#blank canvas challenge

[frogoddities]

self indulgent disco elysium portrait

[fbuilds]

🌿 Birchwood Bungalow - A Blank Canvas for Your Sims' Stories

✧ About This Build ✧ A completely unfurnished 30x20 shell perfect for:

Shell challenges

Rags to riches playthroughs

Creative storytelling

Builder practice

✧ Details ✧ 🏠 3 bedrooms | 2 baths | pool area 💰 §22,917 value

✧ Download Options ✧ 🔹 The Gallery: Search ID Fefyla 🔹 Patreon:

✧ Behind the Scenes ✧

✧ Share Your Creations! ✧ Reblog and show me how you decorated it! Tag your posts with #FefylaBuilds so I can see your amazing work.

✧ Why Reblog? ✧

Help fellow Simmers find this resource

Bookmark for your next building session

Support CC-free build creators

[kaiserouo]

Soul Silencer Ghost

[shima-draws]

What should I draw I dunno but I’m in the moooooood

[carlarte]

todd copper fox and the hound disney adaptation i know what you are

[redrosydiaz]

okay but. stranger things challengers au when hrjskskdjsms

[totallytrucked]

I didn't bring my headphones on my trip and I couldn't listen to sondheim for 12 days and tbh it drove me a bit crazy

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[scentedpeachlandcreator]

how i manifested my dream life with extremely hard circumstances + how you can too ♡

Note: this is not my post and it's blushydior's post that everyone been searching for, so i thought why not making it as a post,and blushy if you see this, please don't kill me i know you said that you'll change your post but you disappeared After that.

♡ table of contents:

1. the importance of making this post

2.my take on manifestation + the 3D

3. HOW I DID IT - my journey in 4 phases i went through that include my mindset changes up to the moment i got my desires 

4. your new rules & routine from this moment on

5. a note from me!

6. frequently asked questions: separated into topics regarding the 3D, self concept + miscellaneous questions to have you leaving this post stress free.

now let’s get into it. read every bit of this post “ ~ ୨୧ ♡ ·

I. THE IMPORTANCE OF MAKING THIS POST

i’ve been through it all. you can read my experiences from old life in the “my life before” section of my success story + here, here, here and here. this is my success story on how the law of assumption has changed my life. as you can see from the “how” section of the post, i had purposely left it short, sweet and simple to avoid people complicating the simplicity of the law of assumption. but as time went on, anons and other blogs made me realize that since people do tend to over-complicate the law, the need i felt to make an in-depth post on how i personally manifested through my hard circumstances grew strong.

my blog often highlights topics that pertain to mental health, so i want to make sure those who find themselves in the same situations as i once were feel seen, heard and loved. you are all so powerful, amazing and hold so much potential more than you know. with this post, i hope i am able to help you realize that fact to the best of my abilities.

𝐈𝐈. MY TAKE ON MANIFESTATION + THE 3D

something that you’ll see me say all the time is: “life is a blank canvas.” that’s because it truly is.

remember that you are working with the law of assumption. what you assume to be true, is true. nothing is set in stone unless you say it is. things have meaning only if you assign it one.

you are the sole creator of your life. you are the artist that controls the brush/pen, you control what goes on and off of this very malleable canvas we call life. you don’t have to do anything. therefore,

you don’t have to: affirm 24/7, be specific, word your affirmations correctly, listen to subliminals, ignore the 3D, be positive all the time, meditate, have high vibrations, script, visualize, do sats or lullaby, go into the void, affirm in the present tense, avoid the mirror, etc.

you can literally say a random word like “bonk” and if saying it means you have all your desires or money is constantly filling your bank account, then that’s what will happen!

“but what if my subconscious doesn’t know what it means?” your subconscious mind is literally you. it’s not some stranger separate from you. if you want a scene to play out a certain way on a specific date or a romantic partner with all the most perfect qualities even if you can’t name it all at the top of your head, your subconscious has your back with the details! you have your own back. don’t worry.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO IGNORE THE 3D.

read that again and again and again and again and-if your circumstances are quite literally in your face, how can you turn the other way and ignore it? you could if you wanted but you’ll only be doing more harm and we don’t want that, right?

“so then what do i do?” you KNOW it’s going to change. it’s challenging when you don’t fully believe the law to know it’s going to change, so for a start, tell yourself that this is not the end. why? because the moment you had a desire and claimed it as yours, it has already been set stone in the 4D so the 3D has no choice but to reflect it. this is your movie, you KNOW this is not the end. you are director and star of this movie! you control how it’s going to play out.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. HOW I DID IT - The 4 Phases (more so, 3)

PHASE 1:

i found out about manifestation from tiktok. from there i have tried scripting, law of attraction and had taken a liking into the craft. i tried it all until i found out about the law of assumption, sammy ingram and finally, tumblr.

PHASE 2:

upon finding out about loassumption tumblr, i had learned more and more about the law but as time went on, i had realized i had never really fully tried to apply the law. the idea just didn’t come about to apply it. as many others, i had overconsumed information, always wondering if i was doing it right, questioning the 3D,

so i took a break. upon discharge, i realized many things and decided to spend an extended amount of time alone, away from social media. i’m someone who values alone time as long as if it’s spent wisely.

during this time away from tumblr and sns platforms in general, constantly surrounded by other people’s takes, information, and opinions, i had learned so much about the law of assumption on my own! i went into the law of assumption with a fresh mind, actually applying the knowledge and overtime of affirming and persisting, i ACTUALLY understood the meaning behind “creation is finished. it is done.”

i’m advising you to step away from social media (that on it’s own has negative impacts) and be alone with your thoughts. i know your thoughts haven’t had it’s time to be alone because you’re most likely constantly seeking information to help you. and i don’t blame you. it’s just that, you are always bombarded by thoughts that aren’t your own, you barely give some time to yourself to think for yourself!

and if you can’t help but be on tumblr for other reasons than loassumption, unfollow blogs for the time being, scroll past informational posts to avoid second guessing your application. tell yourself that

YOU ARE DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT!

PHASE 3:

when it was time to apply the law, i simplified it. you choose what you desire, you affirm from your desire and persist. okay! got it. so that’s what i did. i affirmed whenever i thought about my desire, i kept saying that it is done! so in phase 2, i mentioned how i realized how creation was ACTUALLY done, right? before deciding to apply the law, i kept seeing posts saying that but i didn’t really fully understand it until the realization hit me during my time away from social media. (see? i love alone time. solitude is my bff) — here’s my breakdown for you:

once you decide a desire is yours to claim, THE SECOND you affirm that, in your head, imagination, your 4D, it is ALREADY yours. therefore, it has no choice to become physical reality. (this is why your subconscious only needs to hear things once in order for it to conform!)

it will always be yours for as long as you sustain that assumption (persist), it is yours! no matter what.

this is the meaning of “it is done.” it’s like telling a chef what dish you want, once they know what you want, they’ve got you covered. except that this chef is you. you know the details of your desire, you declare it’s going to conform instantly so why are you worrying? there is no need to worry.

informational post on the 4D + 3D here:

❝ If you judge after appearances, you will continue to be enslaved by the evidence of your senses. To break this hypnotic spell of the senses you are told, "Go within and shut the door,” The door of the senses must be tightly shut before your new claim can be honored .Instead of fighting against the evidence of the senses you claim yourself to be that which you desire to be. As your attention is placed on this claim, the doors of the senses automatically close against your former master (that which you were conscious of being). As you become lost in the feeling of being (that which you are now claiming to be true of yourself) the doors of the senses once more open, revealing your world to be the perfect expression of that which you are conscious of being. ❞

i kept time away from social media and being persistent really helped me be aware of my thoughts.

persistence has helped me:

be aware of thoughts that i wouldn’t have been able to catch before. for example, i was declaring that i have all of my desires and creation was done, but i found myself affirming “okay but where is it?” — this made me realize i was questioning my desires in my 3D even though i knew it was done in the 4D. (you don’t have to do this, you can imply your 3D conforms fast with whatever affs)

flip and interrupt my intrusive thoughts faster and faster the more i persisted. i hated my intrusive thoughts so much. like it was so annoying and hurtful. it was filled with replaying past scenarios that happened to me, things i wished had played out differently, just people who absolutely did not deserve the right to be occupying my mind and space! so i was grateful to learn that with persistence, i started to have less and less of those.

(see!! mental diet, persistence!! <3 this is how habits form and strengthen duhh. remember not to abandon common sense for the law)

AND THEN, PHASE 4:

i had entered sabbath, the state of the wish fulfilled, calm and relaxation that my desire has already manifested and there wasn’t nothing left for me to do other than persist. after so much persisting and saturating my mind with my affirmations, i reached being peace with my desires. i’m really glad i persisted. see how after persistence of assumptions, though false, will harden into fact? see how even your affirmations would feel “fake” at first but will soon feel natural to you? this means that i wasn’t questioning where it was, how long it was taking, etc. but this doesn’t mean i was ignoring my 3D. i saw it all but i knew it was going to change BECAUSE i felt peace in my inevitable desires.

then, i received my desires.

❝ I couldn’t possibly be worried about anything if I really believe that imagining creates reality. ❞

❝ When I speak of feeling I do not mean emotion, but acceptance of the fact that the desire is fulfilled. Feeling grateful, fulfilled, or thankful, it is easy to say, “Thank You,” “Isn’t it wonderful!” or “It is finished.” When you get into the state of thankfulness, you can either awaken knowing it is done, or fall asleep in the feeling of the wish fulfilled. ❞

𝐈𝐕. YOUR NEW RULES & ROUTINE

☆┆YOUR 3 NEW RULES ARE:

1, you have all your desires:

i have all of my desires.

creation is finished. it is done.

2. you manifest quickly and easily:

manifesting is always so easy and instant for me.

i always manifest within 2 days or less, the 3D conforms instantly.

the 3D instantly reflect my 4D.

the physical reality instantly reflects my 4D/imaginative reality.

3. you are okay because nothing can stop you from getting the inevitable:

everything is going to be okay because creation is done.

i am always aware of my thoughts. nothing can stop/get in the way of my desires.

no amount of intrusive thoughts, events and opinions of others have the power to stop my manifestations.

✉️: choose one affirmation from each list or make one of your own that makes you feel comfortable.

☆┆ROUTINE:

affirm on loop as an act of saturating your mind whenever you think of your desire until you feel satisfied,

in the morning, after you wake up: saturate your mind with affs.

read the manifesting vaunt below everyday (whenever you feel like it) — read it over and over again until you feel confident then go about your day!!

at night, before you sleep, affirm this:

“i kept all my thoughts in check today. i didn’t waver once. my mind is completely saturated with the new story.”

optional tip: if you want to saturate your mind even more as a start, you can set reminders with sticky notes around your space, have affs on your phone lock screen or wear a bracelet.

✉️ NOTE: soon enough, your mind will be saturated and you won’t need to do this anymore. this is just a start for those who battle intrusive thoughts!

let yourself feel any emotions that may come up because of your hard circumstances then once it’s out of your system, affirm your rules, especially rule #3!

do not consume any loassumption information if you know it will only cause you to second guess your ability. if you have the urge to ask a blog a question, try to make sense of what they will say and answer it yourself.

in times of doubt, remember that life is a blank canvas. your desire is set in stone, so your only task is to persist.

REASSURANCE VAUNT

creation is ACTUALLY finished. it is done. the second i claimed my desires as mine, it has already manifested itself in the 4D so it has no choice to present itself in the 3D! all i have to do is affirm and persist. i always have unwavering faith in my manifesting abilities and the law. i never fail. i am successful at every single thing i do. manifesting is so effortless. no amount of doubt, worry, fear, anxiety, intrusive thoughts or events can ever, and i mean EVER stop my manifestations. why? because i said so. this is MY life. i make the rules. so if i say i manifest easily, the 3D conforms instantly and that i have all of my desires, then it is a FACT. i’m literally unstoppable. everything i want is inevitable. my only task is to persist, sit back and relax as the 3D reflects my 4D. it all happens so fast, but what else do you expect from a master manifester like me?

SOMETHING TO NOTE:

most of the time, people think affirming on loop is saying it like a robot but what you don’t realize is that you’re affirming as if you’re reading a book. it’s not filled with enthusiasm but it’s not exactly monotone either. stop overthinking it. it’s like the voice you’re reading this post with. correct?

again, soon enough, your affirmations will feel natural and you won’t feel the need to affirm constantly. the routine above was given for those who battle intrusive thoughts, making your affirmations dominate to the point where you don’t waver.

QUOTES on STATES:

❝ I paid thirty dollars for my first suit. Today a suit will cost me $200.00, but regardless of the cost, when the suit is new I am aware of it. But let me wear it long enough for it to feel natural and I will no longer be conscious of it. The same is true for a state. You may desire the state of fame. If you will think you are famous and remain conscious of the state long enough to make it natural, as the thoughts flow from you they become a natural part of your body of beliefs, and the world will proclaim your fame. ❞

❝ I urge you to use your own wonderful creative power and deliberately move into the state of your choice. Make it now by occupying the state long enough so that it feels natural. Haven’t you had a suit of clothes that felt so new you were conscious of them every moment? I know when I bought my first suit I walked down Fifth Avenue thinking everyone I passed knew my suit was new. People passing paid no attention to me, but I was so aware, so conscious of my new suit. That’s exactly that happens when you move into a new state. If the state of affluence is new, you think everyone knows it, but no one knows or cares whether you are rich or poor, so walk in the state until it becomes natural. The moment the feeling is natural, wealth is yours! ❞

𝐕. ENDING NOTE

i love you. read that again. you can do it. read that again. i am so so so so proud of you. read that again! you are so strong, you have SOO much potential and power. it’s time for you to tap into it, angel. stop making excuses. stop telling yourself you can’t do it. stop the nonsense! you’ve dealt with your hard circumstances long enough, it’s time for you to turn to the person who can make that change (you) and make it happen. i’m really sorry you have to go through what you did. you certainly do not deserve the unkind treatment. give yourself a hug and tell yourself that this. is. it. you’re going to make the change. you know it and i do too. it’s possible. nothing is impossible for the person who believes! keep the faith in yourself. nothing can stop you.

it’s like those movies where the mc finds out they hold so much power. they doubt it because of the life they’ve had so far but once they give it a shot, they become the most powerful hero ever. you are that hero!!!

i love you and i am, again, giving you the biggestttt hug ever.

now, with that being said, @blushydior​ will no longer be taking asks regarding this topic. i’ve cleared most of the questions that could ever arise. you don’t need my guidance anymore after this post! im seeing you off now. i love you. stay safe. know that you’re loved and hold the power to change your life.

— kisses from bambi ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

ps. make sure you clicked the words that have links! <3 (the links are missing)

𝐕𝐈. FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Something you wish you could’ve told yourself before you manifested it all to make things easier for anyone struggling:

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.

you guys are beating yourself up for something so simple. take a step back and realize that. you’re already dealing with such hard circumstances, so why are you literally degrading yourself for something so within your power and reach? tell yourself everything is going to be okay. you’re always doing your best. you deserve the WORLD.

I could write a whole novel, combine all the posts on tumblr teaching the law of assumption, and every helpful ask out there but at the end of the day, YOU are the only person who could change your life. YOU make the call. turn every doubtful question to a positive one, when in doubt, turn inwards toward the 4D and know that it is real. it is done the second you affirmed it so.

SPEND TIME ALONE.

i can NOT stress this enough. i didn’t include the details of my time alone in phase 2 for nothing. you’ll see that you can answer your own questions. you’ll catch the thoughts you missed because you have always been so adamant on getting answers to questions you already knew. take a deep breathe and stay firm.

SEE WHAT’LL HAPPEN IF YOU DON’T GIVE UP.

What did you affirm to get your dream life?

basically my affirmations i gave above and these. all i used were blanket affirmations.

What does persisting mean to you? What does persisting really feel like? Is it just like a mental diet? or what?

“persisting is sticking to what you want / the end no matter what you’re shown, told, and what you experience + picking yourself up after letting any negative emotions & thoughts pass by.” — blushydior from this ask here (sadly the link is missing:()

+ keeping your thoughts in line of the same category. to word this in a different way, i can affirm so many affirmations just as long as they mean the same thing to me!

“it also is a mental diet. we’re always persisting in something. it’s just a matter of what you’re persisting in. you either persist in your desire or negative/non-beneficial thought 24/7.”

“in your post about how you changed your life, you said you just affirmed and persisted. but from your other posts it seems like you read neville goddard books. so did you just affirm or did you do imaginal acts too? i get confused when people say “just affirm and persist” cause neville never said that.��� (original ask here) (note from Eli: the link is missing).

“yes, i read his books and sometimes i would do imaginal acts but i would only do that bc it helped me get by my circumstances, yk? like if i was overwhelmed i would just daydream lol. its like how i read books to escape to another world. but i would say, affirming and persisting was what i focused more on.

i just used what worked for me and used his quotes as a reminder of the power of man. i didn’t want to bound myself to one’s teaching constantly worrying if im doing it “right” or not so instead, i went back to his quotes that consisted of telling me to persist, look inwards, finding confirmation in my imagination, etc whenever i needed a pick me up.

but correct me if i’m wrong, i’m pretty sure many of the success stories he shared consisted of people simply decreeing their desires and feeling the wish fulfilled simply by repetition and acceptance of their assumption.”

What is saturating your mind?

read about it here (the link is missing, but Basically it is repeating an affirmation every minute or hour until you feel fulfilled)

Do we have to believe our affirmations? Did you ever doubt the law in the process?

no, i did not believe my affirmations and YES of course i doubted the law but i kept persisting either way because what could i lose? and here i am.

Did you just affirm, persist, maintain a mental diet and that’s it? No SATS, going to the void, lullaby, repeating affirmations? Did you just got it sleep?

just affirming and persisting. sure, the occasional lullaby, i usually affirmed for 10 seconds max before i gave up. i couldn’t sleep without imagining some romantic scenario LOL #bambiexposed

How to deal with manipulation and narcissism?

remind yourself that you’re in advantage because you know about the law of assumption. life is a dream, you can literally have whatever you want just by affirming. if you know that, why allow yourself succumb to other people’s thoughts and beliefs? i couldn’t allow other people’s thoughts ruin my chance of living my dream life. the thought of it alone gave me the worst feeling.

How did you tackle the feelings of having no hope? + After being in the victim state for so long what did you do to get yourself out and actually stay out?

i persisted on loop whenever i doubted the law. i reminded myself that it doesn’t hurt to just be quiet, affirm and persist to live my dream life. just do it. you gain nothing from turning back to your old habits. see what’ll happen if you don’t give up. ❝ Do you always turn to your imagination and, no matter what happens, do you remain faithful to the state imagined? If you do, you have passed the test. But if every little rumor, doubt, or fear can move you around like a pawn on a chessboard, then you are not keeping the faith! ❞ ❝ Objects seem so independent of our perception of them that we incline to forget that they owe their origin to imagination.❞

What was the timeframe of when you got your desires?

about a week after deciding to be strict with self discipline, mind you, i was dealing with hard circumstances and intrusive thoughts for years. within this time span, i had entered sabbath so i immediately got my desires.

How did you kept a positive mindset when it looked like there was no movement?

refer back to phase 3

What was your affirming routine?

AT FIRST, when i started to get sick of overconsumption and not getting my desires, i knew my mind wasn’t saturated/my desires were not my dominant thoughts. so, i decided to be strict with myself. i reminded myself with pieces of paper in my room that said: ❝ PERSIST. new story only!❞ ❝ AFFIRM!❞

❝ 1.) the 3D conforms instantly.

2.) AFFIRM THE DESIRED

3.) BE LOT.❞

and taped them on the wall infront of my bed & one on my door so i can see it before i head out.

i didn’t need them anymore after a few days. (phase 3 & 4)

What did you do on all the days you woke up and things were still the same?

stop affirming that you don’t see results. i flipped the thought of “nothing’s changed.” to “i am in my desired reality, it is done.” and so on. be stern and remind yourself that you are in control. don’t fall prey to the 3D. turn inwards, find confirmation in the 4D. read quotes above.

How did you not react to the 3D?

i allowed myself to be angry. if i wanted to cry, i did. if i wanted to vent, i did. i ranted my feelings out in my head, aloud or in a journal then proceeded to go back to the new story after i cooled down.

But isn’t ranting “not letting the old story die out?”

you and i could rant until our minds are cleared, just as long as you flip my thoughts, you are on the right track. i ranted for 2% of my 24 hour days. the other 98% i was persisting in the fact that creation was done. as “time” went on, it began to feel more natural and i felt more at ease. i held onto that feeling because i knew this was when i would get my desires and i did. letting out and actually feeling your feelings is important. you’re not a robot.

Did you script how your life would be?

no.

(.𖥔 ݁ note from Eli: here's her post about her life before and After she changed it with LOA, anyway i wanted to make it in a post since the Google document can't let you make a copie of it and plus you can't take screenshots which René didn't allow)

[littlemissprettyprincess]

2024 revised, 2025 dream life ♡

We're going to be treating 2025 as a blank canvas, so have full faith that this is going to be the year where you finally get everything you want. For this challenge, revision will be the key. You will be revising the entire past year. You can even revise the years before that if you'd like. After revising, you will go into 2025 knowing that you are living your dream life and that this is going to be your year. (You can use this challenge for the void state too!)

Create a list of all your desires. You can do this on a Google Document, in your Notes App, wherever you want. You can even include pictures, or make a Pinterest Board. Many of you have already done this, but if you haven't yet, I definitely recommend that you do!

Choose a few affirmations that you will stick to. Some affirmations that you can use are:

I am living my dream life, I always have been.

I have already manifested my dream life, and I am currently living it.

I have already entered the void state, I enter every night, and I've manifested my desires long ago.

Feel free to make your own!

Listen to this subliminal and follow the directions below:

Take a few deep breaths and let yourself relax. Play the subliminal, close your eyes, and repeat your chosen affirmations in your mind. If you like to visualize, do that too. Now, when you repeat your affirmations and visualize, I want you to have full trust that these affirmations are true, the scenes that you are visualizing are real memories that belong to you, and this is the life you've always been living. Do this for however long makes you feel fulfilled. My recommendation is around 10 minutes, but feel free to continue for longer if you'd like! Once you are done, accept that the old story has now officially been revised.

That's it! It's done. The old story has been revised and all you have to do now is accept that and persist in that fact. Keep reminding yourself that IT IS DONE. You can't fall back to the old story now, because there literally is no old story, it's been revised! You are already someone who is living their dream life, you always enter the void every night because you always have, you manifest instantly because it's been a skill that you've always acquired. By accepting this, you will get your desires, you will enter the void, your dream life will be yours.

Want some motivation before you start this challenge? Here:

how i manifested my dream life with extremely hard circumstances + how you can too ♡

HOW I CHANGED MY LIFE WITH THE LAW OF ASSUMPTION

my long awaited void state success story ˘ ³˘

2025 is going to be your year, I know it, and I want you all to know it too. ♡

[sylvies-chen]

I’ve been seeing that couples paint each other challenge where couples will spend a night in with a canvas and some cheap paints and give each other 30 minutes to try and paint each other, and now I can’t stop thinking about armandaniel doing that one night and armand’s is yeah it’s good okay like it’s not great because of the whole vampire art struggles but he was around renaissance painters for a long time so he does a pretty good job of getting daniel’s minute features and shading and whatnot but daniel’s is just. lord it’s so bad. it’s like the most primal kindergarten painting you’ve ever seen but dammit all the right ingredients are there!! he got the orange eyes and the curls and he very proudly points out that he gave armand a little ipad in his painting like his fake rashid era which he cracks himself up with but he looks over and armand is in tears because not only is he looking at the first painting of himself in over 400 years but he’s also looking at the most non sexual artistic interpretation of him he’s ever seen. like it’s just. him. he’s just existing. he’s there. on the canvas. with literally no background. not a meadow or even a grassline or anything. all this blank white liminal space around his (horrendously drawn) likeness as if nothing else is needed. no body contortions, eyes too one dimensional to even hold all his pain. daniel is just kind of chuckling and bashfully being all “ah fuck it’s pretty bad isn’t it I mean there’s a reason I stick to words, I drew your nose all lopsided on that one side and—” cut to armand literally welling up and whispering like “no. it’s beautiful.” daniel doesn’t get it. this is a liberation.

[astrotruther]

Astro Observations

of personal, real-life relationships

𓆩♡𓆪 Venus Square Mars / Venus Opposite Mars ≠ Instant Chemistry

These aspects are not the fiery, passionate indicators they’re often portrayed as. In real-life couples (I've noticed these aspects in arranged marriages), they bring challenges. The "challenge" is often physical: different sexual preferences, lack of satisfaction, or difficulty creating a spark. ♡ These people often have to learn to be attracted to each other. It’s not instant — it's intentional.

𓆩✦𓆪 Moon-Pluto / Venus-Pluto ≠ First-Time Magnetic Pull

These aren't active during the initial attraction phase. They kick in after a relationship begins, and how they show up depends on the rest of the chart. If the chart lacks loving, passionate and attraction-based aspects (especially in composite), Pluto energy can turn obsessive but not sexy.

✦ It’s not the "argue then make out" kind of vibe — it's more like arguing, annoyance, and eventually the realization that the connection isn't what you hoped it would be.

𓆩☹︎𓆪 Sextiles = go girl give us nothing

Soft aspects like Mars sextile Pluto or Lilith sextile Pluto don’t bring chemistry in the way some think. Their effect is minimal and subtle to the point of being barely noticeable in real life. ☹︎ They're like background music: might support the vibe a little bit, but definitely not what creates it.

♡ Venus–Lilith Aspects → aesthetic resonance, non-existent love

Soft Aspects (trine, sextile) ➤ You look good together. You feel good together. But... it’s not love.

Hard Aspects (square, opposition, conjunction) ➤ It isn’t a relationship. It's an endless game of who’s more unbothered.

🎭 In synastry, Neptune issues can be worked through. For instance, Venus square Neptune must be reality-checked in order to avoid over-romanticizing (Venus romanticizes Neptune). Moon square Neptune - Moon must not treat Neptune like a blank canvas for over-idealization; Neptune isn't special. If left unchecked, this relationship will dissolve slowly while you’re still in it.

On the flip side, Neptune aspects in Composite Chart is where it gets brutal (Especially if Neptune is dominant).

Mars–Neptune = sexual confusion, off-timing, lack of direction Juno–Neptune = “we're meant to be” — based on delusions, not reality

✘ Some of my least favorite aspects are (hard) Venus-Uranus, Moon-Neptune, Venus-Neptune. Venus-Uranus (square, opposition, conjunction) in synastry is like a layover, not a home. It creates a spark like best friends who could fall in love but lacks romantic rhythm. One person wants closeness, the other is detached by nature.

💬 Ascendant-Pluto aspects & 8th house-Pluto overlay in synastry - makes the ascendant / 8th house person visible to the Pluto person.

→ “I don’t know why I noticed you, but I did.” → They watch you, pay attention, even if they’re not interested in dating you. → You hear things like “you’re different” or “I feel like you see through people.” → Some might want to own your energy, label you, or define you.

🍭 2nd House + 6th House Overlays = Situationship Soup • Add 3rd house overlays — you talk all the time, check in constantly, feel weirdly emotionally dependent... → But no romance. No desire. No plans for the future. → One or both of you might literally be entertaining other people while being each other’s emotional comfort pillow. ➤ Moral of the story: don't let regular texting fool you into thinking it's love.

⚠︎ Venus Square Mercury: Emotional Expression Malfunction • Mercury fails the assignment of communication. • Venus is left feeling unwanted, unattractive, or emotionally deprived. → The love is maybe there, but it's getting lost in translation.

🩸 Aries Stellium in Composite Chart - feels like your whole world while it’s happening… but the minute the illusion breaks? Boom. Detached. Embarrassed. Maybe even a little mad at yourself for falling for it. You might have this with your first love, or the person you thought was your first love.

🎀 Lilith-Sun (square, opposition, conjunction) in synastry - When Lilith clashes with the Sun, its ego doesn’t walk away unscathed — especially if Lilith is the woman, Sun the man, and she initiates the breakup. Even if the connection had already gone dull — lacking love, passion, or real chemistry — the mere act of being left by Lilith bruises the Sun’s ego. He may have felt validated just by “pulling” her in the first place, so when she walks away? It’s not heartbreak — it’s humiliation. Lilith doesn’t just exit. She emasculates the Sun on her way out.

Donate 💌

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[loserboysandlithium]

18+ hoes (in honor of mine and @userchai’s tattooartist!Eddie collab coming soon) warnings: tattoo needle mentioned, dry humping

Your boyfriend is already covered in ink. Almost from head to toe. Almost.

You eye his neck, one of the only blank spaces left on the canvas of his pale skin. “Just one. Baby, please.” you pout up at him as he leans back on the leather table. A grin plastered on his handsome face.

It was his break time and you’d spent almost all of it trying to convince him to let you give him a tattoo.

“Not happening, sugar.” Eddie chuckles, stretching his arms, giving you the tiniest peek at his happy trail.

“I don’t know why you’re arguing with me, baby.” you practically purr as you move to straddle his waist, hiking up your little black dress. “You know I always get what I want.” you tease, your fingertips traveling across his lower stomach all the way to his chest.

“I’m in charge.” Eddie’s deep voice falters as he meets your eyes, doing his best to give you a stern look. You bite your lip, suppressing a giggle as you reach for a pair of black gloves and the small handheld tattoo gun sitting on the tray to your left.

“Is that right?” you pout playfully, slipping the gloves over your thin fingers, knowing you’d already won. He never told you no, and if he did it didn’t take long before he was melting like butter underneath your soft touch.

You click the small button on the gun, the sound sending shivers across your body. A rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins at the thought of marking Eddie permanently.

You weren’t a professional by any means but Eddie had taught you everything you needed to know about tattooing. How deep to go. How to shade. You’ve practiced before just never on an actual human being.

“You won’t.” he challenges, a devilish smirk on his pretty face. He sticks his tongue out, mocking you. You catch a quick glimpse of the silver ball resting on his tongue.

“You love pain don’t you, sweetheart?” you whisper, a small groan coming from deep in his chest at your words.

You can feel him growing hard beneath you. The outline of his thick cock pressing against your thin panties.

“You like to be hurt?” you continue, your fingers trailing down his chest until you reach his pierced nipples. You give them a little pinch knocking a sweet moan from him.

“Mmm, my little masochist. Does pain turn you on, baby?” you tease as you bring the tattoo gun dangerously close to his neck.

“Y-yes.” Eddie stammers, his head falling back, revealing more of his thick neck. You watch as he closes his eyes, waiting for you to make the next move.

You carefully bring the needle closer to his skin, cautiously making your first small line. You watch his jaw clench slightly, the action making you sink a little lower on his lap.

This wasn’t about the tattoo anymore. This was about his sick obsession for both pleasure and pain.

“I can feel how much you love it.” you slowly roll your hips, just enough to make him whimper. His dick growing even harder. You keep your hand steady, digging the needle just a little deeper into his skin.

You work your hips faster, grinding your pussy on his clothed cock, feeling his hardness rubbing deliciously against your clit.

You knew you could get off just like this but what you didn’t expect was Eddie’s sudden ‘arrival’ in his jeans. His hips bucking up against you, his pretty brown eyes disappearing into the back of his head just as you completed his tiny tattoo. A small strangled moan creeping from his throat as his cock twitched beneath you.

Holy fuck.

You place the tattoo gun back on the tray, smirking down at him, waiting for his eyes to open again. “Fucking hell.” he chuckles breathlessly, peeking at you through hooded eyes.

“You okay, baby?” you tease, running your hand down across his crotch, feeling the wet spot growing on the denim.

“Never better, sweets. Now lemme see the damage.” Eddie chuckles, reaching for the small mirror on the tray before bringing it to his face.

“Did you tattoo a dick on my neck?”

“What? No. No, it’s a mushroom. Because the first night we met we did shrooms together. See? See the grass?” you ramble.

“That just looks like fucking pubes, babe.”

“It’s a good thing I know this amazing tattoo artist who could cover that up in no time.” you giggle, leaning down to kiss his lips softly.

“You’re lucky I love you.” he mumbles, holding back a smile.

To this day he’s never covered it. And years later he still gets questions about the dick tattooed on the side of his neck which he loves because it gives him an opportunity to talk about you.

*I know dry humping while giving a tattoo is neither smart nor realistic. It’s just a fic for fun 🖤 ily

[hoonsluvr]

SHADES OF BLUE

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; childhood friends to (?), forced proximity, smut, angst, reader has synesthesia ୨ৎ cw; daddy issues, emotional abuse, mental health issues (anxiety and depression mentioned), pill addiction, overdose in detail, p in v, dom hoon, unprotected sex, public sex, oral f.rec, choking, temperature play MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; it had been years since you left the world of ice skating behind. four years to be exact. and now? you’re a miserable fucking mess, numb to your feelings and the outside world. so what happens when a certain boy from your past manages to find his way into your life again? ୨ৎ wc; 10.7k — library ⭑.ᐟ inspired by; cinnamon girl - lana del rey

isla yaps; hi lovelies!! this fic contains some heavy and potentially triggering themes so please make sure to READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. if you decide not to continue reading this i truly understand and i’m definitely working on some lighter fics for the future. for those of you who do read, as always, feedback is appreciated :)

You had always seen him in streaks of color. Violet, blue, green, red. He was a spectrum of hues, splattered perfectly across a blank white canvas. You usually only associated things with one particular color or shape, but Sunghoon Park was far too complex to fit in that box. 

Growing up, you never had to look to know he was there. The cold bit into your fingers and nose as you stepped onto the ice, but you barely noticed, already used to it. Sunghoon grinned at you from across the rink, mischief flickered in his eyes, his hair tousled.

You made a face at him, one you had made a thousand times before — a silent dare, a challenge — which he gladly accepted with a low exaggerated bow, almost slipping on the ice to make you laugh. You pressed your lips together, pretending to be unimpressed but the giggle still escaped you, curling into the cold air like smoke. 

You pushed off, racing towards him, the thrum of the world narrowed to the single endless circle of the rink. Just you and him. Always you and him. He waited until the last second before darting forward to meet you, your movements synced immediately. It’s an old dance by now, older than the competitions, the medals, the pressure. It belonged only to you two. 

He caught you and swung you into a wide air spiral, the force of it pulling laughter from your chest. The walls blurred, the high vault of the rink’s ceiling spun dizzyingly above and for a few precious seconds, there was no ground beneath your feet, only the electric hum of trust and flight. You hit the ground, and he almost didn’t reach you in time. 

“You’re getting slow,” you teased, breathlessly as he reeled you back in. 

He rolled his eyes playfully, feigning offense. “You’re getting heavy.” You gasped, scandalised as you punched him lightly in the arm. His laughter — low, warm, familiar — echoed off the empty bleachers and filled the air. 

You two skated side by side for a while, laps and laps in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other so well, awkwardness didn’t seem possible anymore. He would push you sometimes, his hands resting at the small of your back to make you speed up and you would retaliate by sticking your tongue out at him. These were some of the unspoken laws of your universe, established over the twelve years you knew each other, sacred and unchanging. 

“Come on,” he said, grinning, “we need to practice the lift.” You groaned dramatically and he shot you a look. “We’ve practiced it like a hundred times already.” 

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if we have to,” he said, the stubborn set of his jaw making you smile. “Coach said we need to stick it before regionals.” Regionals. The word hung in the air between you, weighing heavier each day that it got closer. You were both getting older and expectations were stacking up around you like walls, higher every year. Not just from your coach and the public, but also from your father. 

Still, you trusted Sunghoon. You always had. You nodded and he took your hands in his. His voice dropped, playful but serious underneath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

You took a breath, centred your weight and skated backward, gathering speed. At the critical moment, you felt his hands close around your waist, felt the surge of adrenaline as he lifted you, almost effortlessly. For a heartbeat, you hovered above him, weightless, turning in a slow arc that made the lights blur into constellations. When he set you down, it was too fast, too soon. You stumbled, crashing into him and he grabbed your elbows to steady you. 

“At least it’s better than last time?” You giggled. 

He sighed playfully. “We’ll get there.” 

Later, when you sat in the stands, peeling off your skates, he lounged beside you, eating a candy bar he had unearthed from the depths of his jacket. He offered you a bite without looking at you, a thoughtless gesture, born of long habit, and you took it without hesitation, wrinkling your nose at the too-sweet taste. 

“You know,” he said, mouth half-full, “one day, when we’re, like, old and famous, they’ll make a movie about us.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the seat. “They’ll make a movie about how you almost dropped me on my face?”

He nudged your knee with his. “Nah. About how awesome we were. You’ll see.”

You turned your head to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair sticking up in every direction, his smile crooked and stupid and perfect. There was not a single doubt in his eyes. Not about you, not about him, not about the two of you together. For one fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it too. That you would skate forever, that nothing would change, that this — the endless ice, the laughter, the quiet spaces filled only by understanding — would be enough to outlast the world.

And you loved him for it, in a way you didn’t have words for yet. In a way that lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, steady and sure. You would never tell him, of course. That wasn’t how things worked between you. It didn’t need to be said.

You laced up your shoes slowly, savoring the last minutes before the real world called you back. Beside you, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned dramatically.

“Wanna race to the car?” he challenged.

“You’ll lose,” you said, already hopping to your feet.

He shot you a wicked grin. “Only if you cheat.”

You laughed, and ran.

And he chased you, as he always would.

-

The blade of your skate caught for a fraction of a second, and the ice sent a shudder up your leg. You recovered without falling, but you felt your father's eyes burning holes into your back from the stands, sharp and dissecting. A cold flush of adrenaline surged through you, as if your body already knew, even before the mistakes happened, that he would find them.

The rink smelled faintly of iron and old popcorn from the vending machines, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the whites of the ice almost too bright to look at directly. You forced your arms higher in your routine, elbows pointed with mechanical precision, every breath a silent apology for not being perfect.

At the edge of the rink, Sunghoon watched you with a casual slouch, skate guards dangling from one hand. He grinned when you finished your spin combination, throwing a lazy thumbs-up your way, as if to say Relax. You’re fine. It’s just practice.

Your dad, however, was already on his feet. A sharp whistle pierced the air, summoning you over like a disobedient pet. You skated toward him, already dreading what's to come as the gloomy black aura hovered over his head.

“Again,” he said the moment you're within earshot. “The entrance to the triple was sloppy. You're dropping your left shoulder. It’s lazy.” You nodded mutely. Apologizing would only prolong it. “And get your damn knees over your toes when you land. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, voice swallowed by the cavernous rink.

Sunghoon caught your eye from across the boards, brows knitting together for just a moment before he looked away. You finished the next run-through stiffly, mechanically, your body moving without soul. You were careful — so careful — but when you finally skated off the ice twenty minutes later, your muscles buzzed with exhaustion, you knew it still wouldn't be enough.

“Hey.” Sunghoon bumped his shoulder into yours, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “You want to ditch for a bit?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Ditch practice?”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice like it was a state secret. “Not all of it. Just, like... ten minutes. Before he starts giving you another checklist.” Despite yourself, a laugh bubbled up. It's quick, half-choked by nerves, but real. You glanced over your shoulder — your father was buried in conversation with your coach, gesturing sharply at a clipboard.

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for second thoughts to anchor you down, Sunghoon tugged your sleeve and led you through the side doors, out into the cold winter air. Your skates clacked noisily on the concrete until you reached the deserted staff parking lot behind the rink, where you both collapsed against the graffitied brick wall, breathless from the small act of rebellion. 

Sunghoon hooked his hands behind his head and grinned up at the sky that was turning a pretty shade of pink. “See? Already worth it.” You tilted your head back too, letting yourself smile — a real one this time, loose and crooked. “Yeah. It is.” You glanced at him and so many colours were jumping out from within him, curling up to him in a comforting aura. For a few moments, you just sat there, breathing in the silence, feeling normal. Not an athlete. Not a disappointment. Just a girl, fourteen years old, alive under a wide pink sky.

But the peace doesn't last. The gnawing guilt curled up from your stomach, reminding you that this tiny moment of freedom has a price you’ll pay later. It always does. Sunghoon caught the flicker of worry across your face, because he turned toward you, concern softening the lines around his mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He's been... worse lately,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon didn’t pretend not to understand who you mean.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” he said quietly, exhaling a slow breath, visible in the cold air. “You’re the best skater I’ve ever met, and you don’t deserve to feel bad every time you step on the ice because of him.”

The words stung more than they soothed, because part of you thought they were lies, sweet and useless. But another part — a tiny, desperate part — folded them away carefully, like a note you’re not ready to read yet. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold sink deep into your bones. The wind hums against the empty lot. Somewhere inside the rink, the muffled sound of a whistle cuts through the air, calling practice back into order.

“We should go.” You breathed. 

“Race you?” He grinned, attempting to try and get some of your cheerful demeanour back. It worked. 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

The memory of that stolen afternoon clings to you days later, like frost on a windowpane. You carry it into the competition weekend like a secret talisman tucked beneath your skin as if it was proof that you can still feel lightness, even as the weight of expectation coils tighter around your spine. You thought of it during warm-ups, when the rink smells like hairspray and nerves, and coaches bark corrections from the sidelines like drill sergeants. You thought of it when you tie your skates, hands trembling just a little. You thought of it when you step onto the ice, lights blinding, the crowd a faceless blur beyond the boards.

Race you. You're on.

You whispered the memory to yourself like a prayer.

But it isn't enough.

The routine blurred past you in flashes, the rush of Sunghoon throwing you into the opening spiral, the brief moment your blade slipped on the double axel landing — not a fall, but enough, enough for his eyes to narrow in the stands. Your body moved on instinct, muscle memory overriding the terror climbing your throat. Smile. Sell it. Pretend you can't feel the mistake trailing you like a shadow.

“Seriously, that was pretty good, right?” Sunghoon smiled at you once you were done.

You offered him a tight smile, too brittle to hold. You don't say what gnaws at you — It wasn't good enough. He saw it. He always sees it.

You knew it was coming even before the scores overhead stopped flashing.

Third place.

The bronze medal from the award ceremony later hung around your neck like a noose, the ribbon itching against your skin. You clutched the little bouquet they handed you, hands numb from the cold, and smiled for the photos even though your mouth tasted like blood.

You caught your father’s face in the crowd — stone-eyed, unsmiling — and felt your stomach drop all the way to your skates.

The fight started the moment the front door slammed behind you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracked across the room like a whip, and you flinched even though you told yourself you wouldn't. You mumbled something — something useless — about doing your best, about nerves, about how everyone slips up sometimes. The words scattered like dry leaves.

He wasn't listening.

“You humiliated yourself,” he said, low and dangerous. “You humiliated me.”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it again. You didn't know how to tell him that it wasn’t humiliation you felt on the ice — it was fear. A fear that had settled in your chest like a living thing ever since he started screaming at you in the car rides home, ever since every routine became another battlefield you had to survive.

Your mother stepped in then, tentative, trying to cool the air. “She’s still young. Third is— it’s still—”

“Third isn’t first,” your father snapped, cutting her off like a blade. “Third place is nothing. Third place is a waste of time.”

You pressed your fists into your sides to keep from shaking. He’s wrong, you wanted to scream. You tried. You tried so hard that your body felt hollow, your knees bruised and raw under your tights. But the shame already curdled inside you, thick and black and impossible to swallow.

“Maybe if you trained the way you’re supposed to—” He pointed a finger at you, jabbing the air like you’re an object that’s failed him. “You’ve been lazy. You’ve been soft. Crying after practice like some little—”

"That's enough," your mother said sharply, stepping between you before he could spit the rest of it out.

Her voice shook. He ignored her.

“You’re never going to make it like this,” he hissed. “You think talent's enough? You think people are gonna hand you a damn thing because you cry pretty?”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you tasted the salt at the corners of your mouth. Hot, helpless tears spilled over, blurring everything.

“I did my best,” you whispered. “I did— I tried—”

“Your best isn’t good enough!” The shout cracked the room wide open. You shrunk back instinctively, heart thundering against your ribs. Your mother grabbed your arm, gentle but firm. “I think you need to get a hotel room for tonight,” she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. A recurring solution to the problems that plagued your household for the past couple of months.

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound that echoed against the empty walls.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t pack a bag. He didn’t even look at you.

He wrenched open the door, cold air flooding the hallway, and for one stupid, desperate second you thought he would turn back — that he'd say something, anything. But he just stepped out into the night. The door slammed shut behind him, and the house fell into a silence so deep it felt like a scream turned inside out. You stood there, frozen, the bronze medal heavy against your chest, the flowers wilting in your clenched hand. Your mother rubbed your back, murmuring something soft you couldn’t hear. You couldn’t hear anything.

You woke up the next morning, expecting him to be sitting at the coffee table, to give you that same look of anger he usually did. Instead, you woke up to a house that felt hollowed out, the walls too thin to contain the silence. Your mother's voice was a brittle thread from the kitchen — muttering into the phone about how he came in the morning to take all his belongings before leaving for good. 

You curled deeper under the covers, pressing your face into the pillow until the world blurred. Your skates sat by the dresser, laces tangled in lazy knots. Your practice bag still leaned against the door, half-packed from yesterday.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt unrecognizable.

The first time you skipped practice, you told yourself it was just one day. You wrapped yourself tighter in your blankets and pretended you couldn’t hear the notifications buzz from your phone. You pictured Sunghoon’s face — confused at first, then worried — and your stomach twisted violently.

You told yourself you'll explain later. You just needed a little time.

Days bled into each other, sluggish and indistinct. You didn't skate. You didn’t answer your texts. You slept through the mornings and wandered the house in the afternoons, a shadow wrapped in oversized sweatshirts and old music. 

Your mother pretended not to notice. But you heard her voice sometimes, low and strained, slipping through the walls like smoke. Talking to friends. Talking to no one. The word “depression” floated by once, sharp and terrifying, but you shoved it down deep where you wouldn't have to face it.

You kept meaning to reach out. To Sunghoon. To anyone.

You never planned for it to go on forever.

You told yourself you’d go back someday.

When it hurt less.

When you were stronger.

But years passed faster than promises.

And silence is a hard thing to come back from.

You didn’t cry. You didn't scream. You didn't rip the medals off the walls or tear up old routines. You simply turned your face away from it all — the skates, the trophies, the hollow place where your father’s shadow used to fall — and decided, with a clarity that terrified you, that you were done.

No announcement. No ceremony. No goodbye.

Just absence.

You didn't tell Sunghoon.

You couldn't.

How could you explain it? That something inside you had snapped, clean and silent like a bone under too much pressure? That the ice, once your sanctuary, now stretched out before you like a punishment? You didn't have the words. You barely had thoughts. Just this thick, unbreathable feeling in your chest.

You knew, in some cruel part of yourself, that he’d think he had done something wrong. That he would shoulder the blame for your absence the way he had always tried to shield you from everything else. You hated yourself for that. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to go back.

It was easier this way.

Cleaner.

Like cauterizing a wound you didn’t have the strength to let heal.

At first, it slipped away so quietly, you almost didn’t notice. 

The colors that used to flood your senses — bright bursts of honeyed yellow for laughter, deep indigo whenever your loved ones called your name — began to thin, fading like ink left too long in the sun. 

You caught it one afternoon, standing at the kitchen sink, when your mother hummed an old song under her breath. Once, the sound would have painted the room a soft blue, curling in the corners like mist. Now, it barely stirred the air. No blue, no warmth.

Just the hollow weight of silence pressed into a melody.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it back. The colors, the shapes, the brightness that used to crackle just beneath your skin, but nothing came. The world had dulled around you, muted and flat, as if someone had turned down the saturation without asking.

You slowly became a version of yourself you couldn’t recognize — or worse, could recognize and grieve. And all the while, your skates gathered dust by the door, silent witnesses to everything that you had lost.

-

You’re shaking, violently. Fuck, not this crap again. You try what your therapist told you to do, one deep breath in, two deep breaths out. And again. And again. And again — this isn’t fucking helping. Instinct kicks in and you reach out for the coveted orange cylinder, shakily unscrewing the cap and letting it fall to the floor with a hollow clunk, shoving a white pill down your throat. There’s instant relief as the shaking stops. 

The time shows 6:26AM, the breakdowns had been starting earlier and earlier each day. You lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to muster up some strength. A grunt escapes as you heave yourself up unsteadily — the world already spinning. Too early for this shit. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand — one short vibration. A message? No. Nobody messaged you these days. A reminder. Group therapy session at 8AM. God this was the last thing you needed today. You should just skip it, an endless hour of overlapping voices doing nothing for you except making the dull ringing in your skull worse. But promises to your therapist harshly pound through your head. Promises to try and get your life together, start socialising again and make an effort. 

Your movements are sluggish as you make your way across the room, pulling on yesterday’s unwashed hoodie, barely brushing your teeth before skipping a shower and heading down for the same mundane everyday breakfast of cheerios. You can hear your mother’s voice, she’s speaking to you as you toy with the cereal in your bowl, pushing it around. The sound, though, isn’t exactly in focus, it plays at the back of your head, watered down, the words slushing and melting together as her tone gargles. Until you force yourself to focus. 

“Are you even listening to me? I hope you’re going to therapy today?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

A sigh. “Yes, I am. Can you drive me?” 

Your mother is so relieved that you’re going, she complies with your request immediately, even though she knows it’ll make her late for work. You know she just wants the best for you but you don’t have the heart to tell her that the sessions were utterly useless. That she was wasting the money your family was already running short on, just for your pill problems to be worse than ever. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself taking a seat in the dull basement of the hospital for the third time this week — apparently the only place they could accommodate for the group therapy. Each day, the attendants around the round gray table changed, all except for you. Guess they couldn’t handle it. Glancing around the table for this conclave leaves you with a quick realisation — you are not making any new friends today. The only other people around are a middle-aged man in a bowler hat who appears to be mute and a sniffling grandmother with a handkerchief who weakly tells you her name is Marge when you enter. 

Your therapist, Barbara — a young woman in her 20s with glasses that make her look bug-eyed — flashes you a smile. You think she’s nice enough, only if she was more useful. Then again, you aren’t sure if she’s being paid enough to actually care that much.

“Welcome everyone” she gestures, “today, the intentions I had while putting this group together is to focus on anxiety, considering you all have been recently diagnosed with it. Would anyone like to share a recent experience they’ve faced with anxiety?” 

Marge raises her hand and starts talking. “Yesterday I was knitting when—” You’re already drowning out her voice. Your eyes glaze over. Only one more hour. The click of the door after a rather long 15 minutes of Marge’s story makes you whip your head around, desperate for some form of entertainment.

By now, you should have realised that it’s best if you don’t wish for some things too easily because your judgement is unfortunately, usually ill-informed. The boy who walks in is definitely entertainment, but he’s also the last person you would ever want to see. Sunghoon Park. 

Your stomach twists, jerking horribly. The world freezes. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of all the colors and sounds around you. The ticking of the clock becomes louder along with the soft buzz of the air conditioner while the colors sharpen into focus. 

His eyes meet yours, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. A flicker of blue sparks around him before disappearing so fast, you think you might have imagined it. He looks at you for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Still not breaking eye contact, he takes tentative steps around the table, finally settling opposite you and looking away with a hardened expression. 

“Sunghoon!” Barbara’s shrill voice pierces through the air, pulling you out of your trance. “I’m so glad you could join us! I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

He shrugs, a nonchalant motion, as though he’s used to being in control. But you can feel it, too — that hesitation.

Not exactly the response she seemed to be hoping for to her enthusiastic greeting but she adapts to the situation fairly quickly, gesturing to you as she quickly introduces you two, not that you needed it. 

“You two actually have similar backgrounds! Both ice skaters! Well at least one used to be.” She awkwardly glances at you before plastering on a smile again. “Doesn’t that open up an interesting conversation?”

Sunghoon's lips curve up in a shallow smile. “It does, you’re right.” A pause. “Funny you mention ice skating because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today.” 

Barbara perks up, glad that at least one of you were taking interest in the session. “Go on!” She smiles encouragingly. 

Sunghoon leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, his voice steady but edged with something. “Well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure. My schedules are crazy, my coach is a control freak and I barely have time to do anything else I enjoy anymore. So naturally, the panic attacks are getting worse.” His words are flat but if you listen closely, you can hear the slight break in it. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, so are there any ways you’re dealing with that?”

“I’m pushing through, I have no choice. Because I'd never quit without getting what I want. Quitters,” his voice becomes low as he pauses, “they’re fucking losers, arent they?” 

He’s talking about you. Fuck he’s talking about you. 

Barbara fumbles with her papers, oblivious to the tension. “That’s an interesting point, Sunghoon. But don’t you think that's a bit of a toxic mindset to have?” She looks at him expectantly. He knows that though, he doesn’t need to be told. The only reason he even said that was to get your reaction, wasn’t it?

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately, because he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burning into you but you look down at the table, refusing to meet his gaze. The familiar feeling of haziness creeps into your mind and you can feel it turning to mush again. 

The realisation is hitting you like a truck. The boy you loved your entire childhood — the one you adored the most, your best friend — hates you now. Can you even blame him? It’s true, you left without a word, leaving him all alone. And even though you’ve thought about him day and night for the past four years, that didn’t erase the damage he must have had to face — losing his best friend without warning, having to start his skating career all over again as a soloist. 

You are the villain in his story. 

The session lasted long. Too long. Longer than you remember them usually being. Your head is throbbing and your fingers are beginning to shake. You desperately need your pills. 

“And I guess that means we’re done for the day! Good job everyone.” 

You aggressively push your chair back, rushing to leave the room before the walls close in on you. Not before Barbara’s voice calls your name. Muttering a silent string of curses, you turn to face her with a small smile, trying to keep your cool as the others walk past you, Sunghoon not even sparing you a glance. 

“Yes?” 

She clears her throat. “I noticed that you weren’t too interested in today’s session. Something on your mind?” 

Yes. A million things were on your mind. None of which you wanted to share with her. So instead you settle for a quick shake of your head, accompanied with a sweet smile, growing more and more forced the longer you hold it. She purses her lips, clearly not buying the act but sighs and lets you go anyway. You shove open the door, which leads into a parking lot. 

You had never really liked the basement of the hospital. It was rather creepy, having all the signs of a cheesy horror film set location complete with flickering lights, ominous graffiti and abandoned cars. So you quickly make your way towards the exit, eager to go home. Except, he's standing there, blocking the door with the clearly marked exit sign hanging above it. Of course he’s standing there. He must’ve been waiting for you.

He says your name and the sound makes you lurch. It sounds foreign on his tongue. There’s a distance between the both of you that you most definitely were not going to be the one to close. A long pause and the weight of his gaze hangs heavy on you. 

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again. It’s been four years.” 

“Yeah, neither did I…” You trail off, afraid for what’s to come. 

“Please– just–” He looks away. “Tell me why you did it.”

Your breath hitches. You want to answer him, you don’t want to leave him guessing again but your body betrays you. Not a single sound comes out of your throat when you open your mouth, as if you’ve forgotten how to speak. 

He speaks up again and his tone is more emotional. “Don’t you think I deserve to know? After everything that's happened. After everything I've been through, you still can’t give me an answer. Why did you leave?” His voice is full of hurt. His expression even more so. But you can’t bring yourself to answer him. 

He waits, expectantly. But when he realises you aren’t going to answer, the hurt in his eyes changes into something more like quiet anger. “I thought so, I guess I’ll see you around then.” Without another word, he turns. And it’s almost a sort of twisted irony but this time, you’re the one left alone. 

And you just wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

-

You spend the next few days dreading the upcoming session. But there is no avoiding it. Barbara had already contacted your mom and told her how you’d been distracted the last session so she was firm in maintaining that you needed to be focused for the next one. 

And so your mother drives you early for the next session, while you hope — rather foolishly — that he won’t show.

When you enter, the chairs are arranged in the same imperfect circle as before. You sit near the edge, twisting the sleeves of your sweater in your fists, trying to still the restless tremor in your hands. The door opens and your heart stutters painfully.

He’s there, tall and too familiar, his expression is carefully blank. He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but you feel his presence like a blade pressed against your skin. You glance down, pretending to study the frayed edges of the rug like you don’t care, but it’s pretty much obvious to anyone that you’re freaking out on the inside. 

The session drags. Words float through the room and you say almost nothing, sparing the occasional nod and words of agreement so Barbara would buy your act. You can feel him across the circle, the bitter undercurrent of everything unsaid thickening the air between you.

At one point, you chance a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The look he gives you is not sharp this time. It’s fractured. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and doesn’t know what to do with it. You look away quickly, shame burning hot beneath your skin. You don’t know how you get through the rest of it. When the session finally ends, you gather your things with fumbling hands and head toward the door without looking back.

But his voice stops you. Low. Rough. Were these after-therapy conversations becoming a common occurrence?

“Wait.”

You freeze.

You can just pretend you didn’t hear. You can just keep walking.

But something roots you to the spot.

You turn slowly.

He stands a few feet away, jacket slung over one shoulder, tension radiating off him like heat. His mouth is set in a grim line, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I…” He trails off, exhales hard, as if the words physically hurt. “I’m sorry.”

You blink at him, startled.

“I’m sorry for—” He gestures helplessly, his voice hoarse. “For the last session. What I said— I shouldn’t have— ” He sighs, struggling to find words. “I’m sure you had your reasons for doing what you did.” You wrap your arms around yourself, not sure how to respond, not sure you can.

“I was angry,” he continues. “I am angry. But not just at you.” He swallows. “At myself, too. For not being there for you. For not— being someone you could tell when you were clearly going through something.”

Your throat closes up painfully. You want to tell him that it isn’t his fault. That you didn’t know how to ask for help, how to explain the way your world had crumbled beneath your skates. But yet again, the words won’t come. Instead, you nod. Small. Tentative. Something in him seems to unclench at that.

“Can I…?” he says, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Can I show you something?”

You hesitate. Every instinct screams at you to say no — to avoid whatever this is before it pulls you under. But then you see the look on his face — the raw, earnest hope. And against all your better judgment, you find yourself nodding again.“Okay.”

The drive is silent. You sit rigidly in the passenger seat, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag until the leather creaks. He doesn’t try to fill the quiet. He just drives. When he pulls into the parking lot, your stomach drops. The old rink where you used to practice looms ahead, the brick building battered by time and weather, its neon sign flickering stubbornly against the dusk. You can’t move. He cuts the engine but makes no move to get out.

“I thought you should come back,” he says, voice low, not looking at you. “Not to skate. Not unless you want to. Just to see it. To remember that it’s not… poisoned. It’s still here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just come inside.”

You stare at the building, the memories crashing over you so violently you can barely breathe.

Laughter, sharp and bright against the ice.

The sharp crack of a fall.

The warmth of a hand pulling you up again.

The last time you were here, you had been a different person. Lighter. Brighter. A person who believed skating could save her.

But he is waiting. And something deep inside you — something tired of running — stirs.

Slowly, you push open the door and step out into the cold with him in pursuit. He holds the door of the building open for you to step in first. 

The smell hits you immediately — sharp, clean ice, old popcorn, worn leather. Just the way it used to be. You pause just inside the entrance, heart pounding painfully against your ribs. The rink is nearly empty. Only a few kids wobble across the ice under the bored gaze of a parent.

It should feel safe, even silly. Instead, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. He stands beside you, close but not touching, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watches you, patient, unflinching.

You take a breath.

Step forward.

The sound of your boots on the concrete echoes unnaturally loud.

The boards gleam under the fluorescent lights.

The ice stretches out before you — vast, merciless, beautiful.

You walk to the edge of the rink, resting your fingertips lightly against the cool surface of the barrier.

Your reflection stares back at you in the ice — blurred, broken, whole. Without thinking, you press your palm against the glass. Tears sting your eyes, blurring the rink into a shimmer of silver and white.

It hurts. 

You let out a shaky breath as you slowly turn around, towards the stands, unable to look at the rink any longer. You almost crash onto the bench as you try to sit down, the world already feeling heavier. The air tastes like frost and regret, and somewhere, distantly, you realize your hands are shaking — not from the cold, but from something deeper, something unthawed and fragile. You can’t look at him. Not yet. Not when the flickering blue aura around him threatens to pull you into reality. All of this was really happening. 

“I didn’t quit because I wanted to,” you whisper, the words jagged and raw, the kind of words that bleed as you speak them. “I left because he left.”

An eyebrow quirks up, he's puzzled. But he says nothing and you feel him drawing closer, in a magnetic pull that you cannot fight. Your palms find the cold steel of the bench as you desperately try to ground yourself. 

“My father…” You exhale sharply, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You know how much he meant to me. You know how much he killed me inside with every cruel thing he said.” The confession tastes like rust on your tongue. You have never said it aloud before. “Every fall, every misstep, every time I missed a jump by half a second, he made me feel like I was less. Like I was wasting his time. Like I was wasting his name.”

And there you sit, pouring your heart out. You are broken. Shards of your feelings and thoughts lay on the ground, shattered. And even still, you still refuse to look at him. You can’t bear to see pity in his eyes, especially not after everything you’ve done to him. “He left Sunghoon,” you continue, softer now, “he left the day we got third place in regionals and that day, he told me I was useless. That without him, I'd be nothing. No coach would want me. No partner could trust me. And I... I believed him.” Your throat closes, but you force the next words through it anyway. “I still do, sometimes.”

The silence is heavy. Thick. Dense. Then you hear it – the scrape of his shoes on the ground, the low rustle of his jacket as he sits beside you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t tell you you're wrong. Instead, he does the only thing you didn’t realize you needed — he stays. He stays the way you didn’t. And a part of you feels like you don’t deserve it but the warm feeling in your stomach erupts anyway. 

You dare a glance at him. His eyes, when they meet yours, are not full of pity. Instead, they’re full of something else, a kind of grief, maybe, a kind of furious tenderness. And in that moment, the air between you stops tasting like regret. It tastes like rain on parched earth, like the beginning of something new.

For the first time in four years, you do not feel alone. 

His hand finds yours. He threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like your hands were always meant to fit together, even after years of silence and bruised memories. His palm is warm, grounding. Steady. You forget how to breathe for a moment. 

“God I didn’t know. I’m— so sorry. You never had to be perfect though,” he says, voice rough-edged and low, like it’s scraping its way out of somewhere deep. “Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even for me.”

You don’t mean to, but you flinch, just slightly, as if the softness hurts more than the cruelty ever did.

He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You were enough before you ever landed a jump,” he says. “You were enough the first time you stepped on the ice and fell on your ass and laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

You close your eyes. You can almost remember it — the taste of laughter, the swirl of light spilling gold and blue across the rink, the boy with the crooked smile skating circles around you until you shoved him in mock fury and he fell too. You hadn’t been afraid then. You hadn’t known yet how cold the world could get.

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I miss you.”

You close your eyes for a moment and when you open them, he’s watching you — not pushing, not demanding — just there. The pain is still raw and real though and you’re still not ready to face it

“I dont– I can’t– ,” you say, voice raw.

Confusion flickers on his features. “You can’t what?” 

“Sunghoon–” your voice breaks, “I– can you take me home?” He seems disappointed but he doesn’t fight it. A nod. 

The drive home is as silent as the previous one and the same tension brews in the air of unspoken words. The car pulls up into your driveway as you realise with a jolt that you hadn’t given him any directions — he still remembers the way. 

He gets out of the car and you follow. Your hands fumble with the keys as you rush to open the front door, trying to escape the unbearable silence. A click. You step inside, turning around to look at him. 

“Uh– I guess… I’ll see you soon?” You let out timidly. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. You blink, startled. Shades of blue, tendril-like, start to coil out from within him, desperately reaching for you, trying to break through the bubble you had surrounded yourself with. They were no longer flickering, no longer touching the boundaries between fantasy and reality. They were there. Clear as day. The first time it had happened, since all those years ago. You’re too scared to face it.

You shut the door.

-

It hadn’t left your mind. The rink. The ice. All the memories that came flooding back to you when you walked in. The colors that exploded out of him. You needed to go back. It’s late — but if your memory serves you right, they didn’t close the rink until 12AM. 

You hesitantly open your cupboard and rummage until you reach the very back. There they were, just as you left them — your skates — and hanging just above them, a sheer blue dress, covered in diamonds. This is crazy. But you can’t stop yourself as you reach out for the skates. The second you make contact with them, the feeling of the plush leather touching your skin ignites a spark and you know you’ve made up your mind. 

The walk to the rink almost feels like a walk of shame. The tight dress pressing against your skin with your skates dangling from your hands as you take quick strides on the sidewalk. The walk, under other circumstances would have been an easy way for second thoughts to weigh you down and make you question your decisions. But tonight, the moon shone a little too brightly and nothing could make you stop as you pushed open the doors of the brick building you had seen only the other day.

Thankfully it’s empty. The sweeping ice invites you with open arms. You can hear the wind caress its cold expanse, creating soft whispers that send shivers down your spine. If you listen hard enough, you can hear it talking to you. The ice beckons you. And you accept. 

You look tragically beautiful in this light. 

The warm blue fog envelopes your frame, diamonds on your dress shimmering. You’re still for a moment, hands crossed above your head in a starting position as the music begins to play. The soft piano notes of Cinnamon Girl echo through the rink and you gracefully start to slide across the ice. A twirl. A lutz. An axel. Even after all this time, you were perfect. 

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did 

You falter as you realise he's standing there, leaning against the railing. Your eyes meet his and his expression is full of pain. And in that moment, it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he had ever done. You look away but his gaze is still on you as you continue your routine. A painstakingly melancholic three more minutes of watching as you dance across the ice. 

Sunghoon’s breath hitches as you throw your body back for the finale, gliding low against the ice in raw elegance. The atmosphere pulses with tension and he could feel his heart in his throat as the cadence of the music starts to slow, accompanying your softening movements. The blades of your skates dig into the ice, eliciting a sharp clink as you come to a halt. 

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper. 

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

“You were perfect. Even after all this time. You always were. You still are.” 

“Hoon—” The nickname naturally slips out and you notice the way his jaw tightens at the mention. 

And maybe it's reckless. Maybe it’s foolish or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at you as if you put the stars in the sky. But you’re looking at his face and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand the way he’s the most beautiful human being you’ve ever met. Your hands meet his cheeks as you cup them in your palm. You wait for him to pull back as you test the waters but he doesn’t. So you pull him in instead. And when your lips meet, it’s as if nothing else around you exists. 

A moment of ecstasy passes and you pull back to look at him. He speaks up first. “God you have no idea how long I've waited for you. How long I’ve wanted you.” 

He glances at your lips and you notice immediately, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s gentle. 

“Sunghoon. I want you.” You breathe into the kiss. 

“You want me?” His voice is imperceptibly soft, almost as if he’s coaxing you.

A nod from you is all it takes as he leads you onto the bench nearby. You lay down, setting your head back, resting it against the cold metal — a sensation that sends quivers against your skin. He unties your laces, tugging off your skates gently and throwing them to the side. The situation becomes real in this moment. 

“Shit Hoon— shouldn’t we go home? Anyone can walk in.” 

He’s pressing kisses against your ankle now. “Weren’t you the one who started this by whining about how badly you want me?” Your face burns. He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. No one will, baby.” His voice is glazed with honey and your brain is already shutting off as you nod mindlessly at everything he says.  

His gentle hands roam across your body as he peppers light kisses onto your hips. 

“So pretty baby. All for me.”

You groan softly, prompting him to toy with the zipper of your dress, teasingly pulling it down. You slip off your dress and you’re left in nothing but a pair of panties in front of him while he’s still fully dressed. He murmurs something unintelligible at the sight of you, brushing his thumb over your nipples, making them immediately harden. 

He spreads your legs apart, revealing a wet spot on your panties which he lightly runs a finger over. You gasp immediately and his eyes dart to yours, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive already, hm?” His fingers are now rubbing more harshly and you can feel your body heat up. He slips his hand into your panties and pulls them off with ease, leaving you bare. “My beautiful girl, so pretty.” He praises and you whimper. 

“Please Hoonie—” 

“Shh, I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” You nod pathetically, watching as he brings his head down. He starts slow, tongue licking gently at your folds. Your hands fly to his hair immediately, tangling your fingers between his waves. He moves faster, tongue slipping inside your pussy. You cry out as his nose presses into your clit, breathing becoming faster. 

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, already close to your high. It only takes a harsh suck on your clit for you to come completely undone, your hips bucking upwards as you squirt all over his face, screaming his name. 

“Holy fuck angel, that was so hot.” He grins at you. 

You whimper in response. “N- need you more.” 

He chuckles. “Patience baby. You’re so worked up for me aren’t you?”

Sunghoon flips you around with ease and presses your tits down against the cold metal of the bench, sending shockwaves through your body that makes you jerk desperately as the freezing material makes contact with your nipples. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He presses them down harder and you almost shriek, ass up in the air now. You’re getting a faceful of the bench and the sensation is unbearably cold but it just feels so good and your pussy clenches around nothing. You feel his finger move to your clit and he presses down harshly making you gasp. You look over your shoulder as he undoes his zipper with his free hand. The outline of his erection is visible through the fabric of his boxers which he tugs down by the waistband, and his cock springs up, painfully hard. He presses the tip of his cock against your wet folds, teasing. 

“S– stop being a tease.” You gasp. 

“As you say, angel.” He pushes his cock in without warning and the stretch is excruciating. Your vision is already blurring, eyes rimming with tears. His thrusts start slow but even that is too much. 

“Hoon— S’ too much please.” 

“You can handle it can’t you? My perfect girl, I’m sure you can.” 

It burns but you’re desperate to please him. “Yes! I— I can!” A strangled moan escapes you. None of you were even bothering to be quiet.  

He lays his face against the curve of your back and you can feel his breath fanning against your skin as he thrusts in and out. “Mine, mine, mine.” He groans loudly and you clench around him desperately, fingers gripping the bench harder. He’s all the way in deep now and you can feel his balls slapping against your ass. 

“Everything about you— fuck! Want to— Want to ruin you.” He rambles on, hands closing in from behind on your neck. He squeezes lightly, experimentally. And your body reacts immediately as you jerk your head up. He squeezes harder, constricting your throat and strings of moans leave your mouth. 

“Thats it— let me hear you.” 

The lewd noises from your mouth become louder and you’re drooling all over your tits now. The tears start to slip down your face from the sheer amount of pleasure and your hips buck backwards repeatedly, fucking him harder into you. “God— angel that’s perfect. You’re taking me so well. Gripping me so tight—” 

“I can’t!” You cry out, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach build up. “Hoon– I’m gonna–” 

“Come for me.” 

That’s all it takes for your second orgasm to wash over you. You scream into the bench, eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of euphoria crash over you. Nothing comes out. It’s dry. But you’re completely fucked out nonetheless. He’s still thrusting into you, chasing his high as well which comes soon after. His hot seed fills you deep, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. 

You almost collapse face first from exhaustion. He catches your body just in time. His fingers shove into your cunt, pushing his own cum deeper into your aching hole, eliciting a strangled raw sound from your throat. You’re panting now and he pulls you up. 

“You did so good for me— you’re perfect. My gorgeous angel—”

Your face burns from the praise and he pulls you in for a kiss, which you immediately reciprocate even though you’re confused — confused about your feelings for him. Confused about everything. Burning with something — something you can’t quite place — from this moment. But you don’t want to ruin it.

-

The second you reach your bed, you collapse into the mattress. The silence is deafening. You try to cry quietly at first, teeth clenched, chest heaving against your pillow, but it builds too fast, too violently. Within seconds, you’re sobbing — raw and loud and gasping for air.

It isn’t about him and what just happened. It’s about everything. It’s just — too much. You aren’t used to this. All these emotions are hitting you like a wave, crashing over you again and again, mercilessly. It’s more than you had ever felt all at once — the weight of the past four years pushing you down. Everything is happening so fast and you’ve never been more confused. The return to the ice. All your feelings for Sunghoon. The dull thrill of the experience you just shared. It claws at you, overwhelming you with so many decisions to make. 

Your thoughts are spiraling, too fast for your body to keep up. You sit up and wipe your face with the back of your hand, but your fingers are shaking. You don’t plan it. Not really. 

But your fingers reach for the little orange box of antidepressants to run away from it all. Because after all, old habits don’t die so fast. 

One pill.

Two pills. 

Three pills.

Four pills. 

Five pills. 

You’re on a roll now. You can’t stop.

You swallow each one dry, throat burning. It scratches going down, bitter and chalky, like punishment.

First, nothing. But then your skin starts to get feverish. A layer of warmth erupts right beneath the surface and it feels as if your insides are clawing at your skin, desperately trying to escape. You blink. The colours around you start to blur together. The lights streak. You’re suddenly out of breath and you grip the bedframe for support, swallowing harder, trying to make up for the lost oxygen. 

You stand and the world tilts on its axis. You’re trying — trying and failing — to ground yourself. Tremors run down your spine and through your arms. Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the tears are falling, thick and fast now as you clutch your chest, trying desperately, to remind yourself that your heart is still beating. It’s still beating. As long as it’s still beating you’re okay. An ache blooms in your chest — dull at first — but growing steadily like someone’s pressing a hand into your sternum, harder, harder.

Strings of rapid breaths are leaving your mouth. You try to count. Try to breathe like the therapist taught you. Four in, seven out. But the numbers are smudged in your mind and your lungs won’t cooperate. 

You’re afraid.

You call for him first.

“Sunghoon—” you croak out, but your voice is so weak, so pathetic, it barely breaks the air. He’s not here. He wouldn’t hear you even if he was.

Your mother. “Mom—” You gasp out. Just one syllable, broken and desperate, torn from your throat like a last resort.

But she doesn’t come.

Your eyes are fluttering shut now, limbs heavy. The ache in your chest is excruciatingly painful. You lie down, or maybe you fall. You’re not sure anymore.

A jolt of terror racks through you as you feel your body slowing down. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Please— 

Numbness creeps in, fingers first, then your mouth. You can’t feel your lips. You try to open them, to call out again — but you can’t. The room, and your mind, are engulfed in darkness.

Darkness so deep and black that it consumes your entire being.

-

The rhythmic beeping of monitors is what stirs you from your state of unconsciousness. It plays repeatedly near your ear, annoying you enough for you to finally open your eyes. Bad decision— the harsh fluorescent lights above are too bright, too white, it burns. You blink, trying to take in your surroundings. 

You turn your head just slightly. There’s a tray near you, filled to the brim with syringes, IV bottles, gloves, masks and medication. The air smells sterile — like rubbing alcohol, latex gloves, and something sharp you can’t name. A white curtain surrounds the metal bed you’re laying on, half-pulled for privacy. Clear tubes snake from the tray to your arm and a cannula is taped tightly to the back of your hand. You notice your own fingers — red and trembling — and the faint stickiness of a pulse oximeter clipped onto your index finger. A high pitched voice pulls you out of your trance. 

“You’re awake! Oh thank God. I’ll let the family know.” 

A nurse,  maybe in her thirties, tired eyes behind bright lipstick — gives you a quick once-over before disappearing behind the curtain. Her perfume trails after her, cloying and floral. You stare blankly at the place where she was, unsure how to react. Your heart thuds dully beneath your ribs. You feel floaty. Disconnected.

Then you hear it — the rushed footsteps, uneven and panicked. Your mother’s voice, quivering, enters the room before she does.

“She’s awake? Please— where is she—?”

The curtain is drawn back too fast. And there she is.

Hair thrown into a messy bun, cardigan slipping from her shoulders, face bare and worn and flushed. Her eyes are red — not from makeup, but from crying. She stops at the foot of the bed like she doesn’t know whether she’s allowed to come closer. You can’t look at her. But she looks at you like she’s seeing a miracle. And a heartbreak. All at once.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispers, taking a trembling step forward. Her hands reach for you, then retreat, unsure. “You’re… okay. You’re really okay.”

You don’t say anything. The words dissolve on your tongue. What are you even supposed to say? “I’m so sorry,” she says, suddenly choking on a sob. “I didn’t know— I didn’t know it was this bad. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

You flinch. Not at her volume, but at the truth. Because it was that bad. And you didn’t tell her. And now you’re here — a bed, machines, IV lines, and guilt. Especially knowing, you couldn’t really afford any of this right now. Her hand finds yours, squeezing it. Your fingers are limp in hers.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she says, her voice cracking. “They didn’t know if you’d… if you’d wake up. You stopped breathing for almost a minute. The ambulance barely made it in time.”

You close your eyes. Tears begin to slide down your temples and into your hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

She shakes her head, trying to wipe your tears and her own at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not ever. I’m your mother.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you say, and the shame in your chest is unbearable now. “I already have. I already do.”

“Never,” she says fiercely, leaning closer. “Never say that. I don’t care about any of it. The money or the skating. I care about you. I need you. You’re my daughter. I love you. Don’t you understand?”

You don’t. Or maybe you do, but it doesn’t erase the guilt. The way her hand is shaking in yours. The way her voice is thinner now. You can’t stop imagining the phone call she must have gotten. The ride over. The waiting. The not knowing.

You should’ve said something. Months ago. Years ago. But you didn’t. You swallowed it down, like you always do. And this is where that gets you. Her lips press to your forehead. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” she says, stroking your hair back gently. “Someone else has been… waiting to see you.”

Your stomach flips. You know exactly who she means. 

She gives your hand one last squeeze before stepping away, walking toward the curtain. Then there’s the quiet rustle of movement behind the thin white sheet, and a shadow cast through it. Tall. Still. Hesitant. And then the curtain peels back again.

It’s him.

Sunghoon.

You glance at him from the hospital bed, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Sunghoon sits down beside you gently, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His hands tremble slightly as he folds them in his lap.

“You’re really here,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I thought—”

You nod, your throat tight. “I know.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re both thinking it. He thought you were going to die.

“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice breaks a little. “I walked out that night and I was still thinking about you. And then I got the call and—” He shakes his head. “It felt like the world stopped.” You don’t know what to say. Instead you study his face, the way his brows are furrowed, the slight shine in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. He speaks up again. “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod. His grip tightens slightly. He’s bracing himself.

“Was it because of… that night?”

Oh.

“No,” you say quickly. Then again, firmer. “No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lift to yours. Searching.

You squeeze his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.”

He breathes out, like he’s been holding it in for days. Maybe he has.

“I just… I’ve been going over it in my head a thousand times. You left so fast, and I—I didn’t know if I pushed too far or if I scared you—”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head. “That night was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls. Shoulders drop. He looks so tired.

Your hands find his and you trace the edge of his fingers with your thumb, grounding him like he’s done for you so many times.

“Sunghoon, I love you.”

His eyes grow a little wide but he swallows. “I— I love you too.”

There's silence. You’re wondering if you should say what’s clawing at you right now. If this is the right moment. 

“Hoon— I need to get better,” you say after a beat. “Not just survive. Not just go about my life or pretend like I’m okay because people need me to be. I need to actually get better.”

“I want that for you.”

You smile, sad and soft. “I don’t know if I can be with anyone right now. I don’t want to hurt you. Or myself.”

He swallows hard. “I figured you might say that.”

“And I do love you,” you add quickly. “I really do. You’ve been the only person who’s really seen me since… since everything. And that means more than you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. The beeping monitors around you continue their soft, rhythmic song. Somewhere in the hallway, a nurse laughs faintly.

“Would it be okay if we… just stay like this?” you ask. “For a little while?”

His hand closes around yours and soft blue smoke curls out from where your fingers meet. And it says everything. 

It’s enough for you.

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[hey-itsdollie]

ᴛʜɪɢʜꜱ.ᐟ.ᐟ

‧₊˚ ┊ blue lock boys with thick thighed s/o .ᐟ.ᐟ

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » isagi. bachira. reo. nagi. gagamaru.

๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ cw » aged up!, suggestive themes, fem reader, thigh kissing, thigh worship, biting, mainly fluff! use of pet names

Part 1 -u are here!-, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Final Part!

── .✦ Yoichi Isagi

"Yoichi you aren't even watching the movie anymore!" you whined staring down at the dark-haired male who laid in between your legs. The dark-haired male in question being your boyfriend. He had finally gotten two weeks off from his imprisonment aka Blue Lock which meant the two of you could finally spend time together again. Physical time and not just virtually. "Mmm sorry-- you're just so distracting..." Isagi muttered his words muffled by your thighs. His face practically buried between them.

"Geez I forgot about your... favored interests." you let out a soft breathy laugh. Isagi huffed raising his head slightly to gaze up at you. His eyes dark and lidded.

"Yeah, yeah... laugh it up." the football player scoffed meanwhile his hands seemed to roam over your curves, gripping your skin softly. "God you're perfect..." Isagi groaned leaning down and trailing kisses up your inner thighs.

The movie playing in the background was simply forgotten, as your attention was now on your thigh obsessed boyfriend. His eyes seemingly closed in bliss with each lingering kiss he left on your skin. He wasn't normally a pda type of person, at least not in public. His personality heavily depends on the situation he's in and who he's with.

Your hands combed through his messy hair, coaxing him to continue his actions. Isagi rubbed his cheek up against your thigh, your skin squishing against his face as you made eye contact.You knew that look very well. You knew the movie would no longer have any of your attentions for the remaining hours of the night.

── .✦ Meguru Bachira

"Ow! Megs seriously?!"

You glared down at your two-tone haired boyfriend, who was grinning devilishly back up at you. His yellow-eyes gazing innocently into your own e/c eyes. "Oops, was I too harsh N/n?" he spoke teasingly. His thumb mindlessly drawing smooth circles around the obvious bite mark on your plump thigh.

You frowned as he leaned down to the new reddening mark, placing soft kisses around and on the bite. "I'm sorry my pretty girl. I'll be more careful next time." he whispered soothingly.

Meguru knew his girlfriend couldn't stay upset with him. Hell he's left worst marks on you before. How could he not leave marks on you? Your plump thighs were right there! Practically a blank canvas.

He'll always make new art upon your body, small or large. Never permanent but oh so sentimental.

"I love your curves... all mine to mark up" he muttered before wrapping his mouth over some skin and biting down. Just hard enough for you to have temporary indents. "You better not bruise me... ahh..." your voice wavered, the small whimpers challenging your warning words.

Meguru grinned as he left more marks along your thighs, lifting your right leg up to get underneath. His eyes seemingly shining more as he sees all the untouched skin.

With weak eyes you watched him, his eyes already telling you he was about to make a mess out of you. Who were you to stop him?

── .✦ Reo Mikage

"Ahh Reo..."

Your sounds were like honey to the purple-haired male. His mouth sucking and biting your seemingly sensitive flesh. He was kneeled before you, with your left leg over his shoulder. His head was practically under the skirt of your dress as he feasted on your thighs.

You gazed down at him your shaking hands gripping the fabric of your dress weakly. You leaned against the wall of his bedroom, pulling your skirt up just enough for you to watch your boyfriend's sensual actions.

His eyes glanced up at you just as you pulled the silk fabric up enough. But the tension from the moment and the suggestive gaze of his almost made you drop the fabric back down.

"What about the dinner party?" you weakly voiced out, trying to gain some kind of control of your shaking body.

"It can wait precious... how can I go out knowing I didn't worship my woman before hand?" Reo groaned out his lips connecting back to your thighs after each word. "What type of boyfriend would I be if my woman didn't know how beautiful I thought she was?"

His smooth words left you speechless as you leaned your head back against the wall. Your hands seemingly left the fabric of your dress, instead they buried into your boyfriend's lengthy purple hair.

Reo leaned back panting as he admired his work his signature smirk displayed on his features. "Damn Precious look at you... I'm a lucky man."

── .✦ Seishiro Nagi

You and Nagi were sprawled across his bed playing video games. "Sei there's a spider in the cave with me!" you panicked, the idea of throwing your phone becoming quite tempting. Your lazy boyfriend glanced up at your fear struck face before moving his eyes back down to his phone.

Using the curves of your thighs as a pillow, Nagi seemed to let out a muffled grumble. "What are your coordinates, I'll go to you..." his words were slowed as his speech seemed to match perfectly with his lifestyle.

"Uh coordinates? I don't kno- oh... I'm dead..." you stared at your phone as your avatar spawned back at Nagi and your's shared base. The meowing of your in-game cats sounded from your phone as you sighed and set your phone beside you.

"Seiii, Minecraft is way harder in survival!" You whined, knowing it was the only "easy" game you two could play together. "It's supposed to be harder." Sei grumbled out as he continued to collect wood in the digital world.

After a few minutes, the white-haired male set his phone on your stomach and buried his face inbetween your thighs. You gazed down at him unamused due to this being a frequent position the two of you were normally in. Your hands reached down and scratched at his bed-head.

"Sei?" you hummed thinking he fell asleep until you heard a muffled hum come from him. "Do you wanna do anything?" you questioned with a soft smile as in reply your boyfriend seemed to just bury his head further between your thighs.

"Sei if you keep doing that, I might crush you." you joked tilting your head. Nagi gripped under your thighs as if to show he wasn't moving anytime soon. "That would be amazing..." he stated with a muffled groan making you laugh.

"You're such a weirdo Sei."

── .✦ Gin Gagamaru

Your boyfriend Gagamaru was quiet unique. He was a more hands on person than vocal. Leading to him to being quite eccentric or intimidating to others. This showed even throughout your relationship.

For example, your current situation. Gagamaru was laying in between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders. His large hands were wrapped around your curves as you two both peacefully watched nature videos on his tv.

Your hands calmly played with his hair as his hand-made hair tie was wrapped around your wrist.

"We should go to the mountains soon..." you hummed as your hands massaged his scalp. A deep groan left him as he leaned his head back. Gagamaru's big eyes gazing at you. "We should." he agreed his deep voice causing your thighs to slightly vibrate.

His lips trailed along your thighs subconsciously as his eyes moved back to the tv screen. He bit your curves gently as his large hands massaged your other unattended thigh. He enjoyed taking his time as he took care of you. Especially when it came to your thighs.

He loved all of you but there was a special place in his heart for your thighs. He loved being able to grab them, they were always so full and plump in his hands. If he wasn't grabbing your thighs he was most definitley grabbing your stomach or hips.

"Mm Gin?" you hummed noticing the change in his actions. He hummed in return as his body rolled over and he was now kissing and sucking your inner thighs. Saliva connecting him to you whenever he pulled away to catch his breath.

"Need you..." Gagamaru whispered his voice seemingly growing deeper as his big eyes gazed into yours. His hands already moving up your hips and gripping the waistband of your pants.

first post?!?!?!? hope you enjoyed it! I'll take requests if anybody has any<3 new to this so hoping in time I'll get the hang of posting!

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!