy into your environment. This is something that's often overlooked. I especially advise heavy consideration when it comes to thrifting items and bringing them home. Try practicing sensing the energy of items so you can easily tell whats good to bring home and whats not. Thrifting is great! Im not discouraging it btw.

-Fresh flowers work miracles. Not only do they aesthetically brighten the room, but their correspondences and magical properties apply to the room that they're in. Sunflowers are a great example of a flower that encourages positivity, and are extremely affordable to get lots of them. Roses are a bit more expensive usually, but they invite that loving vibe. And African irises are great for psychic enhancement.

Thats all for this post! Reblog it if you found it helpful, or have any of your own cool practices for hearth & home witchcraft to share!

[mebis-art-dump]

kingdom Pathologia, part 2: Crystal Poisoning

Also known as "Gleamshell" or "Miner's jewels", this crystal growth mostly affects the workers of Crystal Peak.

It is caused by shards lodging into the shell, although it has been recently proposed that inhaling the dust from the mines can also cause it.

It does not distinguish between bug or beast of burden, thus daily checks are realized in the mine's exits.

As the crystals grow they cause more, acute pain. Other symptoms include:

- Prolonged lethargy

- Difficulty breathing

- High fever

- numbness

- Auditory hallucinations

- Stiffness

(Shards quickly grow and branch out)

..................................................................................

Crystal poisoning has no cure, and must be constantly taken care of, resulting in the classification of three stages of crystal growth:

1- Initial discovery. The growth is minimal. Checks in the mines are aimed at finding these, and treatment seeks for it to not progress past this.

2- Great Crystal Growth. Critical state. Extreme action must be taken and the survival of the patient is not warranted. Searing fever and hallucinations are to be expected.

3- If action is not taken in time, Great Crystal Growth can turn into Greater Crystal Growth —also known as "Glass Tomb" or "Gleaming Cocoon"— at any time. The victim is considered dead at this point.

..................................................................................

Daily treatment consists of the careful extraction of any visible crystals; it is custom for the entire treatment to be paid with the crystals extracted this way.

Afterwards it is suggested to balance out one's breath, soul and water to further reduce the growth speed. The assistance of a priest or sage is recommended.

The common method is meditation to spread the soul and to inhale incense to balance both water and breath.

It is not recommended to visit Hot Springs, for its heat and streams will quickly throw water and soul out of balance.

(There aren't any Hot Springs on Crystal Peak for a reason...)

..................................................................................

Unfortunately, there's a rather sad trend growing between miners: to hide away the sickness and let the valuable crystals grow on their shell, to sell the shards for some quick Geo; this practice has lately gained the disease the new monicker of "Greed's Glaze".

There are already many poorly made jewels on the city, even in noble houses.

They shatter easily, and crystal poisoning outside of the miner community is on the rise.

(so brittle...)

To avoid shame, affected aristocrats will refuse to be publicly treated, and resort to... unorthodox methods.

(so unsanitary...)

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

Previous chapter: Fungal Growth

Next chapter: Sleepwalkers (wip)

Directory/ Masterpost

[divatakesontruth]

Food for thought

So I’ve been doing a lot of…pondering (?) should I say, well something like that

Ultimately it is not news that everything is nothing however I do sometimes like to explore some certain “concepts”

This post is extremely garnered towards mature listeners , it contains a lot of words that might just send some of you into a spiral (just a disclaimer)

So, we all know absolutely everything we are aware of/seemingly experience/have a knowing of is basically in truth ‘0’ because every idea is fresh in awareness

‘I am sad’ fresh idea

‘Wait why am I sad’ completely unrelated fresh idea

‘Oh right I’m sad because…’ completely unrelated fresh idea

Which somehow gives the impression of continuity which therein in itself is another completely unrelated fresh idea all entering the field of awareness (lol that’s another false statement, it’s all nothing that we seemingly attach definitions to like the act of entering awareness or attaching definitions)

As I’m writing this I’m seeing why the mind need not bother understanding ( firstly cause the only truth is the awareness of this seeming concept I’m trying to explain)

No matter what,you land at ‘0’

However a fresh new idea , the instant it comes into awareness, it holds the same level of significance (which is nothing ) as any other fresh new idea

That’s usually why they say nothing is real both the seen and the unseen

Now still on that, there are certain ideas we see through and some we take to be real and truth , (that is the reason for most questions, there is an attachment to a certain idea ) and some we don’t for whatever reasons

So inadvertently what you are aware of in that moment is.

‘Why do I listen to the mind so much’ unrelated truth that there is awareness of but it is still what you “experience” well cause that’s what there’s an awareness of (because remember without awareness nothing can be)

‘Oh wait if I do this I’ll get this” in that moment what are you aware of? Not having something and getting it in a later time, also of being a ‘me’ in lack and want (which ‘later’ doesn’t exist btw, there’s only now because future is another baseless concept)

‘I have this’ again , awareness shines its light and gives concepts or ideas a seeming existence, so the awareness of whatever is.

remember past is unrelated to now, everything is fresh and new

So if you say “so why don’t I see xyz” what is there an awareness of? Not seeing xyz and since everything there is an awareness of is, then not seeing xyz is what is.

Let’s get a bit broader

Having a desire is another random idea that only exists because there is an Awareness of it

Having a need,being a person or whatever, all applies.

You literally can’t be anything other than That because when you think you are a measly human suffering guess what? That’s exactly what is and what is that? A concept that you’re aware of.

Same way you think you’re the one doing the thinking, well that’s exactly what is

Everything is just new random idea entering awareness including this statement

It’s a never ending cycle of stories , awareness of story rendering story as false on and on and on

But then what is there to do? Now you are free from the play , now you are on a cloud floating , now there are no rules or bondage except the untrue idea of one

There is nothing to achieve, nothing to be or do

Have fun if you want, or meditate for life

You’re (Self) calling the shots

Ps: just a random note , feel free to share your two cents !!

[junipernight]

I redesigned Yangchen's outfit!

... I actually designed a lot of outfits for her, because I am Extremely Normal about these books, and also I like costume design and learning about historical clothing.

Short disclaimer: These fantasy clothes aren't culturally or historically accurate, just historically and culturally influenced. I don't have any expertise in East or Central Asian culture or clothing, I've just been clicking around on the internet a lot the last two weeks learning things because that's my idea of fun lol. If you wanted to talk to people who actually know things you should check out @atlaculture or like @ziseviolet, both of whom's blogs I referenced while drawing.

I only designed two alternates for the outer robes. The first is based loosely off the robes Buddhist monks wear (loosely, because drawing draped fabric is hard ^^') especially the Tibetan zhen robe. This garment is just a long wide rectangle of cloth which can be draped across the body in lots of ways (versatility ftw!).

The other garment I drew is a Chuba, a traditional garment from Tibet and the Himalayas. It's a robe, but it highkey reminds me of kilts and hoodies, in that it a) can be worn over one or both shoulders or just as a skirt and b) it makes a giant pocket over the stomach. The long sleeves can be folded up or tied back btw.

I spent the most time on the middle layer, because I was thinking it has to be something she could comfortably fight in while also being suitable for diplomatic meetings, meditating, espionage, and possibly sleeping.

And like. You can fight and hike and whatnot in loose skirts, but it's annoying how twisted up they can get while sleeping. ALSO, YC does a lot of flying and leaping, so my girl needs pants. My faves are definitely the Xiaolin monk pants and the yellow wrap pants Aang wears. I tried dhoti (Indian wrap pants) because that kind of looks like what the giant statue of Yangchen meditating might be wearing, but I think it looks odd paired with a highwaisted shirt instead of a long tunic. Maybe I'll do some more drawings with her in a tunic and dhoti or a monk's dhonka and shemdap later, idk.

As any good historical fashion nerd knows, foundational garments are everything (◡‿◡✿).

But also, there's a scene where Yangchen and Kavik pretend to be lovers, and are "discovered" by a maid sleeping in the same room, with Yangchen in a state of partial undress (gasp!)

I am living for this fake drama; I need to know how scandalized the maid was lmao.

When the maid walks in, Yangchen immediately wraps herself in a bedsheet before ushering the maid back out the door. Maybe all she did was take off her outer robe... but why would she need to wrap herself in a sheet if she was wearing a long-sleeved high-necked gown? I got the sense from both the book and cursory research about buddhist monks that walking around without your outer robes was socially acceptable, at least in casual settings. I think it more likely she was in her underclothes, which historically (in the west anyway) would also double as sleeping clothes.

"The Aang" is censored because this is Tumblr-dot-com. Its mostly a joke, but also, I know other countries are less uptight about bººbies, so like, maybe it's a valid option ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ~Water Tribe~ look is based off Sokka's swimwear and not Katara's, mostly because chest binding seems antithetical to airbending.

All the other undergarment designs are based on hanfu neiyi, because that's what I could find reference photos and romanized names for.

I'm tired of typing now. Lemme know if you have questions about something, or want me to post a larger version of a specific outfit. I am open to feedback and tentatively open to requests.

[burst-of-iridescent]

South Asian and Hindu Influences in ATLA (Part 2)

disclaimer: i was raised culturally and religiously hindu, and though i've tried to do my research for this post and pair it with my own cultural knowledge, i'm not an expert on hinduism by any means. should i mess up, please let me know.

please also be aware that many of the concepts discussed in this post overlap heavily with religions such as buddhism and jainism, which might have different interpretations and representations. as i'm not from those religions or cultures, i don't want to speak on them, but if anyone with that knowledge wishes to add on, please feel free.

Part 1

In the previous post, I discussed some of the things ATLA got right in its depictions of desi and hindu cultures. unfortunately, they also got plenty of things wrong - often in ways that leaned towards racist caricatures - so let's break them down, starting with...

Guru Pathik

both the word "guru" and name "pathik" come from sanskrit. pathik means "traveler" or "he who knows the way" while guru is a term for a guide or mentor, similar to a teacher.

gurus were responsible for the very first education systems in ancient india, setting up institutions called gurukuls. students, referred to as disciples, would often spend years living with and learning from their gurus in these gurukuls, studying vedic and buddhist texts, philosophy, music and even martial arts.

however, their learning was not limited merely to academic study, as gurus were also responsible for guiding the spiritual evolution of their disciples. it was common for disciples to meditate, practice yoga, fast for days or weeks, and complete mundane household chores every day in order to instill them with self-discipline and help them achieve enlightenment and spiritual awareness. the relationship between a guru and his disciple was considered a sacred, holy bond, far exceeding that of a mere teacher and student.

aang's training with guru pathik mirrors some of these elements. similar to real gurus, pathik takes on the role of aang's spiritual mentor. he guides aang in unblocking his chakras and mastering the avatar state through meditation, fasting, and self-reflection - all of which are practices that would have likely been encouraged in disciples by their gurus.

pathik's design also takes inspiration from sadhus, holy men who renounced their worldly ties to follow a path of spiritual discipline. the guru's simple, nondescript clothing and hair are reflective of the ascetic lifestyle sadhus are expected to lead, giving up material belongings and desires in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and, ultimately, liberation from the reincarnation cycle.

unfortunately, this is where the respectful references end because everything else about guru pathik was insensitive at best and stereotypical at worst.

it is extremely distasteful that the guru speaks with an overexaggerated indian accent, even though the iranian-indian actor who plays him has a naturally british accent. why not just hire an actual indian voice actor if the intention was to make pathik sound authentic? besides, i doubt authenticity was the sole intention, given that the purposeful distortion of indian accents was a common racist trope played for comedy in early 2000s children's media (see: phineas and ferb, diary of a wimpy kid, jessie... the list goes on).

furthermore, while pathik is presented a wise and respected figure within this episode, his next (and last) appearance in the show is entirely the opposite.

in the episode nightmares and daydreams, pathik appears in aang's nightmare with six hands, holding what appears to be a veena (a classical indian music instrument). this references the iconography of the hindu deity Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge. the embodiment of divine enlightenment, learning, insight and truth, Saraswati is a member of the Tridevi (the female version of the Trimurti), one of the most respected and revered goddesses in the Hindu pantheon... and her likeness is used for a cheap laugh on a character who's already treated as a caricature.

that's bad enough on its own, but when you consider that guru pathik is the only explicitly south asian coded character in the entire show, it's downright insulting. for a show that took so many of its foundational concepts from south asia and hinduism and yet provided almost no desi representation in return, this is just rubbing salt in the wound.

Chakras

"chakra", meaning "circle" or "wheel of life" in sanskrit, refers to sources of energy found in the human body. chakra points are aligned along the spine, with energy flowing from the lowest to the highest point. the energy pooled at the lowest chakra is called kundalini, and the aim is to release this energy to the highest chakra in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and consciousness.

the number of chakras varies in different religions, with buddhism referencing five chakras while hinduism has seven. atla draws from the latter influence, so let's take a look at the seven chakras:

Muladhara (the Root Chakra). located at the base of the spine, this chakra deals with our basest instincts and is linked to the element of earth.

Swadhisthana (the Sacral Chakra). located just below the navel, this chakra deals with emotional intensity and pleasure and is linked to the element of water.

Manipura (the Solar Plexus Chakra). located in the stomach, this chakra deals with willpower and self-acceptance and is linked to the element of fire.

Anahata (the Heart Chakra). located in the heart, this chakra deals with love, compassion and forgiveness and is linked to the element of air. in the show, this chakra is blocked by aang's grief over the loss of the air nomads, which is a nice elemental allusion.

Vishudda (the Throat Chakra). located at the base of the throat, this chakra deals with communication and honesty and is linked to the fifth classical element of space. the show calls this the Sound Chakra, though i'm unsure where they got that from.

Ajna (the Third Eye Chakra). located in the centre of the forehead, this chakra deals with spirituality and insight and is also linked to the element of space. the show calls it the Light Chakra, which is fairly close.

Sahasrara (the Crown Chakra). located at the very top of the head, this chakra deals with pure cosmic consciousness and is also linked to the element of space. it makes perfect sense that this would be the final chakra aang has to unblock in order to connect with the avatar spirit, since the crown chakra is meant to be the point of communion with one's deepest, truest self.

the show follows these associations and descriptions almost verbatim, and does a good job linking the individual chakras to their associated struggles in aang's arc.

Cosmic Energy

the idea of chakras is associated with the concept of shakti, which refers to the life-giving energy that flows throughout the universe and within every individual.

the idea of shakti is a fundamentally unifying one, stating that all living beings are connected to one another and the universe through the cosmic energy that flows through us all. this philosophy is referenced both in the swamp episode and in guru pathik telling aang that the greatest illusion in the world is that of separation - after all, how can there be any real separation when every life is sustained by the same force?

this is also why aang needing to let go of katara did not, as he mistakenly assumed, mean he had to stop loving her. rather, the point of shedding earthly attachment is to allow one to become more attuned to shakti, both within oneself and others. ironically, in letting go of katara and allowing himself to commune with the divine energy of the universe instead, aang would have been more connected to her - not less.

The Avatar State

according to hinduism, there are five classical elements known as pancha bhuta that form the foundations of all creation: air, water, earth, fire, and space/atmosphere.

obviously, atla borrows this concept in making a world entirely based on the four classical elements. but looking at how the avatar spirit is portrayed as a giant version of aang suspended in mid-air, far above the earth, it's possible that this could reference the fifth liminal element of space as well.

admittedly this might be a bit of a reach, but personally i find it a neat piece of worldbuilding that could further explain the power of the avatar. compared to anyone else who might be able to master only one element, mastering all five means having control of every building block of the world. this would allow the avatar to be far more attuned to the spiritual energy within the universe - and themselves - as a result, setting in motion the endless cycle of death and rebirth that would connect their soul even across lifetimes.

[danika-redgrave124]

Winx Yuu

@alexglitches I was inspired by some of the asks you got, but I did my verison of Winx Yuu a little different based them off dreams and the night sky.

@twisted-dreamscape I was also inspired by the mini story you wrote.

I think Yuu's magic/powers should be related to dreams and the night sky because of the prophetic dreams Yuu has about the Great Seven which hasn't been really explained yet in the main story.

Yuu's wings are large and delicate, resembling the wings of a celestial butterfly. They are semi-transparent with a gradient that shifts from deep purple at the base to a soft, glowing blue at the edges. The wings are adorned with sparkling constellations that seem to move and change depending on her emotions.

Stella and Yuu have a Sun and Moon Dynamic Friendship. Yuu is also friends with Musa, sharing a deep connection through music and emotions. They also gets along well with Flora due to their mutual love for nature and the mysteries of the world. This is before they were sent to the world of Twisted Wonderland.

Strengths

Highly creative and imaginative, able to think outside the box in difficult situations.

Strong connection to the dream relam and night sky, making their powers extremely effective at night.

Excellent at calming others and offering guidance, often serving as the emotional anchor for their friends.

Weaknesses

Can be somewhat distant and lost in their own world due to wanting to figure out their own powers, making it hard for them to connect with other others on a deeper level.

Their powers are weaker during the day, especially in bright sunlight.

Yuu's empathetic nature can make them vulnerable to extreme negative emotions and nightmares of others, which can drain their energy.

★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Yuu's Hobbies (Before they awoken their powers)

Stargazing

Yuu has a deep connection to the cosmos, so they love spending time under the night sky, observing stars, constellations and celestial events like meteor showers.

Astrology

Yuu is fascinated by Astrology and enjoys studying the influence of the stars and planets on human behavior and events.

Storytelling and Mythology

Yuu has a passion for ancient myths and legends, especially those related to the stars, the moon and dreams. They enjoys reading and telling strokes that weave together elements dreams and the cosmos.

Yuu's Hobbies (After Awakening Her Magic)

Collecting Crystals

Yuu, now, has a collection of crystals and gemstones, each chosen for its connection to celestial and dream energies. They uses these crystals in their magical practices, incorporating them into spells, meditation, or simply decorative pieces in Ramshackle. They don't collect blot stones.

Malleus often gifts them crystals even though they don't have a connection to celestial or Dream energies, Yuu still greatly appreciated them.

Crafting Dreamcatchers

As a way to learn more about their dream powers in a tangible form, Yuu enjoys creating intricate dreamcatchers with Luna's help. They infuses them with protective magic, ensuring they capture good dreams and ward off nightmares, both for themselves and their friends.

Grim has two of them.

Pomefiore have three of them.

Heartslabyul have one each.

Jack has one.

Ignihyde has multiple of them

Ruggie has a lot of them for his family and himself.

Malleus and Silver have two of them. Lilia has one, but he secretly put it into Sebek's room in a place he wouldn't see it.

Meditation and Moon Bathing

To stay grounded and centered, Yuu practices meditation, often under the light of the moon. Moon bathing is a claming ritual for them, where they absorbs lunar energy to recharge their magical powers and clear their mind.