#NOT A ONE SEASON WONDER NOT A ONE TIME WORLD CHAMPION WHO EVERYONE WILL FORGET

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt6

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

A/N: okay so the draft did not save itself that's why i made a quick edit and just post this one. I hope you enjoy this

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods

2010, Interlagos

"Honey we have to stop meeting like this" Jenson grins as he opens his hotel room.

Y/N immediately wrapped her arms around the British driver. Media be damned but she was extremely worried about Jenson when she heard what happened. She couldn't stop messaging people to ask him if he was okay or what. Even Mark has been worried when she told him what happened.

"Are you okay? You aren't hurt or anything?" Y/N asked worriedly.

"I'm alive and well"Jenson said, closing the door "maybe a little bruised ego from not being able to compete for the championship"

"Oh championship be damned Jense, you almost got kidnapped"Y/N exclaimed

Jenson could only chuckle. He admits he was a bit spooked by what happened but it is what it is. However, he was extremely grateful that Y/N has been worried enough to check up on him and assures that he is okay.

"Just join me for a little drink and lets talk about our day"Jenson suggested "Wine, beer, whiskey?"

"Beer would be fine" Y/N answered.

For all the times that Jenson have gone drinking with Y/N, he knows that her preference was more on wine. He could never forget it because who else than Y/N orders a wine on a bar or a nightclub.

"Tough day?" Jenson wondered

"Not as bad as being kidnapped" Y/N drinks up.

"Touché"

The two friends conversed for the night. Jenson opened up how it felt for him that he isn't able to extend his championship streak. He was not at all disappointed because he performed well and he just missed it out with this race. Y/N is a good listener and became a good support for Jenson.

"What about you? You are in for the big race on Abu Dhabi"Jenson diverted the attention to the female Webber "The big question is who are you supporting"

"I'm neutral"

Jenson looked at her as if she grew two heads. He shook his head as he took a sip of his beer.

"Oh c'mon your brother might win and you are still neutral about it?" Jenson questioned

"Well if you must know my bestfriend is also competing, Lewis is also competing and Fernando is also there" Y/N stated

Jenson raises his eyebrows in a teasing manner. He is not blind and he does not fall for the lies that Y/N is not choosing a side because she is friends with everyone competing. Y/N refuses to take a side because of the 'bestfriend.'

"You know its going to be historic, four drivers vying for a championship" Jenson informs "I think this is the first time that this happened"

"A lot of pressure for those wanting to win" Y/N agrees.

"You are feeling it all Y/N?" Jenson asked.

Y/N could just give out a sigh as a response. She knows that she won't be sleeping well with the whole thing happening. Its bound to happen that someone will not be fast enough and lose. Then there is also the possibility that someone will win the race and be crowned as champion.

With everything down the wire, no one could predict what will happen.

"You have to make a choice you know" Jenson reminded "What if Mark wins, what if Sebastian wins?"

"We can't have them both as world champions?" Y/N joked

"Maybe for different seasons"Jenson offered.

It was impossible for either of the driver to secure that. Given how the things are in Red Bull. They will favor whoever brings them the first championship and then place the other as their second driver.

"Y/N its just going to be much more difficult after this"Jenson straightforwardness sobered Y/N up a little "You have to stay strong and pick a side"

"I don't want to pick a side Jense, they both deserve a championship"Y/N stays firm "They are both incredible and fantastic drivers. If one of them wins, I'll be happy but I know my heart also aches for the one who misses out that championship"

This was the thing that Jenson admired about Y/N. She is supportive and loyal like that, its quite rare in the field. He gave her a comforting hug as they continue drinking their woes away.

2010, Yas Marina

It was early morning of the qualifying day when Y/N received the email. She was very much surprised upon receiving the email because she had to blink a couple of times to make sure that she is reading it correctly.

From: McLaren Racing

Subject: Job vacancy.

"Oh I am so gonna kill you for this Jense"Y/N muttered.

One of the discussions during their drunk night in Brazil was that the possible solution to Y/N's problem is moving teams. Jenson suggested that there might be some vacant jobs in McLaren before the winter season begins.

And now this conveniently timed email that Y/N has been highly recommended by several employees for the position of Press Officer makes one think that Jenson took that advice seriously.

"Are you decent?" couple of knocks interrupted her "Can I come in?"

"Come on in Mark"

Mark has two cups of coffee in hand. He was already dressed and ready for his paddock appearance. Y/N could just chuckle at the role reversal because usually she was the one who is already dressed while Mark is the one begging for five more minutes to prepare.

"One brown sugar shaken espresso with 3 pumps of toffee nuts"Mark recited proudly.

"You remembered?"

Y/N was in glee as she takes in the cup of coffee. It was a kind of morning that really needs a coffee to help her throughout the day.

"No one drinks coffee as sugary like that, only you" Mark snickers.

"I just like my coffee sweet"Y/N defends.

Mark ends up sitting at one of the chairs. Y/N could read how his expression is a mix of confidence but deep down there is some kind of worry that he is trying to hide. It must be the championship nerves getting the best of him.

"You nervous?"Y/N asked her older brother.

"Its my only chance for a championship. It feels different" Mark answered.

Y/N wanted to say that its not true and there will be plenty of more chances in the start of a new season. However,she knew that this is the closest shot that Mark has to the championship ever since he entered Formula 1.

"I spoke to Sebastian last night" Mark brought it up.

The younger Webber immediately looked up with wide eyes. She knew that the two haven't been in speaking terms except when they have to or forced to talk with each other.

"We talked about you" Mark expanded.

"Me? Why am I even brought up into the conversation?"she was confused.

"Same question but it was Sebastian that first approached me" Mark explained "He talked about how win or lose, we should not put you into a bad spot because you are both important to us"

There Sebastian goes again making her heart skip a beat. Its these little things that mainly causes her to feel deeper and deeper for the German driver. Y/N felt really touched that despite the intense rivalry, he still cares.

"And I know I thought about it all night how I'm really making things difficult for you. So thanks for sticking up with me and I'll try to be much more easier to handle" Mark concludes.

"Oh brother" was all Y/N could say before hugging him.

It felt nice for the both of them that they have each other in the sports. Its the same reason why Y/N cannot answer the offer of Jenson to move into McLaren. If she leaves then how could she be there for her brother?

"Seb really cares a lot about you"Mark informs.

"He is just being a good....bestfriend" Y/N rebutted but she seems unconvinced with her own answer.

Mark knew that Sebastian has a big sense of pride. But whenever, Y/N comes to the picture then he will immediately melt. Mark could only chuckle because Y/N has no clue of the chokehold he has over Sebastian.

"Oh I think you are thinking too little about yourself"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Y/N wondered

It was not Mark's business to play cupid. If Sebastian had the balls then he would have asked her without his help. He just gave a grin as he exited the room.

"Don't be late"Mark teased

"MARK WHAT DOES IT MEAN?"

Meanwhile, Sebastian is early to arrive at the paddock to avoid the media asking plenty of questions. He wanted to be stress-free today since he needs to put all his focus to this race because this is his chance to win the championship. He will be damned if he lets this slip by.

At the moment, he is sitting at the cafeteria which seems to be deserted by the crowd. He was enjoying his peaceful breakfast when a man in orange sat next to him.

"How are you feeling buddy?" Jenson asked too energetically for Sebastian's opinion.

"For a man no longer fighting for the championship, you seem more excited than me" Sebastian joked.

"Oh don't tell me you are nervous" Jenson teased "The Sebastian Vettel is nervous?"

Sebastian rarely gets nervous but this is one of those instances that he really feels the nerves getting the best of him. He finds it really out of his character. There is this heavy feeling in his chest that he may emerge victorious or a complete failure after this race.

"Don't tell anyone but you have my vote of confidence" Jenson whispered.

It was a bit of a boost to hear it from the 2009 World Champion, Sebastian gave him a quick hug which Jenson accepts. It was due to this closeness that Jenson noticed the silver necklace hanging on his neck.

A mischievous grin replaced Jenson's face as he knows there was only one person in this paddock that has that necklace.

"That's Y/N, isn't it?" Jenson snickers.

Just like that, the feeling of embarrassment spread in Sebastian's face. He was not embarrassed by the gift but rather he feels a little shy about anyone seeing his little lucky charm. He tucks it inside safely inside of his shirt.

"It is" Sebastian answered,playing it cool "How did you know?"

Knowing the dating history of Y/N and Jenson, he can feel a little green monster forming at his shoulders. Jenson must have been well-acquainted with Y/N that he paid close attention to notice details such as her necklace.

"Mate, when are you going to ask her out? It's been ages" Jenson asked.

"Excuse me?"

Sebastian was not expecting that. He immediately downed a water to hide his surprise.

"Don't tell me you still haven't made a move even after everything?"Jenson asked.

Jenson knew that Sebastian was someone very dear to Y/N. He had spent enough time with Y/N o figure out that its always the Webber family, Sebastian Vettel, Red Bull, then everyone else. That was how the list of priority of Y/N goes.

"She doesn't like me like that" Sebastian lies even though everything from that drunk confession still replays in Sebastian's head.

"You know what, if you win the championship then go and ask her out" Jenson challenged.

"Now you are putting even more pressure on me"

"C'mon now!" Jenson was exasperated "I'm not even accepting any cash prizes, just name your first child after me for being a good wingman"

"I'm gonna ignore you now Button" Sebastian's nonchalantly ended the conversation.

"Sebastian you can win the championship and the girl!" Jenson convincingly shouts.

Sebastian just gives him a shrug as he continues to eat. He smiles at the thought that maybe he will try Jenson's advice.

Victorious Vettel and a missing team mate.

Congratulations to the amazing drive of Sebastian Vettel which made him victorious from the four-way championship. He also boast two records with one being the youngest WDC champion and the other being Red Bull's first driver champion.

While celebrations are happening, it was evident that there was the absence of the Webber siblings. Mark Webber was seen congratulating Vettel the minute that they stepped out of the car. However, Mark wasn't seen after that and even in the parties. Also absent was Y/N Webber, dubbed as Sebastian's bestfriend. She was spotted in the Red Bull garage but she was absent as well during the celebrations.

Is there trouble brewing with the Webbers against the new world champion?

Seb: Hey, where are you? I have been looking for you everywhere Seb: Y/N are you there? sent by 8pm Seb: I'm going to the club with the team. I hope to see you there sent by 9:34 pm Y/N: Hi Seb! Congratulations with your WDC!! You know that I always believed that you will be a champion one day! I'm really really so happy and so proud of you. Y/N: I'm really sorry if I couldn't be there. I fainted around lap 45 but not to worry, its just my sugar levels. My phone went dead last night and I wasn't able to reply and congratulate right away. I'm really sorry. sent by 11:22 am Seb: Hey, I'm glad to hear you are okay. I just woke up from a massive hangover. I wish you have seen the party Seb: BTW, I have something to tell. Are you still at the hotel? sent by 2:06 pm Y/N: Oh, me and Mark took an early flight back to Melbourne. Parents were a bit worried. sent by 5:44 pm Seb: Okay see you. Y/N: What do you mean see you???? Seb: :)))))))))))))))))

It might be the high from winning the championship or maybe its the alcohol in his system but Sebastian was sure of his decisions.

Clothes are haphazardly thrown into the luggage while he conducts a quick sweep of the essentials he might need. He sent a quick text to everyone that might be needing him. As far as he knows, he has some time off before resuming with his media duties and such.

He is going to Australia.

[clarajohnson]

the magicians s1e13

yes i put this one off i wasn't ready yet

i love when the recaps just give everything away it's so cute of them ohhhh the watcherwoman you say? god i wonder who that is. oh jane chatwin is important you say? that's interesting.

i love that q gets into fillory and within days is like alright guess i should write an unauthorized sequel to fillory and further

"no, i just stabbed my own hand" YOU wanted the fantasy protagonist lifestyle YOU have to deal with the common risk of blood sacrifice

BOOOOO FUCK YOU EMBER EVERYBODY HATES EMBER

loveeeee the .02% opium also love "a pretty unfair way to get you to love a place" i love the way he thinks of things you neurotic little freak

NOTHING better than the way q says "nnnnbitches" in i am in that scene, bitches

(speaking to the magicians showrunners) by all means, hinge your entire quest on a traumatized boy

every knife scene is a tease until my beloved wife fen appears

you are from a place that likes murder!

it is so obvious as to almost be lazy that the watcherwoman would be q's favorite fillory villain

jesus christ i love that q is the volunteer tomato. he would be. he really would be, he cannot resist jumping into danger if the purpose is to save the things he loves.

the memory patch :-((((((

"margo being such a bitch." oh eliot waugh you are so dear to me

q's narration is pretty fun for this episode i like it quite a bit

this is a funny stage of the team assembly, the way they resist julia's inclusion when actually julia is going to be very important to everyone (i am making this up just because i like julia)

the leo blade is pretty sexy i appreciate it

TIME FOR FEN

oh wait i forgot it's a different fen :-( see you soon my beloved

"i admit i was 100% sure that i was definitely the high king. i know! shocking, right?" fucking crazy that we have to watch him experience total ego death while eliot is making stoner jokes

season one eliot still agreeing to marry fen despite all the fine print is so shocking when you think about it, like, i forget the kind of guy he starts out as, and the "my life, it doesn't work" speech is like a total shove into character development that moves so quickly and immediately blooms and is so instantly rewarding. man when this show is good it's good.

"i think you're the only person that i can stand"

these chapter titles make me believe that q is not a good writer. i imagine his fillory fics were not highly rated.

"father-in-law, why is this blade a thousand degrees?"

mrs. me !!!!!

i will say this. and this is a kind of spoilsport opinion i know this. i do not like the whole ember's jizz plot and i find it very gross and demeaning and unnecessary, not that any of this is necessary, just that this specific element feels chosen to be a gross-out.

"can you be the champion we've been waiting for? "i want to be." whew there it is!

ONCE AGAIN FUCK EMBER FUCK EMBER FOREVER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

me when i hate the character the show wants me to hate :-o >:-(

i completely forgot plover was in the dungeon lmao you know what let martin be a little bit more of the beast !!!!!! yeah poor you !!!!

most pathetic boy in the world voice: i know you don't want to hear it right now but i love you

quentin coldwater has the craziest fucking self-esteem anyone has ever had it goes in all directions and fluctuates hourly

you're not as good as i hoped, quentin coldwater.

please not the glowing eyes jesus christ

whewwwwwwwwww the reynard scene is always going to get to me sooooo fucking bad jesus jesus jesus

"trickster of the faithful and the pure of heart" i gotta be honest i don't know what mythology reynard is part of but i don't know what the purpose of a god like that would be. this guy seems like a burnt pancake to me.

horrible. horrible!

it's so wild that she called marina. i like that she did that i just think it's crazy. and it's a really interesting aspect of marina's character too! "jesus, julia, i wanna help." the girl is not an asshole we just hate women with boundaries JOKING she IS an asshole but i do think sometimes women are allowed to be.

love that penny expands his powers with stick-and-pokes

i believe, because i want to, that there is some significance to julia going into the wellspring last.

i forgot martin is UGGOOOOO

you know i think the way this show frames the forty timelines, for q at least, is as a kind of suicide mission, which i really feel like pushing against. i don't see q as a character outlined by despair or futility i think he's all about hope and perseverance and i think that's beautiful and it's what i want for him!

shit i completely forgot about jules teaming up with the beast for a minute oh julia you're a crazy lady

shows don't have the kind of security to end a season with five out of six main characters bleeding out and absolutely no resolution anymore

[jensons-buttons]

MAX VERSTAPPEN IS A 2 TIME FORMULA ONE CHAMPION!!

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Yup, Sure Was a Finale

I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.

It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.

Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.

(+) This

Just this.

(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert

“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020

(+) The tragedy of Azula

And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…

(+) Sokka being a big bro

And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…

And now for the main course.

(-) Blink and its over

The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.

Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.

Oh well!

(-) Ursa

We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…

(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?

Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?

Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?

So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.

Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.

(-) “What does Katara want?”

Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.

This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,

Once.

And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.

The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.

And I fully intend to die mad about it.

(-) Iroh dips

OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.

(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)

Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?

(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se

Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.

The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?

Yeah, no.

Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:

orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;

gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;

establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;

sabotaging Fire Nation’s war efforts from the inside;

countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);

running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.

Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.

You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.

(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn

Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?

If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.

One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”

I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.

You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.

I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.

(-) All hail Avatar Rock

Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.

He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.

He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.

Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.

The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.

And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.

Again.

It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.

Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.

And I hate it.

Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.

[vetteldixon]

Sebastian Vettel hybrid era stats:

Wins: 14

Podiums: 60

Pole Positions: 12

Fastest Laps: 16

These are the numbers of a guy in an era that is supposed to be a failure for him... mind you, numbers that are better than the entire careers of many retired legends of the sport.

I don't know why Seb fans are surprised by the blatant disregard he's shown time and again. It's been years of the media gaslighting against him. The guy was supposed to be the next big thing after 2008, but when he started doing what a "next big thing" should it was suddenly because of the car. And Seb has mentioned before how he wasn't made to feel exactly welcome in the paddock because he was so young, and part of his career problems are also the fact that he was so good so young, the narrative simply changed to "Sebastian Vettel needs to win everything with a car that shouldn't be championship capable for us to take his achievements seriously because we can't wrap our heads around the fact that someone could be a 4 time world Champion at the age of 26, how could he be so good, he's too young for that, it has to be the car", because clearly that's what other champions have done lmao😂

Oh and fun fact, the 2013 red Bull had a smaller pace advantage to the second quickest team on the grid, than the 2017 Mercedes had to the 2017 Ferrari, yet we live in a world where one season is considered dominant because of a rocketship, while the other became a championship fight and was lost by the slower car because the team didn't know how to use spark plugs and have race strategies. Ferrari were also using a 2016 speck engine...

I have also seen some people here and on Twitter who claim to be Seb fans take Fernando Alonso's words spoken purely out of jealousy after losing two championships to a kid as words of gospel, and the remainder of his fans just busy hyping the grid dad, bee collector image. The FOM also plays into that... For them Seb was the villain until the end of 2019, the frail former champion last year to milk a sob divorce story with Ferrari. But now that he is not in competitive machinery it's suddenly oh look how wonderful and wholesome Seb is, heart eyes heart eyes heart eyes...

I don't know what Aston are doing for this year, and where the car would be in the pecking order, but rest assured if the team is competitive in the slightest, the FOM will forget their grid dad Seb and be back to making him the villain, but only the villain, never a hero.

Also, a request for people here if you haven't carefully followed the 2017&18 seasons including how the development work went on with the teams and especially the political turmoil at Ferrari since the end of 2017 that got amplified mid season in 2018 because of Marchionne's death, refrain from commenting on Seb's season, we don't really need your half-arsed stories on how Seb got beaten by Mercedes, when he was busy with a championship fight and trying to deal with idiots in his own team mocking him, and the teams higher ups being involved in an in-fighting which everyone's beloved Mattia Binotto himself has described had reached a point where the aerodynamics the power trains department weren't even communicating correctly to each other that led to massive issues with car development.

anon you sent me this at just the right time because i'm so sleepy that i'm willing to just publish this without comment

[osleyakomwonkru]

Give No Judgment, Take No Shit: How to Save a Saviour

It is a common mistake in The 100 fandom to consider the period of time between Lincoln’s death in 3x09 to confronting her demons in her mindspace in 6x09 to be one long downward spiral for Octavia. But nothing could be further from the truth. She had begun to heal from Lincoln’s death, but that period of time is so brief that people often forget about it.

That brief period of time is the space between 4x07 and 5x02, and as we will see, the process of healing was much the same then as it was in season 6-7, because both times it involved someone who could honestly help her - as opposed to the people who claimed they wanted to help her, but just drove her further into darkness because they thought they knew better but they didn’t.

The process of how one helps Octavia out of a dark spiral is really quite simple, as summed up in the title: Give no judgment, take no shit. It seems really quite basic, yet plenty of people around Octavia repeatedly failed to be able to realize that. You’ve got people like Bellamy and Kane, who did the exact opposite of that - would give judgment, but take shit (in season 3, in season 5 they stayed with giving judgment, but didn’t take shit). Then there’s Niylah, who wouldn’t judge but also took shit.

The only people who successfully endorsed the adage of “give no judgment, take no shit” are Ilian and Diyoza.

Ilian is a chronically underappreciated character in The 100 universe. He was only around for a season, but he was a character every bit as important (I’d argue possibly even more so) than Lincoln, because he was far more than just a brief fling for Octavia, he saved her life on at least three occasions.

Even a saviour needs saving sometimes.

He saved her after she’d been stabbed by Echo and stepped off the cliff. He saved her when she tried to kill herself by stepping out into the black rain. And he saved her during the Conclave when she was losing a 3-on-1 fight against some of the other champions. His help during the Conclave was part of what inspired Octavia to save all of the clans from Praimfaya, giving them each spots in the bunker. She knew that after winning the Conclave with Indra’s sword, Ilian’s help and Roan’s alliance that she couldn’t claim it just for her own people. It belonged to all of them - and she tells Indra as much later on.

That’s just the physical lifesaving. He also saved her emotionally, in a way that Lincoln wouldn’t have been able to do - nor a way that Bellamy or Kane or anyone else close to her ventured to try. He challenged her in a way that she wasn’t used to. This part of the “take no shit” part - she’s a strong personality, and while that’s absolutely wonderful for the world when she’s in a good mood and has hope and love because that’s when she saves everyone, when she’s in a dark spiral the world needs to watch itself.

Trapped as they were in that cave in 4x07, Ilian challenged her and made her face the small numbers of demons she had at that point (compared to later in life). Others would have coddled her, and Octavia doesn’t respond well to coddling. She needs a challenge, something to push her forwards. This inspires her to forsake violence and come back to his farm. Now, obviously that doesn’t last very long, but she does then take up her sword again to fight for all of humanity, so it works out in the short run.

The bunker, of course, as we’ve discussed many times before, gave Octavia even more demons, even more darkness, and for six years she drowned in it with no way out - people either betrayed her (most people), or they coddled her (Niylah), and neither were ways to bring her back to having healthy hope again.

Enter Diyoza.

Already their banter at the end of 5x13 showed so much promise (though obviously Diyoza didn’t know the full extent of her history and her demons yet, that only came later), and season 6 leaned into that hard. Diyoza challenged Octavia in the same way Ilian did, making her face feelings and emotions she’d have rather just ignored, while also saving her when the chips were down because that’s what you do when you’ve got a fallen angel with suicidal ideation (at least, that’s what you should do, Diyoza and Niylah are the only characters who passed that test in season 6).

When they end up on the other side of the Anomaly, Diyoza doesn’t stop challenging her. We know that Diyoza helps Octavia battle her darkness, because Octavia says as much in her letter to Bellamy. She also provides something to fight for - not in the form of an actual battle, but still a challenge set before her, and that’s helping to raise Hope. Octavia’s found purpose in helping children before (Gavriel in 3x06, Rose in 6x04), and this is a long-term project that Diyoza works to get Octavia interested in and away from the Anomaly and what she perceives as lost causes on the other side of it.

Of course, that’s not enough for Octavia and she still fights for her brother for six years, until Diyoza finally puts a stop to it by destroying the helmet and with it Octavia’s chances of getting down to the Anomaly. As much as Octavia is angry about having that choice taken from her, she does make peace with it and settles into her life on Skyring, committing to Hope and Diyoza in a way she hadn’t before. She gets her new family, courtesy of Diyoza.

These ten years of peace have much more long-lasting ramifications than her few days farming with Ilian, because they set the stage for Octavia’s more extended season 7 storyline. She’s tested and challenged multiple times, and each time she comes out stronger emotionally, rather than being worn down as she was in the bunker when she didn’t have that emotional grounding.

Kidnapped by Bardo and mindraped for weeks? Her only concern is protecting Hope, not her own fate.

Retaken by Bardo and witnessed her brother’s supposed death? Screw them, she’s keeping them out of her head (remembering also that she kept them out by force of will alone while Diyoza, Clarke and Madi all used pain as a defense mechanism instead).

Faced with a grieving Echo, a stark mirror of her past when losing a lover? Embrace her old adversary as family.

Freedom requires indoctrination? Three months of Bardo training, and she resists it all, even turning one of their greatest assets.

Her longest and dearest friend sacrifices herself to save her child’s soul? Her concern is for their child, not for herself.

Her brother reappears, betrays them, and is killed? She forgives her brother’s murderer.

The human race is about to destroy itself? She convinces them not to - and is the only one who could have successfully done so.

Indra was right when she said that Octavia’s strength was always within her. And for a time, Indra nurtured it. Until she didn’t. And with Octavia’s emotional strength dissolving with each death and betrayal, physical strength is all she had to fall back on.

Meanwhile, Ilian and Diyoza were well familiar with Octavia’s physical strength, and they considered (rightly) that the strength within her that needed nurturing was her emotional strength - if she had that, she didn’t need to use the physical.

And how do you nurture that in someone like Octavia? As I said at the start - give no judgment, take no shit. You do that, and Octavia will save the world.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (28)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Do you have a favorite season? I love spring and winter. Ah spring... the most beautiful season, where flowers bloom just like love stories. Cherry blossoms... the petals that fall... a romantic movie scene, isn't it? And winter! a cold a little dry certainly ... but that is where we see the thing that amazes children. I'm not talking about Santa Claus, no. I'm talking about... Snow. There's so much you can do with snow! Snowmen, snow angels, snowball fights etc...

The falling snow brings magic to the scenery, the frozen lakes offer an incredible spectacle that allows you to play and fish... if we're careful not to break it. Because I don't know if you've ever tried swimming in a lake where the temperature is... icy, but if you want to fall into hypothermia, this is a good way to get there. but it's a good place to ice skate. If you are good enough then you will have no problem! but if you start then... you'll often hurt. Generally, what inspires you to ice skating are figure skating competitions. Unfortunately, at the moment, it is not winter. So, no ice skating. Or... You have to go to an ice rink. And that's exactly what Melina had planned to relax everyone. Especially Danny.

What put him in a bad mood? The fact that you went out with Melina last night? No no... You have the right to have fun with your friends from time to time. And he sincerely hopes you had a good time! After all, if you ever come to leave Roseville, with him, if possible, you may not be out again for a little while. No, what put our dear Danny in a bad mood is this asshole who tried to charm you at the restaurant. This wretched little bastard had the audacity to come to you, to talk to you, and in addition to touching you? And the whole thing, like he honestly thought it was going to work?

And the worst part of all this was you and Melina made it clear to him that you were already with someone. But that bastard didn't want to know. Danny finds his next victim. Thanks to you, he knows what he looks like, and when he comes into action, Danny won't miss him. No spectacular staging. A hard-line massacre. A Ghostface classic. No one has the right to touch you, even less seduce you. He doesn't know what he just got himself into. Want a good way to know when Danny's angry? Look at his eyes. They are a piercing blue as normal, well when he is angry or when he goes crazy, they are even more piercing. Like the eyes of a cat.

“Jed? Are you...Are you sure you’re alright?”  

Danny came out of his macabre dreams to watch you. Your voice, like a sweet melody to his ears, will give him a smile, his beautiful angel smile.

“Yes, excuse me. I was thinking of something else. Were you talking to me?” He asks, putting his glasses back on his nose.  

“No, I was the one talking to you. I told you not to worry about that asshole last night. We said to him to go f*ck himself, (y/n) and me. And believe me, he was doing one of those faces... he won't forget me.” respond Melina, looking in the rear-view mirror.

“I'm surprised you didn't give him an arm wrench. Or a kick where I think... I'm really surprised!” said Mattew to her with a sneaky smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Like what, you see that I can perfectly behave as a responsible person and act with tact and diplomacy ... before moving on to the offend. But believe me, it's not the desire that I missed. I didn't want to get banned from this restaurant anyway, it would piss me off.”

“Anyway, Melina's right. You don't have to worry about that jerk, Jeddy. It does not reach your ankle I reassure you! You're a lot sexier!” replied Mattew with a wink.

“You know if Chris finds out you said that, he's going to be jealous? but... Thank you Mattew. You're right, I don't have to get in my head for bullshit like that. But is it really necessary to go ice skating? we still have work to do you know...” said Danny. He was not going to take his head for very long, since he intends to kill him. And just that image made him shudder. He was looking forward to it.

“It's going to be good for everyone! and then we'll have fun! Don't be shy! This is not the first time we have done so. Especially you Jed.” respond Melina.  

Indeed, this is not the first time that Danny went ice skating. The Zanesville ice rink is quite large and there are not many people at this time. It's perfect, you're going to have the whole ice rink just for you... for at least two hours. Melina parked in front of the rink entrance and indeed, seen up close she was big. very big.

“How long has it been? Two years? it has not changed in any case .... I wonder if the boss still remembers the falls he took here.” says Mattew before entering, following by the others.  

“Don't worry, I think if you tell him, his lumbar will remember it. And his ass too.” respond Danny who makes you laugh.

Each one your turn, you rent ice skates. And one thing that made Danny laugh was that if he wears 40, you only wear 36. How cute, you have such small feet, in a sense it fits perfectly with your body and size. Everything is small in you. It's cute and it's funny, especially when you react to it. So small, so fragile... And yet a hell of a temper!

The ice rink was practically empty at that time, there was only a couple and two teenagers who visibly didn't have class today. Melina entered the ice first once everyone was ready, and if the start was a little difficult, she quickly took the hand. This was not the case for Mattew, who kept clinging to her every time he was about to fall.

“Have you ever done one? Or would you rather I give you a few classes? It looks like I'm a very good teacher...” said Danny to you with a wink.  

“Really funny Mr Olsen, but before you teach me, I'd like to see if you can last more than ten seconds without finishing your ass on the ice.” you respond with a little laugh.  

“Ok...as you wish miss.” Danny replied with a smile, entering the rink, getting on the ice with a disconcerting ease. “So? Convinced? I am still waiting for an answer to my question.”

“Convinced. and... No. I have never had the opportunity to do it before. So I would need a couple of lessons.” you answer.  

“Ok, first...give me your hand. Trust me, I will not let you go. Promise. I know what it's like to fall your ass first on ice and believe me, it's not pleasant at all.”

Hesitating as you step on to enter the rink, Danny gently taking your hand to bring you back to him. Well, he had to quickly catch up with you in his arms because you were slipping. If the beginning was quite complicated, because Danny had to prevent you from falling several times, after several minutes, you start to take your marks. Little by little Danny let you go and gave you more space. And once he feels you're ready, he let you go completely but stood by you just in case.

“You see! it's not that hard in the end! You're doing very well!” He said with a smile.

“I confirm, you're an excellent teacher! Thank you so much Jed!” you respond, kissing him as he kisses you back.  

Danny left you for a few moments with Melina and Mattew to skate a little on his side. The agility he had, allowed him to move perfectly on the ice. If he wanted to, he could become a skating champion, but he knows the ruthless world of the sport. All shots are allowed. And he cared a little too much about his legs to lose them in an unfortunate "accident". And then be a sportsman and a killer... don't really go together. Fame is a good thing, the problem is that when you are also a murderer, your private life... is no longer as private. Generally, there is always a clever little journalist who hangs around... And as if by chance always at the right time. At least as a journalist, Danny is quiet in his private life.

During these two hours of tranquillity, the whole small group had fun, laughing every time Mattew fell. And when he fell, Danny was always the first to go to him and pick him up. While you and Melina laughed and chatted on your side. Then the crowd began to arrive. It was time to leave because when it has too many people, it's almost impossible to skate without falling, even when we're as good as our dear assassin. So, you leave the rink, return the skates and get out of the building to get back in the car.

“So, this ice christening? it went well to what I see!” Said Melina cheerfully.  

“Speak for yourself! I didn't stop falling to the ground or catching up on the railing!” respond Mattew, a little grumpy.  

“ haaawn poor little Mattew! You'll ask Chris to give you a little massage.... If you know what I mean.”  

“... the worst part is that I know very well that it will end like this, if I ask him for a massage. If I provoke Chris once... he can quickly become wild.”

“You're not going to complain about it... it's better to be like that than not. At least he is more tactile than before. If I remember correctly, he didn't even dare hold your hand for fear of breaking it.” Replied Danny with a little smile.  

“It's true... I'll always remember, he was really too cute.” answer Mattew.  

Melina started the car and drove off towards Roseville. The return trip was more enjoyable. Danny felt a little more relaxed. But he didn't forget the other asshole. And he intends to make him regret his actions in a way... irreversible. A good old-time murder will bring back memories. Like when he slaughtered that bastard Doctor who let Carla die. He hadn't missed him that day... or rather that night. That's where his career in murder began. Because of an asshole.

But the past is the past as they say! It is better to move forward. Melina offered a fast food for lunch, all while landing at the park to enjoy the fresh air before the hot days that will arrive. The whole small group moved the rest of the day to the park, chatting and telling old family anecdotes. Except Danny, of course. He had made a cross on his past with his "parents", it was not to talk about it now. He was free of it now. As the last light of day disappeared to make way for the night sky, Melina took Danny and you back to your building.  

She greeted you both with a wink not to go crazy, to which Danny answered calmly but with a smile not to worry about it. Then both enter the building laughing when they see Mattew's reaction. As you both arrived at your apartment, a noise was heard from inside. After a brief exchange of gaze, Danny took the keys to your apartment from your hands and opened the door cautiously. Lighting the light of the living room, he did not notice anything strange, for the moment.

“We must have been dreaming... Or maybe it came from your home?” you said looking at Danny.

“No. I checked three times before I left. It's all closed. The noise comes from here.” responds Danny before hearing another noise from the kitchen.  

Danny walked quietly to the kitchen, taking something to defend himself. If there’s a thief and he's armed, he's going to spend a bad time too. Arriving in the room, he suddenly turned on the light and raised his arm ready to strike before stopping cleanly in front of the source of all the noise. And this thing emits a very different sound this time.... a meow to be more precise.

“I think we have a little thief in your kitchen.” he said, laying the object he was holding before taking the frightened kitten in his arms.

“Haaawn, poor little guy... How did you get home?” you answer looking at the kitten.  

“Hum... It's a girl. And given the room I would say she came through your window. And visibly she enjoys your cakes. You've got two that's gone.”

“Oh... I had left the window open to let them cool and to prevent the apartment from smelling like bananas... But hey the main thing is that you ate well. You don't look like you have a necklace... I think I'm going to keep you!” you replied caressing the kitten who began to purr.

“You're going to have to plan on feeding her and a basket to sleep in... as well as a litter box, a cat tree... I think there's a pet store in Zanesville that owns it all for a cheap. And then she's going to need a name." responds Danny giving you the kitten.

“I'll see all that tomorrow. With a rested head. In the meantime, I'm going to set up a little corner for you in front of my bed. That way you won't be alone. It's convenient to keep old plaids. They're going to be able to re-serve again.”  

“In that case, I'm going to let you take care of that kitten. I still have a lot of work to do. Maybe tomorrow we'll see each other? If the boss doesn't make us run in the direction.”

You nod before kissing Danny, who kisses you back. Then he left your apartment to go back to his, locking the door. He sighed; it feels good to be at home. Not that he didn't enjoy the day, but since he knew about this guy at the restaurant, he had only one desire: to find him and massacre him. He went to his office to pick up his things. He took the opportunity to look at his hunting board. You can count yourself happy, Hoggins, to have gained extra life time because of the incompetence of the Roseville police officers... For once, and even if it hurt him to admit it, he felt sorry for Inspector Wilhelm. It's not easy to stay calm when you're the only 'smart' person in the whole police station.

He took his bag, and walked out of the building without making any noise. He got in his van and hit the road to the restaurant where you were last night. He parked a little further so as not to be noticed. When that bastard quits his job, Danny will follow him quietly home. It will do as usual, observe, note, analyse. And he'll do it again and again. Until the day it's time for him to meet Ghostface. And that night...

The massacre will begin.

Let’s the countdown begin.  

***

(My little finger says to me that you are 52 people whose following me! From the deepest part of my potato heart, I wanna say thank you to all of you! I never imagine to get so far and please so many people! I hope you will continue to be as numerous or even more numerous!  I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

[let-it-raines]

Walking the Baseline (1/1)

He’s at the top of his game. She’s in the midst of a comeback. The Olympics are just around the corner, and there’s more than gold medals on the line. There’s secrets and personal lives and a lot more at risk than simply losing, but as most know, Killian Jones and Emma Swan hate to lose. 

rating: mature (just to err on the safe side)

a/n: Hello, hello, my darlings! I was informed of the @captainswanolympics as I’ve missed so much in my time of only checking messages and posting YWUSS, and I just had to write a tennis AU. If you know me, you know I played tennis back in the day, worked behind the scenes for a professional tennis tournament, and am an avid fan, so the fact that I haven’t written more CS tennis is surprising. lol. 

This one is short and sweet, and it’s the first CS I’ve written in months. So I genuinely hope you enjoy it. And no, you don’t have to know tennis to understand 🎾 

ao3: | here |

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

-/-

“My legs feel like jelly,” Emma sighs as she sinks into an ice bath. It’s never pleasant, and it may not even help, but it makes her feel better every time. “Like, I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk when I get out of here. I don’t think I can even stand now.”

“You say that after every long match,” David tells her, clicking away at his iPad. There’s no doubt he’s studying her stats and about to pick her apart in a friendly yet incredibly harsh way that is a David trademark. “Is your shoulder okay? Your first serve percentage was up, but your speed was down.”

Yep. He’s so predictable. She knew that was coming the moment she decided to change the speed on her serves.

“I’m fine. I’m tired. I mean, shit, David. It’s like the tour is trying to ruin our bodies. My last two-week break was when? March? It’s almost August, and it’s not going to stop there.”

“You’ve made it before. You can do it again.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that I don’t have to do this.”

David looks up from his iPad, brow raised, and she knows she’s not going to get the answer she wants. He doesn’t tell her she can quit unless they’re in a heated argument after disagreeing on her service motion or her footwork, which will always be her downfall when she’s exhausted, or any other aspect of her game. That’s what happens when your coach is not only your couch but also your older brother.

“I’m not going to say that. You’re in the quarterfinals. You play against Svitolina, who you have an excellent record against, and then in the semis, it could go either way with French or Stephens. That’s who we’re worried about. We’re not thinking about the finals until we’re in the finals.”

“I’m not thinking about just the finals. I’m thinking about the fact that I played Madrid, Rome, Roland Garros, Eastbourne, Wimbledon, Washington, here. And now I’m supposed to fly to Rio for the Olympics, then fly to Cincinnati, and then New York. And after New York, we almost immediately fly to Beijing, and it doesn’t stop. I get, what? A month and a half off, but it’s not really off time because we spend that time fixing everything for next season. The only way I get a break is if I lose or I get injured, and I don’t want either of those things.”

Emma’s chest heaves as she finishes speaking, the words flying out faster than her mind can come up with them as she runs through her tournament schedule, and David doesn’t blink. He stares at her like he always does, and sometimes she swears it’s like staring at a male version of herself. And she knows what’s coming. She always does. David never got to play past college, the professional circuit too much for his body, and he always pulls the card of how much he would give to be playing right now, to be in her position. She gets it. If she was in his position, she would do the same thing, but right now, all she really wants is to cry.

“You have worked too hard to quit, Emma,” David sighs, giving her a patented big-brother condescending stare. “You are not going to quit. I know this part of the season is rough, but you push through it every year. And imagine how good it’s going to feel when you have a gold medal around your neck or when you have that US Open trophy in your hands. You don’t get to play forever, and you’re the one who said that you weren’t quitting when everyone would have easily expected it. Do you want to prove them right?”

Emma moves in the bath, sinking a little lower, and damn, her sports bra is going to be impossible to get off. Her gaze shifts from David to the TV where ESPN commentators are sitting at a desk, her Nike-approved picture on the screen beside them. They run through the stats of her match and then her overall career stats. She’s twenty-eight, which is apparently at the end of her career according to them, world number seven, which is also abysmal to them somehow, and she is not living up to her potential when she is a former world number one, six-time grand slam champion, and a gold medalist from four years ago in London.

She groans and tries not to think about how much she hates all the people who work for ESPN. They have their favorites and the ones they hate, and since she is not a mediocre American male or one of the all-time greats, she’s somewhere in between. Usually, she doesn’t listen to the comments, to the pundits, to the assholes. She tries to stay away from that because it will drive her into a deep state of negativity, but lately, it’s like she can’t get enough of listening to what people say about her as if it is going to give her some kind of insight to her game.

She doesn’t crave their validation, but maybe, in a twisted way, she does.

“She gave birth sixteen months ago,” Mary Jo sighs. “She came back a year after giving birth. She is not going to be who she was before she had a child. The fact that she’s won enough this year to be in the top ten is amazing when she started with no ranking since there are no tour protections for maternity leave. She’s a champion, and sometimes champions struggle as they get their form back.”

“Sixteen months is a long damn time,” Patrick says, and Emma’s vagina would beg to differ. “She should be back to how she was or she shouldn’t be playing.”

“Have you given birth, Patrick? Because unless you have, I don’t think you get a say.”

“It’s my job to say what I think.”

“Still, I think – ”

The television clicks off, and Emma’s gaze finds its way back to David. “We’re not listening to them. It’ll piss you off. Mary Jo is right. You’re doing amazing, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

Emma doesn’t know if she’s doing amazing, doesn’t feel that way a lot of the time. This job is hard enough, to kill your body while also having the eyes of the world on you, but adding in a baby? It’s nearly impossible. A few other women have done it before her, not all with spectacular returns or returns at all, and she wants to keep getting better and play for long enough that Olivia will be able to see her mom play and remember it.

She’s not just doing it for herself. She’s doing it for her daughter, whose entrance into the world was unplanned, terrifying, and the best damn thing to ever happen to Emma even if she doubts herself in motherhood every day.

“I miss her,” Emma whispers to David, reaching up to play with her necklace, Olivia’s initials engraved in the gold circle. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it two more weeks without seeing her.”

“Do you want me to get Mary Margaret to FaceTime you with her? They’ve been watching your match at home.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head and releases the pendant, her resolve back as she inhales and focuses on her job. “Let’s do the rest of my recovery and talk about the match. I’ll call them when we get back to the hotel. I don’t want to get my mind too much out of the game.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

-/-

She wins her next match. And the next.

She loses in the final.

It stings more than her losses usually do, and there have been a hell of a lot of them, but she wanted to win another premiere event. She’s only been winning small events so far this year and making it to the later stages of the bigger events, but she keeps falling short when it’s time for her to push herself over the limit. Emma knows that her time will come, but she’s exhausted.

-/-

She flies to Rio with the rest of the American team who were playing in Montreal and Toronto, and she sleeps the entire ride down.

It’s the most sleep she’s gotten since she gave birth.

-/-

The 2012 Olympics felt familiar for Emma. The matches happened at Wimbledon, a place she’s known since she was sixteen years old and has watched on TV since she was even younger than that. Tennis players were isolated from the rest of the sports and events, and they all stayed in their usual rented houses and apartments instead of the Village or other hotels. Rio is different and completely unfamiliar. She’s staying in the Village, and while the amenities aren’t the best, the spirit of the Games are everywhere. She’s seeing athletes she’s only ever seen on TV before, meeting dozens of people whose names quickly slip out of her mind no matter how hard she tries to keep them there, and it’s impossible not to get excited to see all of these great athletes gathered together.

When she was a kid sitting in a foster home with David, the two of them wondering if they’d ever have a forever home, they would watch reruns of the Olympics on the TV, just waiting for the live ones to come around. It was an escape to get to watch people only a few years older than them doing these great things, and even after Ruth adopted them and paid for them to play sports, they never could have imagined being here.

Emma, sitting on a park bench outside with prestigious gymnasts walking in front of her, still can’t imagine it, and she’s literally here.

“Am I allowed to sit here or is that considered fraternizing with the enemy?”

Emma glances up and sees Killian Jones already sliding onto the bench in front of her. He’s darker than the last time she saw him in person, his hair longer, teeth possibly whiter, and he definitely hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. But the cocky, almost a little too arrogant, smile is the same, and even if she said no, he would still sit across from her. She knows him well enough to know that now.

“As far as I’m aware, you’re not playing mixed doubles, so I don’t think you count as an enemy.”

“Ah, but, love, Americans and Brits have been enemies since the beginning. That doesn’t change here.”

“Everyone else gets along. You’re just a competitive ass.”

“Indeed I am.” He wiggles his brows and leans forward, smirk stretched across his lips. “So, I was handed a bag full of Olympic-themed condoms when I checked in. Would you like to go try them out?”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, kicking his leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Too many things to count.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles ever-so-slightly bulging underneath his Team Great Britain t-shirt. She’s wearing a similar one with USA emblazoned in the biggest font she’s ever seen. Not a lot of subtly going on at the moment. “Where’s Ruby? David? Any of the other Americans? Shouldn’t you all be eating or practicing or doing something besides sitting on a bench by the water?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Touché, Swan. Touché. Will and I were on the way to eat, but I saw you and got distracted. I don’t have practice until later. Rob is forcing me to give myself a break so I don’t exhaust myself after Toronto.”

“Well, you do have old bones.”

“Oi, I am thirty-two and at the top of my game. How many people can say that?”

“Anyone who is not an athlete.”

Killian shrugs and tilts his head to the side, rolling his shoulders. He’s right, though. Killian is playing better than he ever has. He’s always been good ever since he was touted to be Great Britain’s next big thing. She watched for years as the British media slagged him off for not having won Wimbledon despite having won the other majors two times around, but six years ago, he won after a five-hour, grueling match and fell onto the ground. The image was everywhere, and now, every time she’s in London or Wimbledon, that image lines the walls. It’s how she felt when she won the US Open. All of the major are special, but winning your home one, if you’re lucky enough to have one, is something else. And now Killian is world number one once more, has won two majors in a row with several premiere events in between, and with his form, she can’t imagine him losing.

But that’s why you lace up the sneakers. You never know what’s going to happen.

She’s been around the game long enough to know that.

Killian too.

Their paths have crossed for years, mostly because they have the same sponsors and do a lot of promotional events together, but the more they both started winning, the more they’d see each other at tournaments and dinners and everything in between. It’s a busy life, and while there’s time to make friends outside of tennis, sometimes it’s easier to find people in the industry.

She’s not entirely sure she would call Killian Jones a friend.

“Have you eaten, love?” he asks.

“Not yet.” On cue, her stomach growls, and he smirks, not that he really stopped.

“Why don’t you come with me? You can sit with us before we take the bus to the courts for training.”

“What happened to fraternizing with the enemy?”

He leans forward and winks. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Emma laughs but nods and stands with Killian as they walk to the main dining hall. It’s packed, the room echoing with conversation and laughter, and Emma and Killian are stopped several times to take pictures and sign autographs, something she will never get used to, before they sit down with Will, Rob, and several other plays from all around the world. For a minute, it’s like they’re in their usual bubble that they live in for the rest of the year with only tennis players around, but then Emma sees Usain Bolt walk by and she knows they’re not.

This is weird.

This is wonderful.

This is almost everything.

-/-

The Opening Ceremonies are long and sometimes boring, and she hates the outfit she has to wear, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get to do this again in four years so she savors it.

She savors it all, walking side by side with Ruby, Ashley, and Anna, and she takes all of it in before her mind switches to work-mode as she runs through her opponent for her first match. The nerves have been pushed down in favor of the experience, but they’re back and in full-force.

She cannot lose in the first round.

-/-

She doesn’t. -/-

She doesn’t lose her next few matches either.

-/-

Emma’s made it to the quarterfinals in both singles and doubles with Ruby after several days of long matches and struggling to see the ball – whoever thought making a fully green court with green side walls for tennis has obviously never played tennis, and she never wants to play on center court again – and she knows she’s one win away from guaranteeing that she plays in a medal-winning match.

It’s a relief and pressure all at once, something she’ll never grow used to, and as the sun sets and the village begins to get loud, Emma sits on her balcony watching the fountains in the lake light up. Ruby is off with Mulan somewhere Emma would rather not know about and will probably not be back to their room until at least tomorrow morning if the look on Ruby’s face was any indication, so Emma thinks she might get a little time to sit down and breathe for a moment, watching different events on TV. She could go watch them, but she doesn’t think her legs will carry her there.

Until her phone buzzes with a text that she quickly answers, and not three minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Emma quickly opens it, pulling him inside, and Killian kicks the door closed behind him as he cups her cheeks and kisses her, long and slow but with enough heat simmering below the surface that Emma knows there could be a promise of more later.

She’s seen him nearly every day for the past week, but she’s missed him.

She’s missed this.

His mouth moves expertly over hers in a rhythm that’s been practiced to perfection, and she feels dizzy with his kiss and holds onto his hair to keep her standing up. The Brazilian summer air wafts through the room, coating it in a thick heat, but Emma doesn’t pay any attention to that as heat curls between her thighs, warming her more than the air ever could. Her legs ache from the match, her arms feel heavy, but Killian makes her forget those things as he lays her down on the bed and kisses every inch of her body, spending time with his dark head of hair buried beneath her thighs until she can no longer speak.

Until she can scarcely breathe as well.

She manages to laugh, though, when he pulls out one of the condoms that has the Olympics logo on it, and she and Killian makes jokes about it as he slides into her, a thick sheath of heat that she never gets used to. It’s slow at first, a gentle rocking that keeps her teetering on the edge, but their bodies are tired and worn, and soon, it’s a race to the finish line.

Emma comes in first, not that it matters.

(But it does feel good to beat him.)

(They’re both competitive asses.)

(Even when they shouldn’t be.)

After, they’re both slick with sweat that doesn’t go away as their bodies press together on the small twin bed. Emma almost wishes she had rented a house outside the village like David and some of the other coaches did, but she doesn’t want to give up the experience. And it’s fine, especially as Killian shifts behind her and lets her settle into him, her hips pressing back into his as his arm wraps around to rest on her stomach, fingers occasionally searching out for her breast.

Emma is exhausted, but this is the best she’s felt in weeks.

(She definitely couldn’t walk to any of the events now, and she did want to see Phelps swim.)

“You played bloody fantastic in your doubles match today.”

“Not my singles?”

“I played at the same time as you. I didn’t get a chance to watch.”

Emma hums and leans further back into him. She’s glad Killian did most of the work because just thinking about how much she’s got to move again tomorrow is making her sore. “I played well there too. Straight sets.”

“Atta girl.” His lips press into her neck, stubble scratching across the skin. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, that’s always dangerous.”

Killian laughs but nudges his knee into her, which really only settles his cock between her ass, but she’s too tired to think of doing anything else. “I’ve been thinking,” he continues, “that I’m going to withdraw from Cincinnati and fly home instead.”

“To London?”

“To Palm Beach. I think it might be nice to have a calm week between tournaments to spend time with my girlfriend.”

“Oh really? You’ll have to tell her your plan. I’m sure she’d like that.”

Killian tickles her stomach, making her squirm, before he lightly pinches her side. “Mhm. I thought we might also like to spend time with our daughter since FaceTime isn’t cutting it for me anymore. I swear she’s grown three feet since I last saw her.”

“Four, I think. She’s basically a full-grown adult now with all that walking and talking she’s doing.”

“Has she said any new words I’m not aware of?”

“Nope. She still can only say the three.”

“Good. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything else.” Killian kisses the side of Emma’s neck again, and she twists around, wrapping her arms around him and pressing their noses together as she stares into blue, blue eyes that aren’t diminished by the darkened room. “I think we should bring her to New York with us. Hopefully at least one of us will be there for three weeks, and that’s just too long to go without her.”

“We’re staying in a hotel in New York. In two separate suites, I might add.”

“But we don’t have to.”

“Killian…”

His hand brushes down her side, warmth permeating from the rough fingertips, before it rests on her hip, thumb moving in soothing circles. “I’ve already called and seen if they could give me the Penthouse. It’s an entire floor with private entrances and a private elevator. Our teams can stay with us or they can stay in the original suites we were designated. I know you bring her with you when you can and that I sneak in visits, but I want to be able to stay with my daughter.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and if she doesn’t say yes to it, it won’t be the last.

Things between she and Killian are complicated. They’re relationship isn’t, not anymore. At first, she couldn’t stand him, thought he was genuinely this cocky asshole from the way he talked in matches and in off-court interviews, like he was God’s gift to the sport or something. Then they ended up both winning in Australia four years ago, and while doing press together, she saw a different, kinder side to him that she hadn’t previously seen when they worked together in Nike promotions.

Fast forward through a lot of early morning calls, late night rendezvous in their hotel rooms, and a heck of a lot of texts and FaceTime sessions, and somewhere along the way, the impenetrable Emma Swan fell in love with the impossible Killian Jones.

They kept it secret, the both of them knowing how vicious the media is to athletes that date each other, especially since Killian was going through a wrist injury that was somehow his fault according to the pundits and that he was getting hounded pretty hard at the time. They didn’t know if it was going to work, neither of them having stellar relationship records, but they figured eventually they would be okay with the world knowing.

Then came the positive pregnancy test, and Emma’s entire world shifted.

She was at the top of her game, at the top of her world, and as hard as it is for her to admit now, she didn’t want Olivia. She wanted to keep living her life the way it was. That was a possibility but not one she was willing to take, so she stopped playing but kept training as she and Killian figured out how they were going to do this.

They’re never home, rarely together, and they were both way out of their leagues. It would have been easier to tell the world they were together, that Killian was the father, but Olivia’s protection is worth more than their ease.

Now, though, looking at the crease between Killian’s brow and the sadness pooled in his eyes, she wonders if they’re doing the right thing.

“I know. I’m sorry. I – ” Emma’s lips quiver, and she nearly cries. She’s exhausted beyond belief and doesn’t know what to do, so she buries her face in Killian’s neck and wraps her arms around him. “Can we talk about this on the plane ride home?”

Emma says home as if they’re going to the same place after this. They’re not. But maybe she should listen to Killian and take the break she’s been craving.

“Aye, love, if that’s what you want.”

She nods and feels his lips ghost over the crown of her hair. “I want to lay here with you and not think about tennis or make hard decisions.”

“You want to talk about how bloody uncomfortable this bed is?”

Emma laughs. “It really makes you miss those awful ones in Paris.”

“You had to ask for a new one.”

“It was so worth it.”

-/-

They FaceTime Olivia in the morning. Mary Margaret has her in a matching outfit to Emma’s uniform, and Killian scoffs that she’s representing America instead of Great Britain.

Emma thinks it’s the best thing in the world, and it reminds her who she’s playing for.

It’s not for her country, not for herself. It’s for her daughter.

Their daughter.

-/-

The next two days drag by and yet she has a difficult time keeping up with them. Her practices are long, recovery longer as her shoulders are massaged and legs are iced, and Ruby has to drag her out onto the court for doubles when all she wants to do is sleep. She’s not used to playing this many matches in such a short period of time, and while having Ruby on court with her helps lessen how much she runs, her legs are still aching.

She’s almost to the finish line. She can make it.

“Those legs are too pretty for you to be dragging them like that,” Ruby jokes as they sit down during a changeover in the third set of their quarterfinal match. Emma reaches for her energy drink and takes a sip before biting into a banana while Ruby shakes her legs.

“I can’t make them move.”

“Yes, you can,” Ruby insists. “You already won your singles today, and we’re four games away from winning this match. I will kick your ass if we don’t win this.”

“Can you kick my ass if it’s already kicked?”

“I can indeed.” Ruby pats Emma’s knees and smiles. “Come on, hot mama. We’ve got this.”

And it’s tough, but they do.

Emma and Ruby go through recovery, and when Emma checks her watch, she sees that Killian’s match is just about to start.

“Do you want to get a bus across the grounds and go watch swimming?” Ruby asks her as David massages her calf. It’s not his job, so he obviously can’t stop complaining about doing it.

“I think I want to watch Killian’s match. Can we get seats in the stadium? Is his box empty?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” David asks her as her muscle spasms.

“If we all go, it won’t be suspicious. He’s playing Sam, so they might think we’re supporting the Americans.”

“Aren’t we?”

Her eyes roll. “Not in this situation. Come on. Text Rob and see if we can get into Killian’s box.”

David levels her with a stare, and she knows he’s going to say no, that it’s a bad idea. But then he releases her leg and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

They end up going still dressed in their match clothes, and Emma puts on a sweatshirt, a cap, and sunglasses to hide herself as much as possible. She knows it won’t work considering she’s literally wearing the outfit she has worn all week, but she can at least try. It’s been years since she’s gotten to watch one of Killian’s matches from somewhere other than the locker room or her hotel room, and she’s missed the magic of watching him play. He’s fluid with his motions, even if they are slower than they used to be, and his groundstrokes are powerful from the baseline. She knows from the moment that she sits down that he’s winning this match. She can tell by the way he’s carrying himself and the determination in his eyes. She grabs her phone and snaps a picture just as he looks her way, brow raised in question but a smile on his lips.

-/-

Killian wins his match, and she finds him in the tunnel afterward, his team creating a wall around them, and wraps her arms around him, not caring that they are both disgustingly sweaty or around other people.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you.” The corner of his lips brush against her temple. “You’re amazing, Emma. Bloody amazing.”

“You too, my love.”

-/-

Emma wins the semifinals of both of her matches.

Killian wins his.

They’re both playing in gold medal matches – Emma definitely brags about how she’s playing two while Killian is only playing one – and she wants to vomit.

Holy shit.

-/-

“Say hi to your mommy,” Mary Margaret tells Olivia as Olivia keeps smacking her hand on the screen. “Your mom and dad are there trying to talk to you, Livvie.”

Emma leans her head onto Killian’s shoulder as they both stare into the screen waiting for Olivia to move her hand. She does with some help from Mary Margaret, and then bright green eyes show up. She has Emma’s eyes and dirty blonde hair that’s thick and wavy, but everything else about her screams Killian, especially her smile. Emma has missed that smile.

“Hello, little love.” Killian waves and tries to get her attention, but she couldn’t care less. “Don’t you want to talk to us?”

She makes a noise that isn’t a word, and Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m sorry. She’s been asking about you two, but now that you’re there, she doesn’t care. I tried to tell her what a big deal the two of you were, but she doesn’t care.”

“I’ll have to tell her how incredible her mother is later. She’s going to be the first women to win two singles golds in a row as well as the first mum to do it. And she’s going to have two more medals than me. Showing me up in every category.”

“That’s assuming you win, Jones. I could have three more gold medals than you.”

“I do love a challenge.”

Olivia starts giggling, Emma’s favorite noise on the planet, and she tries to memorize it to keep with her always. She knows Killian does too.

-/-

Emma’s gold medal matches are the day before Killian’s, and she’s jealous he gets a day off to rest. He tells her he’s going to spend the entire time training, sneaking in and out of other events, and watching her matches. She rolls her eyes at his texts because she’s sure he won’t have time to do all of that.

And yet he does.

She sees him in the stands during her doubles match. Ruby points him out when they’re in the middle of discussing serving spots, and Emma laughs at her calling him “lover boy” in a horrible British accent. She always calls him a ridiculous name, and of the few people who know of Emma’s private life, she’s glad Ruby is one of them.

Even if she’s still laughing and double faults on an important point.

It doesn’t matter, though, because within an hour and fifteen minutes, their shortest match of the tournament, she’s on the court’s floor with Ruby sobbing because they won a fucking gold medal.

She gets so little time to savor it, however, because the medal ceremony happens so quickly that she can barely take It all in. She also has press to do, and David has to practically force her into the media room where she and Ruby are hounded with more questions than congratulation as they clutch onto their medals. Ruby handles it like the pro she is while Emma’s nerves start to get the best of her as more people start talking about what she has on the line.

To be the first man or woman to win two gold singles medals in consecutive Olympics.

To win another gold medal for her country.

To be the first mother since Clijsters to win a major tournament.

To win her first big tournament since her comeback.

To have the possibility to win another gold medal in Tokyo in four years if she’s still playing.

It’s a lot, and she knows it. She’s been thinking about all of it every day this week, and her track record of choking in finals lately is pushing at the forefront of her mind.

She doesn’t know if she can do it.

And yet she does.

She laces up her sneakers, pulls her hair back, and takes a deep breath as she blocks everything out of her mind except for her game plan. She knows how the game is played. She’s been playing since she was twelve years old, and even though that’s a late start compared to most people, it’s gotten her here.

Emma walks out of the tunnel as her name is announced over the speakers, and even though all she can hear is the cheer of the crowd, she lets her mind go back to Olivia’s laugh, Killian’s smile, David’s pep talk, Ruby’s ridiculous texts. She thinks of all the things that push her when she wants to stop, and she reminds herself that no matter what happens, she’s done her best.

She could have given up the moment the stick said “pregnant.” She could have packed it all in, but she didn’t. She’s here, and she’s better than any excuse she could come up with not to be.

People have tried to tell her who she is her entire life, but she’s pushed back and said, “no, this is who I am.” Emma still has to do that now, no matter how many times she has proven herself.

The ice bath in Montreal where she wanted to quit seems years away when it was only eight days.

-/-

Emma looks to Ruby then David then Killian as she takes a deep breath on match point. Killian smiles and gives her a subtle nod, and then she raises the ball in the air, ready to toss it.

-/-

Game. Set. Gold freaking medal.

-/-

Afterward, she falls to the ground, her knees aching as they hit the asphalt, and her body can’t stop shaking with her sobs. She doesn’t know what she feels or how she feels or even where she is, and she only gets up from the ground when she hears her family calling for her. She slowly rises from the ground, runs across the court to congratulate her opponent on playing a good match, and then she’s running to the stands and climbing up with David’s help. She embraces him first. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. he’s been her rock for her entire life, and he keeps her steady. Then it’s her physio and her agent and Ruby. Then, over to the side, is Killian, and their conversation from a few nights ago comes back to her.

She loves him. She’s proud to be with him. They shouldn’t have to hide their family anymore.

They haven’t exactly been doing a good job of it this week anyway.

So Emma very literally pounces on him, her legs wrapping around his waist, before she remembers that he has a match tomorrow. She can’t miss his back up. He’d never let it go if she did. Her feet fall to the ground, but her arms stay wrapped around Killian’s neck as he whispers words of encouragement and congratulations that she’s always going to keep close to her heart, right next to the necklace with the initials O-S-J on them.

Two people thousands of miles apart were brought together by chances, a whole myriad of them. If Ruth hadn’t adopted Emma and David, they never would have picked up a racket. If Emma had never picked up a racket, she wouldn’t have found her purpose in this world. She wouldn’t have a job or a daughter or a man who loves her in spite of how hard she is to love. There was so much that could have derailed her, both good and bad, and while she could say none of it matters, in some way, it all does.

Because it led her here.

And she doesn’t want to be anywhere else even if she would give anything to be able to hug Olivia right now.

“You did so good, Swan,” Killian whispers, his voice the only one she hears.

“I know.”

He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes that mirror her own. “So, I guess I have to win tomorrow so your bragging rights don’t get too big.”

“Oh, Jones, you are never catching up with me now,” she teases, all of the exhaustion melting away. “I’m miles ahead of you, but you better win. Olivia doesn’t need to be embarrassed by her dad.”

“Pretty sure that’s my job.”

“Right now, your only job is to help me back down onto the court and then go win yourself a gold medal.”

“Don’t tell the presses you’re rooting for a Brit.”

Emma shrugs as Killian thumbs away tears underneath her eyes. “I don’t care anymore, and I’m definitely going to be sitting in your box tomorrow, cheering louder than anyone else.”

-/-

When Killian wins the next night after a torturous four hours, his fall is almost identical to Emma’s. Though, when he climbs into the stands to get to the box, he immediately goes for Emma, cupping her cheeks and kissing her for the entire world to see.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to embarrass our daughter in another way.”

“I think her parents making out on international TV might do just that.”

-/-

Two days after they get home – they spent the entire first day sleeping and holding Olivia – Emma puts on her three gold medals, Killian puts on his one, and they hold Olivia in between them, her toothy smile brighter than the gold as the photo is taken.

Olivia Swan-Jones has a pretty cool mom and a dad who has some catching up to do in the gold medal department.

It’s Emma’s most liked picture on Instagram, not that she cares about any of those things, and it’s the biggest news story for three days straight despite the literal Olympics still happening.

All Emma cares about, though, is that she has a week off – she opted out of Cincinnati after all, despite David’s protests – she can spend with her family before she and Killian are off to New York where the pressure will be the highest it’s ever been and the media will most likely be losing their shit over Emma and Killian’s announcements.

Olivia will be with her, Killian too, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

Oh, that, and the fact that Emma Swan is officially back, and it feels damn good.

-/-

-/-

Thanks for reading, my friends! Can’t wait for those 2021 Olympics 🤞and learning about sports I’ve still somehow never heard of. And if you want to talk to me about tennis, I’m fully here to talk about Rafael Nadal’s biceps and how his game is underrated despite being one of the most dominant athletes of all time 💚😂

[incorrect-the-foxhole-court]

Northern Road Trip

This is my piece for the AFTG Gift exchange! I went for Andriel coz im a complete Andriel junkie, but i couldnt resist a little Renison on the side XD

This is for @andthenthefirenationattacked​ - I hope you like it! I’m sorry it’s not very good but I tried! (And if you wanna talk or fangirl about aftg at any point, i’m definitely around for that!)

Neil couldn’t remember a time he had felt this safe. Which, he had to admit, made no sense considering his current situation. Despite having family in England, an uncle who had once saved his life, the UK had never been a place that had screamed safety. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of an endless stretch of rolling green hills that looked like they had been taken from one of Matt’s fantasy novels, and he felt…safe. It was as much a disquieting feeling as hope had once been.

The sky was a bright, forget-me-not blue that, after only five days in the country, he already knew was a rare blessing. Fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky, and the relief that they weren’t even a little grey had been unexpectedly strong when they had woken up this morning. Two cars idled behind him, the engines rumbling softly, and those inside were already betting on the upcoming games outcome and snacking on junk food that Kevin had already tried to throw out four times over.

Neil sucked in a deep breath, feeling the cold air settle in his lungs like shards of ice. Beautiful, this country, but cold. And wet. This was the first day they had been there that it hadn’t rained.

He could hear his old team behind him, laughing and joking, teasing Andrew for their stopping. It hadn’t been Andrew that had wanted to stop, but the goalie knew Neil too well now – had feigned car sickness to cover Neil’s need to see something. To see something other than exy courts and press rooms from the place his mother had come from. The woman had been cold and cruel and protective and beautiful, and standing there now, in the place she had always talked about, in Rivington, he could understand. The people he had met from around here felt like they had been born from the place itself. He could almost feel his mother in the wind’s cold fingers as it raked through his hair and cut straight through his winter coat to chill the blood in his veins.

“Neil! Come on! Andrew says he’s okay to keep going now,” Matt shouted, a grin on his face that was far too smug and pleased to merely be teasing.

Dan smacked him in the ribs as she disappeared around the other side of their hire car and slid into the driver’s seat. And then smacked the wheel in frustration, got out and went round to the passenger side door, grumbling about stupid English cars. Neil tuned out Matt and Allison’s teasing, both of them needling Dan about still not being used to which side of the car to get in, and turned to the other car. Renee smiled at Andrew before going to join the others.

Neil slid into the backseat next to Andrew, Aaron on the goalie’s other side, Kevin up front and Nicky driving. Within thirty minutes of driving, Andrew was asleep, head tipped back against the back of the seat – Neil wasn’t surprised, Andrew had barely slept since the flight, as though he was more scared than Neil that some relative would show up at their hotel. It wasn’t a secret they were in the UK; the whole world had known this is where they would be. The press had been covering the US exy team’s trip to the UK in excruciating detail for weeks. They had already had their games in Glasgow and London, and tomorrow, the last game of Us vs. UK, would take place in Manchester. London had been an easy win for the US Court, Andrew had barely bothered to try. Glasgow had been significantly more difficult. It had taken bribing Andrew to lock down the goal for them to come close to winning – even then it hadn’t been enough; they’d lost by two points.

Tomorrow’s game would decide who would face the Chinese team. And the old team from Palmetto State had come out to show their support as Kevin, Andrew and Neil, played their last UK game of the season, fighting to advance closer to the title of ‘Exy International Champions’. Kevin had been training and planning nonstop. It had taken Andrew’s knives to convince him to have this day off.

“Erm…Neil…?” Nicky asked, voice tight. Neil dragged his eyes away from staring out the window as the North sped by, and met Nicky’s worried eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Satnav is freaking out.”

“Get Andrew to fix it,” Aaron grunted, “he’s the tech wonder boy.”

“Waking Andrew up in a car has never been a good idea,” Nicky warned, no doubt thinking of that time all those years ago.

Neil could feel Aaron’s smirk as the man reached over and tapped his twin on the shoulder closest to Neil. From habit, Neil’s hand was out waiting as Andrew jolted from sleep, one hand instinctively reaching out. Their fingers twined together and held on tight. No elbow in the stomach, no fists flying, not anymore – they had been sleeping in the same bed now for nearly two years; Andrew was too used to being woken by Neil’s nightmares to react violently. Now it was a grasping hand and white knuckled grip, each proving to the other that they are here – that they are safe. On Andrew’s other side, Aaron huffed in frustration and turned his attention back to the steady stream of messages between him and Katelyn.  

“Satnav isn’t working properly,” Neil explained quietly, and Andrew shook off his grip, leaning forward to take it from Kevin.

“Going old school,” Nicky muttered to himself. “Gonna have to use these damn stupid road signs.”

Neil didn’t bother to watch what Andrew was doing to fix the machine – he had learnt a long time ago that when Andrew couldn’t sleep, he and one of the cats curled up on the sofa with an instruction manual of some sort. Andrew couldn’t sleep most nights. By this point, Andrew’s eidetic memory had given him the ability to fix almost anything technological.

It took them another hour and a half to reach the Lake District. They were aiming for a shop that the Northern players on the UK team hadn’t stopped raving about since the team meets had started. By the time they finally arrived, it was raining again.

They parked in a garden centre opposite a tiny little place called ‘The Grasmere Gingerbread Shop’ and stared out through rain-streaked windows. Nicky’s phone started ringing. He took the sat nav out of its holder, tossed it onto Kevin’s lap before balancing his phone in the slot instead. Allison’s face appeared on the screen, and then the rest of the others.

“So, how do we decide who goes out into the rain to get the damn gingerbread we drove for two hours to come and try?” Allison asked and Renee, in the driver’s seat beside her, tucked a few stray blonde curls behind her ear, dragging a smile from the otherwise annoyed face.

“Flip for it?” Nicky suggested.

Matt lost to Renee. Dan lost to Matt. Allison rolled her eyes and picked at a perfectly manicured nail, but called heads when she went up against Dan, only to lose. Storm clouds gathered on her face as she waited for the other car to decide who would flip against her.

Aaron called heads, Allison, tails. Aaron won.

Neil hadn’t heard swearing like that for a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. He had missed them all. He loved being on Court and he loved his team and exy, and playing with Andrew and Kevin, but he had missed being a fox.

Renee went with Allison, smiling as the blonde tried and failed to hide under the trees from the rain. Neil could hear through the cracked window Andrew was smoking through as Allison cursed everyone and everything for her having forgotten an umbrella. Renee just laughed and tugged her in for a kiss. Neil smiled again; it had taken them a long time to realise just how meant for each other they were – but now? Together? They were a sight for sore eyes.

Andrew blew another cloud of smoke past Neil’s face. He couldn’t help the deep inhale as the smoke curled past his nose. Andrew watched, utterly unimpressed – but Neil could read the affection in the stare. Smoke was no longer the reminder of his mother, of the fire, of how it had smelled when her body had burned. Now it was Andrew, it was nights on the roof, the bite of his key in his palm, the feel of a thundering heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Andrew’s knee nudged his, and Neil smiled again.

Allison and Renee got back in the car behind and they drove to Windemere, where they had booked out all the rooms in a little bed and breakfast. The man at the desk was the most English person Neil had ever met. He was the embodiment of every single English stereotype, and Neil couldn’t get away fast enough.

Their rooms were all on the second floor, Dan and Matt disappeared into one room, Allison and Renee into another, Aaron claimed his own room, as did Kevin and Nicky. Nicky was already face timing with Eric before his bedroom door closed. And despite Allison’s usual warning of ‘keep it down’, there were delighted giggles and moans coming from her and Renee’s room.

Neil shook his head, smiling, and followed after Andrew into their room. Andrew was already lighting up next to the window, so Neil dropped the bag by the bottom of the bed and slumped onto the mattress, stripping off his black armbands and dumping them over the edge. He heard Andrew shut the window and the bed dip as he settled nearby. Neil reached a hand up, and Andrew’s fingertips trailed over his bare arms, dipping over every scar and mark.

Neil closed his eyes, even now, years later, most touches on those scars brought back the car lighter, the knife, his father’s axe…

But then Andrew’s lips began tracing every raised bump, slowly washing away the memories one by one, until there was nothing left but the two of them, Andrew’s hands under Neil’s shirt, Andrew’s lips pressed hard to Neil’s, and Neil’s fingers tight in Andrew’s hair.

He didn’t realise how much he needed it until Andrew tugged his t-shirt over his head and slowly but steadily began taking him apart. Neil couldn’t stop the moan that Andrew dragged from deep in his throat as Andrew pushed him harder and faster until Neil’s breathing became ragged and Andrew leaned up to press their lips together as though he could swallow Neil’s hard groans when he fell over the edge. He lay limp and sweating, breathing hard, with Andrew beside him, the man’s expression open and soft in a way he had only seen four times so far.

Neil reached out, “Yes or no?”

Andrew didn’t reply, just pressed his cheek into Neil’s palm and closed his eyes as Neil’s fingers played with the tiny hairs at the nape of Andrew’s neck. He wanted to say something, anything to remind Andrew just how amazing he was – how he always knew what Neil needed, usually before Neil knew himself, how even though Neil had long since learned to stand alone, it felt safe knowing that Andrew was there for him if he needed to lean on someone. But he didn’t have the words.

And he didn’t find them fast enough before Nicky pounded on the bedroom door.

“Come on, lovebirds, Allison ruined her hair to get this gingerbread, and Aaron and I went out for alcohol, come and have a drink and a snack like the old days. But put clothes on first!”

Andrew growled under his breath, but Neil smiled.

“When will he leave me alone?” Andrew said, shaking out his hand and pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“He’s been in Germany with Eric for ten months. He can’t leave you any more alone.”

Andrew just stood and stared down at him a moment. “Come on junkie. Let’s go.”

Neil stood and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up, before he joined Andrew at the now open door to the bedroom, stood in front of a very irate Kevin.

“We have a game tomorrow. Tomorrow. And they want us to drink and eat and party. Why did they come at all, they’re not playing,” Kevin said, face set; cold and hard.

“Tomorrow will be fine. We’ll win or we’ll lose, but it’ll be fine. Let’s go, it could be fun,” Neil said, shrugging. He’d never felt as safe as he was in that moment and he’d never seen Andrew as relaxed – that was all he needed. All he wanted.

They should take road trips more often.

“Three hundred and seventy-four percent,” Andrew murmured.

Neil didn’t bother to stop the smirk on his face.

----

That’s it! Again, I hope you liked it and I hope it was a good enough gift for you in the exchange! Have a wonderful day!

[kewltie]

im entertaining a pro baseball au with bkdk on rival teams (one a former champ and the other a new powerhouse who had arrived on the field), set up by the media as each other's nemesis, until izuku got traded to katsuki's team and now they're force to work together and win a champ with this riff raff baseball team that had never gotten very far.

they're childhood friends. izuku grew up in katsuki's shadow—who is hailed as a prodigy, a one of a kind pitcher that come only every few gens but katsuki worked super hard to get where he is. izuku is actual the real genius but it's overshadowed by his insecurities and lack of confidence . so while katsuki shines ever brightly in the spotlight, he never forget that izuku is the only one to hit his fastest pitch and he got a mind like a machine that steer katsuki's pitching right into in glove every time because worse than getting a hit off Katsuki's pitch, he's a catcher who make katsuki feels invincible. Undefeated.

in their younger years they were a battery pair that dominated the lil league until Katsuki's warped superiority/inferiority complex broke them up because he was terrified that izuku would outshine him one day, ppl would start to see Izuku's brilliance, and that he wont need katsuki anymore. he left izuku for the bigger and better stage while izuku floundered helplessly wit out him thinking he wasnt good enough for katsuki. he dreams of being in the pro league with kacchan; it was both of their dreams to follow their idol--All Might, the no. 1 baseball player in Japan—to the biggest stage of their life. they were supposed to go pro together but katsuki went first and then racked up champions and champions with an all-star team as their starting pitcher, while izuku watched katsuki shut down the other team from his couch.

he thought that should have been him out there with kacchan so he trained everyday, dumping all his money into those batting cages because even if he got no team izuku still dreams. If he can’t have katsuki as his pitcher than he’ll do the next best thing, face against him as a batter. Changing position is not an easy choice to make, while izuku may be genius (though you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s shyly steps up to the plate) but even better than that he’s a hardworker. it's there that all might found him, discovered this diamond in the rough and took him under his wings because izuku was always meant something bigger than this cage. with all might's help izuku gets better enough to be scouted in an mid level pro team and it's there he get to stand on the same stage as katsuki even if they're on diff teams. katsuki's team may be a championship team with all its accolades so far but izuku is izuku. he's always beaten the odds; it's in him.

the 1st season izuku entered the pro, his team finally made it into the playoffs in many years but was knocked out by 1st seed team--Katsuki's team. it was a bitter feeling but to stare katsuki down on the pitch and getting a hit off of him like back in the old days felt amazingly good. katsuki had won against izuku and his team but it wasnt a total shut out either. in the last game izuku managed to to hit 2 home run off of katsuki's fastball and that's 2 too many. izuku is terribly awkward and shy in front of the media but when he step on that plate--he's mean and vicious. Eyes on the prize and the gauntlet is thrown. To chase a victory is in his blood as much as katsuki’s.

katsuki may have won but he felt like he lost the fucking war because izuku is here in front of him now and he cant get rid of him even if he want to. they were bound by some fucked up twisted fate that kept them tied together and meet like this once more. with that 1 series, izuku secured his place as katsuki's rival as the only handful of batters who can get a homerun on katsuki. in the next season, izuku made the playoffs again and lost to katsuki AGAIN but this time it was a hard fought fight that could go either way as the entire nation watched with bated breath. izuku and katsuki's team clashing was the most hype series in the playoffs even more than the grand finals. even their regular season games were watched by so many ppl. they were both stars of the their respective teams and they have a history so THE MEDIA ATE IT UP.

in izuku 3rd season, at the playoff once more he finally at last knocked katsuki off his perched in front of a stunned crowd and a glowering katsuki. they would eventually go to win the championship but nobody can forget that rainy long day when katsuki and izuku met up against each other on the field that last so long it felt like an entire year had passed between them. the grand finals was great between izuku’s team and another ace but it was the bitter, hard fought semi-finals battle between katsuki and izuku’s team that was etched into everyone’s memory.

that lost cut katsuki deeply. it was his first time not making it to the finals and to see izuku winning it all was such a bitter feeling. he started to slipped as his obsession with beating izuku grew. his pitching became erratic and uncontrollable. his pitching staff and catcher doesnt know how to fix him. it all came to a head when he had to face izuku again in the regular season and ofc izuku knew right away something was off with him. katsuki's team lost that match up and after the game, izuku reached out with concern.

"it's your shoulder isnt it?" he asked as though he didn't already know.

katsuki rebuked him right away, but it burned in him that even with all these ppl surrounding him it's only izuku who noticed that his shoulder was the source of the problem. izuku knew him better than anyone even now. katsuki eventually had to tell the staff that he blew his shoulder in the offseason while training and it didnt heal right. so he was benched to recover but even when he did... it was like he wasnt ever the same again. his pitching was off, lacking its usual explosive speed and power.

his team started to use him less and less and they didnt even make it to the payoffs in DECADES. the loyal and fanatic fanbase turned against their star even tho it wasnt Katsuki's fault, pushing to trade him out for a better, newer, and younger pitcher as though there were anyone better than him but katsuki was considered old news and izuku was the new face of the league as he won a back to back championship and mvp title. so katsuki himself pushed to be traded off to another team so he can start over and prove to his doubters than be can reach to the top with ANY TEAM.

they send him to the bottom of the league--U.A. a team of troublemaker players who are all talented but eccentric enough that they cant fit anywhere else. with this new team who finds katsuki's abrasiveness interesting rather than annoyance or something they have to put up with, they start to make a sort of family out of these misfits and katsuki slowly learns to rely on his teammates and not take on the world just by himself because he may stand alone on that mound but his team got his back to make sure he would never fall. they're good for him and hes good for them!!

 though they still have much to learn about each other, but they managed to beat some of the top teams in the regular season with their sheer guts. even tho they didnt make it to the playoffs this season, katsuki didnt feel bitter at all he knows there's a next year and a next year. There’s hope still for them. they’re growing and improving with each win/loss. Losing DOESN’T FEEL LIKE A PERSONAL BETRAYAL ANYMORE. It’s a measure of one’s growth.

Izuku's team consistently outperformed everyone now that katsuki isnt posed as his rival because he's in a diff league (west vs east) now so they rarely meet up in the regular season but izuku misses that edge, that feeling of being cut by Katsuki's fastball, and to stand on same the field with katsuki but more than anything he wants catch Katsuki's pitch, to be a battery again with KATSUKI so TO THE SHOCK OF THE ENTIRE WORLD izuku didnt renew his contract with his 3x championship team but chose to sign up with U.A. at a heavily discounted price because he wants to win WITH katsuki!!

the thing is he'd been following katsuki all his life. katsuki was the one who taught him baseball, followed him into the lil league, middle school, high school, the pro, and then followed in his footsteps to take the champ, so it should be no surprise that he would eventually follow katsuki to his new team.

"aren't you tired of being in bakugou's shadow?" his general manager asks. "dont you want to stand separate from him? with us you can go so far, midoriya."

izuku shakes his head. "im not in katsuki's shadow. he's paving the way and telling me to hurry up and come to him."

it's always the case with them. katsuki runs and izuku gives chase, but somewhere along the way they both have to stop. U.A. is that destination and the day izuku arrives on u.a.'s homestand he feels it in air--the electricity, the tension, and new beginning.

katsuki's eyes are wide as he spots izuku standing on the field of his team. anger and bitterness flickers hot and heavy in his chest. he storms over to izuku and demands to know wtf is he doing here DOESN'T HE KNOW THIS IS KATSUKI'S TEAM? but izuku just smile, sweet and soft.

"i'm here to be your new catcher," izuku informs him, rocking happily back and forth on his heels.

katsuki bristles. "not happening," he hisses.

Izuku raises his brow. "why dont you try me out first then." he quirks the corner of his lips up in amusement. "or are you afraid?"

katsuki eyes narrow because izuku knows him. KNOWS WHERE AND HOW TO PUSH THEM. it's like back in the playoffs again when they're facing each other. katsuki can read him just as easily izuku can too and it made their battle exhilarating, like dancing on the edge of a blade but sometimes he wonder what if it would be like not to have izuku's blade pointed at him but have him at his back instead. he should know because they were that once. together as one and it was a pairing unlike any other. no other catcher clicked the way izuku had and to have that again.

Katsuki grits his his teeth and nods. "get your gear," he says, "and i'll show you who is the one you should be afraid of."

izuku is an excellent batter. strong grip, good shoulder and arm, and there's power behind his swing, but he's an even better catcher.

he got good eyes to see ppl's move before they even do it. it's how he was able to shut down other pitchers as a batter because he read them all like a book, spending hours going over their specialize pitches and habits but he has never find a pitcher that pitch the way he wants them to. only katsuki gives it to him because katsuki holds no barred when he throw, he puts everything on the line and izuku wants that. he earnestly wants to receive all of katsuki's feelings. like he had in their past. izuku steps back as he watches katsuki gets on the mound.

it feels so right to crouch down, his gloved hand forward to receive katsuki's balls, and the fire of katsuki's eyes on him the entire time.

"give me everything you got. your best yet," he orders over the field.

katsuki snarls. "shut the fuck up," he says, and throws.

the balls slide right into izuku's glove like the turn of a key, the fit of a jigsaw puzzle, like a pitcher and their catcher. perfect just like izuku's imagine it to be. the impact of it knocks izuku back but the ball is right in his glove. right where izuku wants him to throw.

izuku gets up and throws his gear to the ground as he races up toward the mound. he laughs because THIS FEELS GOOD, BETTER THEN WINNING THE CHAMPIONSHIP ALONE BECAUSE NOW THEY'RE GOING TO WIN THIS TOGETHER AND HE KNOWS IT. CAN SEE IT IN KATSUKI'S PITCH, CAN FEEL IT THE BALL IN HIS GLOVE

"that was beautiful kacchan! i knew you can do it because with you here with me, we can do anything, even conquer this entire world," he declares with a certainty that startles even katsuki. he's grinning so wide and proud like katsuki's pitch was made for him and--

katsuki reaches out and pulls him into a forceful kiss because he looks so beautiful it hurts to watch, because in the end it was always about them. deku. Izuku. he has been waiting for a long, long time for izuku to get here. to stand on the same field as him and to have izuku catch his pitch. even when they fought each other in the regular seasons and the playoffs, where one side always win and the other always lose, he thought one day they would both share the same fate, same side and katsuki and izuku will taste victory together. they can, and now they will.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Oh (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

Alright, I didn’t end up proofreading this one because I spent several hours cheering myself up via vines, so... enjoy whatever the hell came out of me the other night!

Rating: T

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Reader

Words: 1625

Warnings: none

Requested: yes/no

Summary:  “You found the ring I lost at this bar last week and, oh, okay, you’re cute, I swear it’s not a wedding ring”--- with Crosby

Only after about a half hour searching the bar is your ring found. Not by you, of course, but found nonetheless. You’d searched all the tables, under the booths, around the jukebox, along the bar. No luck. Until the small group in the corner makes a bit of a commotion, enough to get you to look over, to see one of them holding up a silver ring. Your ring. It’s two flowers, entwined, with opal and amethyst in the centers, still shiny silver glinting in the low light of the bar. You move without necessarily meaning to, just desperate to get your ring back. You don’t notice who’s holding it, or the group surrounding them, or anything, really. You’re just relieved down to your bones to have found it at all.

By the time you reach the table, the guy who found it has stood up and started scooching by the others to get out of the booth. Hopefully he’s the kind of guy who’s inclined to return it, because you’re not in the mood to fight anyone, let alone someone as thick and strong-looking as him.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, taking the hand holding your ring into both of yours, “Thank god you found it.” Only then do you look at the man for real, taking in his big brown eyes, strong jaw, slightly crooked nose… He’s cute. Like really cute. You’re kind of staring at his mouth- his mouth that’s so dark pink it’s almost red, a little wet from a single flick of his tongue- when you realize it’s moving, because he’s talking to you as you stand there and stare silently like a creep.

“Thank you so much,” you blurt out, almost cringing at how high your voice comes out. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, trying to remember how to act like a normal fucking person in the face of the most beautiful guy you’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” you repeat, “I, like, freaked out when I realized I didn’t have it.” You don’t mention that the reason you lost it in the first place is because you’d taken it off to scarf down wings with your friends and forgot to put it back on. Not exactly the image you want to project to someone attractive. Someone attractive whose hand you’re still holding in your own, holy shit. You rip your hands away like he’s a hot stove, wiping your suddenly sweaty palms against the rough material of your jeans.

“Sorry,” you say, still not quite sure what he’d said when you weren’t paying attention, but wondering nonetheless. Probably something about how unbearably awkward you’re being right now.

“It’s okay,” he replies, chuckling a bit. He has a nice laugh. You still want your ring back, first and foremost, but you keep getting distracted from that goal by his… everything.

“I’m sure whoever the lucky person is will be happy that you found it,” he continues, tilting his head just the slightest bit to the right. You must look confused, because he shifts the ring up between his thumb and forefinger. Oh. Oh.

“Oh no!” your left hand flies up to press against your breastbone, “It’s not an engagement ring!” Why are you defending this to him? Oh, right, probably because he’s gorgeous and you’re already weak for him. And if you want to go home with his number, you’ll need a miracle, even without him thinking you have a fiance.

“No?” he asks, an inscrutable expression overtaking his face.

“No,” you confirm, adding “It’s from my mom”, because you’re a dork nerd idiot who tells cute guys that they wear a ring from their mom. It’s both of your birth stones, with “Never Alone” engraved on the inside, given to you last holiday season. It’s sweet, and sentimental, and probably kind of sappy to wear constantly, but you do.

“Oh,” is all he says, a sly smile growing on his face. You’re not entirely sure you like the look of that grin, except for the part where it’s gorgeous and makes a smile start on your own face without your express permission. He looks vaguely familiar, but you’re too focused on the way he smells like slaf water and the taffy named after it (despite being nowhere near a seaport) to figure out how you know him.

One of his friends from his table comes up behind him and slaps a hand down on his shoulder, making you both jump. Now him you recognize. Kind of hard not to recognize a superstar Penguins player in Pittsburgh, especially when he’s 6’4 and so distinctive-looking as Evgeni Malkin. Which is what you’re going to use as an excuse for not immediately recognizing that the guy you’ve been acting a fool in front of is Sidney Crosby-- no hockey player should be that good looking.

“Sid, why you make pretty girl stand?” Geno asks, and you’re thrown enough by Geno Malkin calling you pretty that you miss most of whatever they bicker about for the next thirty seconds. It’s kind of funny to watch two world famous athlete squabble like an old married couple, though. You’re not sure how to deal with this entire ridiculous situation, so you’ve just decided to embrace it at this point. Besides, you don't have to meet your friend for another hour anyway, so might as well get as much of a story to tell as you can. They’re still going back and forth, something about you, and you can’t help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of everything. The sound of your laughter finally shuts them up, and they both stare at you for an impossibly long moment before they start laughing as well.

The commotion gets the attention of the rest of their table, who all start calling out different things at once, while they beckon the three of your toward the table. Geno wastes no time taking your elbow and guiding you over, huge hand gentle and warm against your skin. You go willingly, kind of excited to meet everyone, thought nervous that you won’t live up to their clearly high expectations. Then again, they’ll probably forget all about you the second you leave, so does it really matter? It’s only when you’re ushered into the booth that you realize you’d never actually gotten your ring back, despite how long this interaction has gone on for.

“Hi, I’m Zach,” one of the group introduces himself, sticking out a hand for you to shake, which you do. Then you’re introduced to Patric, Bryan, Brian, and Matt, in turn. You don’t quite pretend you don’t know them, but you try not to act too invested in them or their careers, or the fact that you’re sitting at a table with multi-time Stanley Cup champions. Just keep breathing and keep it cool. Which you’ve been excelling at since you got here, obviously.

Sid is squeezed into the booth next to you, barely an inch of table space before him, but he doesn’t seem to care. His left thigh is pressed against your right, hip to knee. You’re trying not to think about it, but it’s not exactly easy to ignore. The guys are asking you questions; how old are you, where do you work, do you come to this bar often? You answer to the best of your ability, asking your own questions in return. It’s a weird dance where they know you know them, but none of you are acknowledging that fact. They all seem to be pretty cool guys, though, so it’s not as difficult to fall into the conversation as you’d thought it would be. The guys mostly talk about their families; wives and children spoken of with reverent adoration, and it’s nice. It’s not much different than talking with your own friends, honestly.

Eventually you’re startled out of the back-and-forth by the blaring of your phone alarm, letting you know it’s time to leave to meet your friend. You’re amazed by how quickly the time has passed, an hour seeming fleeting. You apologize and excuse yourself, Sid standing to let you out of the booth. You say your goodbyes, getting handshakes and hugs from varying members of the group. Geno gives you a tight squeeze before you leave, warm and impossibly huge around you.

You’re almost at the door when you hear the shout from behind you, turning to find Sid jogging toward you. Your heart is a butterfly in your chest, watching him come closer, captivated by the way he moves. He stops just in front of you, reaching into his pocket and pulling out your ring. Oh.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the ring and slipping it onto your left hand. You’re about to bid him adieu and leave when he takes your hand in his own, digging in his pocket. You can only imagine how confused you must look, because he giggles when he sees your face. He’s taken a pen out of his pocket and uses it to gesture to your hand held captive. You nod, still not sure any of this is real. He writes a series of ten numbers on your skin, giving you a crooked smile before he lets go.

“See you around, eh?” he says, before pulling back and returning to the table, throwing glances over his shoulder as if he’s not sure you’re receptive to the idea. The idea that he just gave you his number, his private, restricted number, so you can presumably text or call him, or in some way communicate with him in the future, like that’s not an earth-shattering development. You wave before heading out the door, having one hell of a story to tell your friend.

[whindsor]

gbbo au, part 1

i’ve been thinking about this for a whole year and now the au idea got even better so you know what, i’m just gonna do it, cause i miss mika and bucky A Whole Lot. this is completely self indulgent and unedited and just for fun. So here we go!

note: i’m not gonna add like, the real contestants on this season. cause like, they’re real people. and that’s a lil weird. 

another note: i have no idea how the competition is run, how the baking bubble works, or really what’s going on. i’m winging it and having a great time.

week one: cake week

This was, no doubt, the longest two weeks of her life.

Mika wasn’t sure how she, an expat from a little town in Romania, had gotten chosen for The Great British Bake Off. Or Bake Off, as everyone called it. Apparently, being in the UK implied the Great British part. 

Thanks to the stupid plague running rampant around the world, the contestants were invited to actually live at the Bake Off this year - at least, until they were removed from the competition. She hadn’t actually got to meet any of the contestants yet, since they were stuck quarantining in their little flats. They’d tested her when she’d first gotten there of course - negative, thank God - and every couple days since. She’d seen a few people leave under the cover of night, a car taking them away from the Baking Bubble. She wondered how many people were in the building, and if one day they would come in and tell her that sorry, you’re still negative for coronavirus, but you actually placed thirteenth in the ranking so you need to leave now. 

But then, she got an email. A wonderful, glorious email. 

Congratulations, Mika! You are a final contestant on The Great British Bake Off!

She wasn’t quite sure what it said after that - something about logistics and contacts and services and what not - all she knew was that she had to get to work. Now.

The next few days were a flurry of flour and frantic phone calls and internet searches, and as slow as the quarantine period had been, those few days flew by fast. She began to see inklings of other people then; one man got up and went for a run about the time she was sipping on her first cup of coffee. The woman next door practiced yoga on the balcony. At one point, a distinct burning smell emanated from the floors below her. They were all here, and all ready to bake.

She chose her outfit carefully. She needed to feel confident, but also comfortable. So she slid on jeans and boots, and eventually decided on a printed top her sister had given her, hoping it would remind her to just have fun. After all, Nicoletta was the one who signed her up for this in the first place, and was also the inspiration for her first Signature Challenge. 

Interviews were first. It was chilly outside, and just a little breezy, so she slid on a leather jacket. Her mother would hate that she wore it, but it was her favorite, and made her feel much cooler and more hard core than she actually was. Down the lawn, Morning Jogger was also in his interview. He looked rather calm and collected, with his flannel and man bun and hand tucked into his pocket. Lucky duck. She turned her attention back in front of her. The interviewer asked a few introductory questions to get her acclimated to the camera in her face; it helped if she just talked to him, rather than to the lens. He assured her that was just fine. 

“So, how are you feeling about starting the Bake Off?” he asked, finally getting into the nitty-gritty.

“Terrified.” she said immediately, giggling nervously after that. God, she hoped she came across as endearing rather than annoying. That road was a dangerous one to go down, so she took a sharp left. “But I’m so excited to finally get in there and see if I’m any good, or if my friends and family have been lying this whole time.”

That would be the nugget they used for her introduction. As expected, her mother wouldn’t care for it. But her sister thought she was cute and that her hair looked extra glossy, which was always a plus. 

She finally got to go into the tent, glad she’d chosen to wear sturdy shoes instead of heels because her legs felt like they were made of jelly. And not even the good jelly like she made - the jelly her friend Elena made, which usually ended up being more of a soak for toast. Morning Jogger was also there, stationed at the back right bench, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the butcher block surface. 

His left arm, however, was suspiciously missing.

Mika caught herself staring, her eyes flicking up to his before dropping with her chagrin. Get a grip, girl. It’s not like he was the first amputee she’d ever seen! Just the first on the Bake Off. She kept her eyes down as she went to her bench, which of course was right next to his. Dammit.

“Back of the class kids, huh?” he said. When she gave him a hesitant smile, he added, “It’s okay, I know it’s a shock.” His voice was quiet, but somehow still confident. She instantly knew that he was way tougher than she would ever be. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” she said, looking at him again and owning up to her mistake. He shrugged.

“It happens.” he said. He didn’t sound sad, or angry. It was just matter-of-fact.

“I’m Mika,” she said, changing the topic. “What’s your name?”

“Technically, James Barnes.” he said, then added, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Are we friends, James Bucky Barnes?” she asked with a perked eyebrow, amazed that she was able to flirt with someone at a time like this. Arm or no arm, he was very handsome. He smirked, apparently happy with her response.

“Perhaps not yet.” he said. “I guess we’re enemies for now.”

“Then are you ready to battle?” she said, trying to be extra dramatic in an effort to make his smile bigger. It worked. 

“I think I’m ready, but I feel like I’m forgetting something.” he said, glancing down at the place where he used to have another hand. She snorted in laughter once before covering her mouth with her hand.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to laugh at that.” she said, her voice muffled. 

“Please laugh, otherwise I’ll be too embarrassed to bake.” he said, his expression making her give in to the humor. Nerves also helped that, but she would never admit it. He gave her a conspiratory smile that she returned; now she understood how the contestants all seemed like allies. 

The other contestants trickled in, and Mika felt a weird sense of protectiveness every time people spotted his arm, or lack thereof. He took it all in stride; she wondered how many times a day he got looks like that. Of course, she didn’t have time to ask, because before she knew it, the judges and hosts stood in a line at the front of the tent, welcoming them all to the competition. She hadn’t realized that there would be a new host this year, and she was grateful that the hosts managed to break some of the tension in the room. Then, it was time for their first challenge.

Battenberg cakes.

Mika was not ashamed to admit that she had to Google what a Battenberg cake was. At first glance, it didn’t seem that difficult, but then she remembered that she was baking for two of the most respected chefs in the UK, and that she had literally no margin for error. That made it a little more difficult. 

They told her to bake, so she baked. She started whipping her butter and sugars, then added her eggs and flour and flavorings. She could see the judges and hosts making their way down the line, talking to the contestants and asking about their bakes. She tried to stay calm and collected, like Bucky next to her. His easy tone when talking to them helped to soothe her, especially when they brought up his obvious disability. There was no way their conversations would be the same, so she didn’t have to worry about comparisons.

“Hello there, Mika.” the female judge said with a grin. Mika gave the best smile she could manage, reminding herself to stay calm and somewhat focused. 

“Alo, how are you?” she said. Her accent was extra thick with her nerves. Dammit. 

“What have you got for us today?” the male judge asked after exchanging pleasantries. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to stumble over her words. She glanced over to Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile. 

“Well, my sister has been my biggest champion, so this is for her.” she explained, dumping ground up freeze dried strawberries into half of her batter. “She loves strawberries and cream, so that’s what I’m making today.”

“Simple.” the male judge said, a little bit of surprise in his voice. Her stomach dropped to approximately her knees. It must have shown on her face, because the female judge patted her hand in a comforting manner. 

“As long as it’s done perfectly, it doesn’t matter how simple it is.” she said, winking behind her thick, bright blue glasses. Mika managed a hesitant smile.

“Right. Just perfection.” she said nervously, making them laugh. They bid her good luck and moved on to the next bench, the taller of the two hosts putting an arm around her shoulders and leaving an encouraging word before moving on. Okay, so all she had to achieve was perfection. That was fine. She shut out all the other distractions, barely hearing the time calls as they came. She focused on getting her cake in the oven, getting her marzipan nice and pink marbled, and making her filling. The cakes looked good when she pulled them out of the oven, and thank God they were done. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan.

“Twenty minutes left!” one of the hosts called. Shit! 

She quickly pulled her cakes from the tin; they were still warm, but they would have to do. She pulled her secret weapon - dental floss - out, and tried not to sweat as she cut the squares. She put them on the marzipan, put in her filling, and started the careful process of rolling it. When she managed to get the marzipan just right, she finally let out a sigh of relief. She glanced over at Bucky, curious as to how he was getting on. His movements were carefully coordinated and meticulous, and she noticed he used every square millimeter of his hand (and a little bit of his torso, which had a distinct line of flour and food coloring) to get things to move the way he wanted. Impressive. She turned back to her own work, whipping and piping some cream and artfully fanning out strawberries. With a minute to spare, she finished. 

Now for the judging. 

It was so stressful to watch the judges go from table to table, sampling the cakes and giving critique. Most of the contestants got glowing reviews, and only a couple had negative feedback. She held her breath when they got to her buddy in the back of the room, amazed that he could look so calm.

“Rosemary and lemon,” the male judge announced, nodding towards the cake. It was covered in a simple yellow marzipan, a few rosemary sprigs tied with a gold ribbon and placed on top. 

“An unusual flavor combination for a cake.” the female judge added, watching as the first judge cut a large square from the cake. The colors were a distinct white and yellow checkerboard, which was one of the requirements. Bucky shrugged.

“I wanted to try something different.” he said. 

“Bit simplistic on the decoration.” the female judge said, pushing the rosemary sprigs. Mika had thought it looked elegant, but she supposed that’s why she wasn’t one of the judges. 

“Decoration isn’t my strong suit.” he said, his grin widening at the vague look of discomfort they gave him. “I’m not particularly artistic. All left brain, I’m afraid.” That seemed to assuage their fears a bit, and they turned to the plates in front of them while Mika tried not to giggle at his jokes. They took a bite from the cake, both of their eyebrows raising as the flavors hit them.

“Wow. That is...surprising.” the female judge said. The male judge nodded. “The texture is just a touch tough, but for me the flavor makes it worth it.”

“Rosemary is very floral and usually does well with more savory applications, but it works really well with the lemon here. Well done.” the male judge added. They bid farewells, and Mika was so distracted by Bucky actually displaying an emotion (relief) that she forgot for a moment that they were coming for her. 

“Alright, Mika, your turn.” the female judge said. She had a very kind smile, despite her position.

“Remind us what we have here.” the male judge said. His gaze was very intense, and much more intimidating that when they spoke earlier. She cleared her throat, holding her hands together so they couldn’t see them shaking.

“Strawberries and cream, for my sister.” she said, keeping her answer short in case her English failed her. The female judge gestured to the bushels of strawberries and whipped cream all over the cake.

“This is a bit much.” she said. “I would have done the marbled marzipan or the strawberries, but to have both is a little...over the top.”

Mika’s stomach turned to stone. Now that she looked at it, it did seem a bit garish. She forced a smile and nodded. “Okay, yes, I see that now.”

“I like it. I enjoy extra snacks with my cake.” the host said, reaching out and pulling one of the strawberries off, making sure to take a large dollop of whipped cream with it before popping the whole thing - green and all - into his mouth. She was grateful for the humor, and for the bit of validation.

“Right. Let’s get to the cake then.” the male judge said, cutting a slice. Thank goodness the pink and white squares were perfect and distinct. First box ticked. She held her breath as they ate it, her vision starting to swim slightly when they finally looked at her.

“That is beautifully soft.” the female judge said, adding, “and the flavors aren’t overdone at all.”

“It’s very difficult to add freeze dried strawberries to a recipe and avoid a granulated texture in it.” the male judge said. “But you’ve managed to pull it off. I like this a lot.”

“I think I’ll have another bit before we go.” the female judge said, taking another forkful. Mika visibly sank in relief, her smile genuine this time.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, slouching as soon as their backs turned. She glanced over at Bucky, who gave her a thumbs up. The gesture made her cheeks warm, and she returned the gesture before settling back on to the stool. Once everyone was judged, they were instructed to take a two hour break. Mika couldn’t help but hop over to the bench next to hers, a slice of cake on a plate.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” she said with a grin, making Bucky choke on a laugh. He cut her a slice as well, handing it over.

“I actually don’t really care for sweets. But I do want to hear what you think of this.” he said with a self deprecating smile. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t care for sweets? How did you make it then?” she asked, taking a large bite of his cake. Dammit, it was really good.

“I have a few reliable critics. What do you think of the cake?”

“It’s terrible. You should drop out.” she said, mouth full of another bite. “I’m definitely not terrified of you.”

He laughed again, and Mika thought that he had a very nice smile. She would have commented on it, but figured that would probably be weird after meeting just a couple hours before. So she just let herself be ushered out of the tent and into an open area, with lunch plates all waiting for them.

All of them were carefully spaced around an empty fire pit. Some of the other contestants had grouped up a little, but Bucky was sitting on his own, his plate carefully positioned on his lap and a book perched precariously on his knee. Mika chose the seat next to him, giving him a warm smile when he looked up before turning to her own lunch. She was sure the other contestants were nice, but she was drained after the morning, and the thought of having to smile and socialize was not particularly enticing. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through recent news and reading the articles that interested her. Bucky continued with his book, though she realized it had been a long moment since he’d turned a page. She glanced over to catch him looking at her, his eyes dropping quickly once she caught him. She couldn’t help but grin...and also make sure that there was nothing on her face.

All too soon, they returned to the tent for the technical challenge. This was what Mika was most excited about; she could follow vague directions (one of the few helpful skills her mother developed), and had decently good instincts. Usually. The judges and hosts lined up, and when she looked over at Bucky before they spoke, she made sure to throw another smile his way. He grinned back, which was a better confidence boost than the well wishes from the judges and hosts.

Pineapple upside down cake? She’d seen it once, on an episode long ago. She remember thinking it sounded delicious - and then promptly forgot everything about it. She could figure it out, right?...Right? She glanced to Bucky out of the corner of her eye, and the man was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Dammit, that was the look of someone who’d made this before. 

Whatever. She was smart! She had a degree! And she watched a lot of television! She could do this!

She started on the sponge, the easy part. It was the caramel she was worried about. The cameras stopped on her, the interviewer asking, “Are you familiar with this technical challenge?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” she said, giving them a nervous grin. It was still awkward to talk to the camera, so she instead focused on the man asking the question. “Have I made it? No. Have I eaten it? Also no. But it sounds good.” 

They gave her sympathetic smiles, moving on to talk to Bucky. She let out a breath of relief, knowing that now she could focus on the caramel. All she had to do was watch it. And pull it off at the right moment. And not let it crystalize.

Which is exactly what it did.

“Fuck a duck.” she muttered in Romanian, glad that she both hid in her native language and that the cameras were far away. 

“Watch your tongue.” Bucky said, also in perfect Romanian. She nearly dropped the pan of crystalized caramel, looking at him in shock. The cameramen noticed the movement, and carefully slid back to them.

“You speak Romanian?” she asked, shock evident in her face.

“Yes, I do.” he replied, and just hearing the language helped calm her in a weird way. The piece of home was exactly what she needed. He nodded toward her bench. “Fix your caramel.”

“Dammit!” Mika said, back in English now. She weighed out the sugar and water, putting it back on the stove. The cameras were still there, and the interviewer asked, 

“What was that about?” 

“He speaks Romanian! It’s very exciting.” she said, this time giving them a genuine smile. They quickly panned over to Bucky.

“How do you know Romanian?” they asked. He had a long knife in his hand, carefully resting the pineapple on the bench and managing to slowly, but expertly, cut it. 

“I’ve done a lot of traveling. I actually speak eight languages.” he replied casually. “Well, conversationally at least.” he added. He flipped the knife, laying it aside a safe distance away from them. The camera man gulped, and decided not to ask any more questions. Mika, realizing she should probably get back to her bake and not worry about Bucky’s life story, quickly turned to find, thank God, her caramel looked good. Pale, maybe, but good. It would darken in the oven for sure.

She carefully placed the pineapple and the cherry in the bottom of the greased tins, using a spoon to add in the still hot caramel. She had a fair bit left over, but she didn’t want to risk drowning the cake. So, she followed her gut and ladled in the sponge mix, putting them in the oven before she could think too much about it. Bucky, of course, was already pulling his out. Damn him. 

“Thirty minutes remain!” one of the hosts called, balancing a rolling pin on his head. She appreciated the humor, she really did, but she was very stressed right now and seeing a rolling pin in such a precarious position was not exactly helpful. She checked her oven; the cakes were probably halfway finished. There was no way they would be cool in time for her to put the cream...but she’d have to try. 

The last few minutes the cakes were in the oven, she whipped up the cream. If she was honest, she nearly overwhipped it into butter, but caught it just in time. As soon as the timer went off she got the tray from the oven, nearly sliding the tins off the edge. She gasped, nearly choking on her heart in her throat as she caught it just in time, placing the tray on the counter before putting her hand over her heart. 

“Slow down, Mika.” she said to herself, shaking her head for a second. Of course the cameras caught the moment - she could feel them pointed towards her - but she refused to look up at them. Her stress was through the roof, and if she was honest, she was trying very hard not to cry.

She started fanning the little tins, trying to get them to cool down enough to remove the cakes. “Fifteen minutes!” the host called, and she actually, verbally eeked and grabbed the closest cake. The cup was still ferociously hot, but she didn’t have time to think about burning off her fingerprints. Instead, she focused on getting the cakes out and onto the platter. The caramel didn’t darken like she hoped, but she didn’t have time to care. She was back to furiously fanning, trying to get it cool enough for the cream. She made the mistake of glancing over to Bucky - he was already putting little rosettes of cream on his, cool as a cucumber. Dammit!

“One minute left!” the host called. It was the moment of truth. She prayed her cream wouldn’t melt, swiftly piping it onto the little cakes. They smelled delicious for sure...would they be allowed to try one afterwards?

“Time’s up!” the call felt like a knife through her gut. They all had cream on them, but it was very hasty work, and definitely not her best. She let out a frustrated sigh, the little hairs that escaped her braid floating around her face. There was nothing she could do now, except wait to get judged. This time, the judges would not know who made which one...which could make their feedback all the more honest. 

“Well, well,” the male judge said, clapping his hands together. His eyes ran over the plates in front of him, his face already giving away his feelings. The female judge’s eyebrows rose over her thick glasses, as if she were surprised. Whether it was a good or bad surprise remained to be seen. “Right. Let’s get started.”

Mika watched in abject horror as they ripped apart every plate in front of them. The good ones were good, and the bad ones - luckily hers didn’t quite fit in there - were, well, bad. Bucky, of course, got glowing reviews. When they stopped at Mika’s, she held her breath.

“Caramel is too light.” the female judge said, poking at it with her fork. The male judge cut it in half, and even from a few feet away Mika could see that the cake was held together only by her dreams.

“It’s baked. Barely.” he said shortly, chuckling to himself. They took a bite, mulling it over for a moment until he added, “Not bad. If the caramel was a little more done on the stove and the cakes in the oven a couple more minutes, it would have been pretty good.”

Not bad. She could work with “not bad”. Hopefully. 

Out of the twelve bakers, she ended up placing seventh. Almost top half! Though she would have much preferred to place first (which was where Bucky placed), she really deserved to be much lower than her rank. At that point she seemed to be sitting in the middle of the pack, which was just as well with her. She just needed to get past the nerves of this first week. As long as she wasn’t the first one to go, she could do better. At least, she hoped so. Really, her goal was to make it to bread week. If she made it there, she would consider this adventure a success, and could go home happy.

The dismissal was such a relief that she forgot about the Showstopper challenge the following day. The bakers gathered their things, returning to the big house and heading for their apartments. Mika looked forward to a shower, some comfier pants, and one single stiff drink. She hanged back a little, waiting for Bucky to catch up to her. 

“Do you know where they keep the key to the liquor cabinet?” she asked, making him raise his brows.

“No, but I can pick a lock pretty well. And if that doesn’t work, I do have some whiskey in my rooms.” he said. He stepped back slightly, holding his hand out in a placating gesture. “Not that I - I mean, we can meet at a neutral place to share a glass, if you would like.”

Mika, not expecting him to get flustered that easily, busted out laughing. “You can relax. A drink would be nice, then maybe I can sleep a little before tomorrow.”

“I’ve got just the thing for that.” he said with a grin. He nodded towards the fire pit, where a groundskeeper was building a fire. “There, after supper?”

“Sounds good.” she said. A friend! She had an ally! She smiled, going to her rooms and rinsing off the day, cooking up a good enough microwave meal to keep her from dying and making sure any last minute preparations she needed for tomorrow were finished. Once she felt she’d waited an appropriate amount of time, she pulled on a jacket and went back downstairs. 

Bucky was already waiting at the fire pit, as were a couple other bakers. They were busy talking about the next day, and gave her a warm welcome when she arrived. Bucky looked up from his book, trying to hide his relief that she actually came to this little meet up. When she sat down in the chair next to him, he reached down and got a glass, handing it to her. He then retrieved his own glass and set it on the arm of the chair before getting the all important bottle of whiskey. She thought to offer to open it, but he wedged it between his legs and removed the cap with practiced ease. Clearly his injury was not new.

“Four years ago. War accident.” he said in Romanian, answering her unspoken question. Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the fire, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. He just reached out, filling the glass that she dumbly held out. 

“I’m sorry.” she said, not knowing what else to say. He shrugged, filling his own glass before recapping the drink and setting the bottle down.

“It’s fine. I’ve adapted.” he said, taking a sip. She did as well, if only to have something to do with her hands. “I’ve also learned over the years to just address it, rather than wait for people to be brave enough to ask.”

“Do a lot of people get brave enough to ask?” she said, genuinely surprised. Thanks to his easy going demeanor, she was able to relax into the conversation as well.

“Nope. But I do play this fun game with myself where I count how many times they glance at my shoulder during a conversation.” he said. With that admission, she had a strong desire to glance down at said shoulder, but stifled it. Luckily, the way his blue eyes danced in the firelight was distracting enough.

“Who’s the highest scorer?” 

“The guy at the local coffee place. Every time he looks up from the order it’s not at my face. It’s pretty impressive.” he said. “Kids are the best though. They notice and just screech about it.”

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes. The parents are...” he paused, swishing his glass around and taking another sip for dramatic effect. “...so embarrassed.”

The whiskey, while not making her tipsy yet, certainly made her feel a little warmer inside, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m short a limb, I have to have fun with it otherwise I’ll lose my mind.” he said, smiling even though his statement was completely true.

“Well clearly you’ve got a handle on it, so I think you’ll be okay.” she said, gesturing to the tent. A second later, she realized that he might think her choice of words intentional, and her own hand flew to cover her mouth. “I didn’t - that wasn’t -”

Thank goodness Bucky thought her reaction was funny. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much more often than you would think.” he said. He settled back into the chair, and decided to change the topic before they got too in depth about his lack of an arm. “So what made you apply for this?”

“My sister. She actually sent the preliminary stuff in for me - without telling me.” she replied. After a few years living in the UK, it was nice to talk to someone besides her mother in her native language. “You?”

“Best friend. He did the same thing.” he said. Mika scoffed appreciatively.

“They’re made for each other, the meddling assholes.” she said, making him laugh again. 

“You said it, not me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t assume your friend is an asshole.”

“Oh no, it’s completely fair to assume he’s an asshole.”

“Then what does that say about us?”

Bucky paused at her question, then shook his head. “Dammit. I guess we’re assholes too.”

His tone was so dry that Mika couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Of course, the whiskey also helped with that. She was a little over halfway through her glass - not enough to be tipsy, but still feeling it - and knew that she would have to stop after the one. Bucky was almost finished with his, but he held on to the last few drops, if only for an excuse to stay and talk with her. 

“But we’re assholes who can bake.” Mika said, toasting him with her glass. He tapped his near-empty glass against hers, taking just the smallest sip so he still had some left.

“Allegedly. We may find out tomorrow that we can’t.”

“You’ve already beaten me in both challenges. How in the hell did you make such good pineapple upside down cake?” she asked, putting just the right amount of incredulity in her tone so he would think she was kidding.

“I dated a girl from the South once, in America. You’d be surprised the crazy things they can cook up.” he said. Mika leaned onto the arm of her chair, resting her chin on her hand.

“Oh, that sounds like a story.” she probed. He shook his head.

“Nah, we had a good run and then it ended amicably. We were just in different places in life.” he said. “But way to pry about my love life on the first day.”

“It’s a gift, what can I say.” she replied, though she could feel her chagrin creeping up the back of her neck. 

“So how did your last relationship end?” he countered, noticing too late that he’d accidentally finished his drink. But that didn’t mean he had to leave. Mika let out a bark of a laugh, followed by taking a gulp of her drink.

“Terribly.” she admitted. His face dropped, and then it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Don’t apologize, it’s all good now.” she said, just a touch too easily. “Cheating bastard is off in...Greece I think now, after being dumped by the other woman. And I’m participating in the biggest baking competition in the world, so I think I’m winning the break up.”

“That you are.” Bucky agreed. He eyed his own empty glass, as well as Mika’s. Were this any other time, he would offer another one. As if Mika read his mind, she gave her empty glass back to him.

“Speaking of which, we should probably sleep well before said competition, right?” she said. She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to stay out here and chat with her back row buddy. But they did technically have a competition to worry about.

“It’s not a bad idea.” he agreed, taking the glass from her. He made sure the cap was tight on the bottle before pressing it and his book under his arm, holding the two glasses in one hand. Mika thought she should offer to help, but again he did everything with such ease that she figured he would not see the offer as help, but pity. And perhaps, at this point, it was. 

“Not my worst by far.” she said, standing up with him. They bid goodnight to the other bakers still out there, then went back inside, splitting off to their separate rooms. Now that she was alone, all she could think about was the next day. She should have just stayed out there, she probably would have been better rested than the meager sleep she got that night.

The Showstopper challenge was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Art was not her strong suit, so creating a bust of her favorite celebrity hero was something of a nightmare. The preparation required many trials, many failures, and many crying FaceTime calls to her actual artist sister, asking for help. 

But now she was in the tent, with no access to her cell phone and halfway through a challenge that might be her undoing. She’d claimed that she was making the likeness of Lady Gaga, and she’d chosen her both for the wonderful message she sang and for the good she was trying to do in the world. And also because the woman loved to dress differently and abstractly, which would maybe give her a bit of artistic license. Maybe. Hopefully. 

The cake part was easy enough. It was her favorite chocolate mocha cake recipe, with mint buttercream frosting. It was something she’d made a hundred times before, and since it went smoothly, it lulled her into a false sense of security. But now it was the time to decorate, which was no doubt the very worst part of all of this. She didn’t know how anyone else in the tent was doing; at this point, she was doing her best not to break down and cry. 

“How’s it going?” one of the hosts said, coming over and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, it could be worse,” she said, her voice wavering and her accent thick. “But it also could be a lot better.”

“Mix the optimism with the reality, I dig it.” he said. “So far, it does look like...a human.”

“That’s a good start.” she agreed, laughing slightly.

“Which human is it supposed to be?” he asked lightly.

“Lady Gaga?” 

“Ah yes, I totally see it.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Well it doesn’t matter if I see it.”

“But if you can’t see it, how will the judges see it?”

“Stop being smarter than me and work on your cake.” he said. They stared at each other for a second before she gave in and giggled, shaking her head.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit.” he said, giving her a brotherly punch on the shoulder before wandering off. Okay, maybe she could do this.

“Half an hour left!”

There was no way she could do this.

But she was sure as hell gonna try.

She tried to remember everything her sister told her, and while she could definitely see the difference between what she was making and what it looked like in her mind’s eye, it was kind of, almost, slightly reminiscent of the pop star. When they called the time, she wasn’t completely happy with her cake, but she had to admit it went better than she thought it would. Of course, all that optimism went right out the window when she was called to bring her cake up to the judges. The silence as they took it all in threatened to smother her, and she took a deep breath to try and hold herself together.

“Well, I can see the Lady Gaga.” the female judge said, though she didn’t quite sound like she believed the statement.

“Or someone like it.” the male judge had to say, taking what little was left of Mika’s confidence and throwing it right out the window.

“She’s very eclectic, so I tried to emulate that.” she said, gesturing with her hands until she realized they were shaking, then clasping them in front of her so they wouldn’t notice. They laughed appreciatively, admitting that she wasn’t wrong. “I promise it tastes infinitely better than it looks.”

“Infinitely, eh?” the male judge said, piercing her with her eyes before piercing her cake with a knife. “And this is mint chocolate mocha, correct?”

“Yes.” she said, taking in another sharp breath before she passed out. It seemed to take them a thousand years to eat it, both of them raising their eyebrows in surprise.

“I expected it to taste like coffee and toothpaste, but it’s very pleasant.” the female judge said, taking another bite for good measure. The male judge nodded in agreement.

“It’s not something I would normally expect in a cake, but you’ve managed to pull it off spectacularly. The cake is tender, and the buttercream isn’t overly flavored. Very well done.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” she said, honestly lightheaded after the whole thing. She collected her cake, going back to the back of the room. Only then did she look up at Bucky, who gave her an encouraging smile and nodded towards her cake. She sent back an exaggerated relieved face, though she still wasn’t sure if she would make it past the first week.

Bucky was next, and though she didn’t know the person he’d chosen, she had to admit that his artistry was much better than hers. She supposed she should feel bad that he had clearly beat her in that category, but after their moment of friendship the night before, she found herself rooting for him. 

“This is impressive.” the male judge said, with an unspoken even despite your disability. She was glad they left that bit off. 

“Thank you.” Bucky said softly. He still exuded his quiet confidence, but she could see his thumb picking at a thread on his shirt. 

“And this is fondant?” the female judge asked.

“Marshmallow fondant. It’s a little more forgiving.” he said with a wry grin. They seemed to appreciate the joke, but not for long before cutting into the cake. It was a spice cake, he said. With cream cheese frosting. Since he didn’t care for sweets, Mika wasn’t surprised that he went for something like that. She also really wanted to try it whenever they got finished.

“Hm. I’m getting too much of...something.” the male judge said.

“Allspice.” the female judge agreed. Bucky’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, though his face hid any emotions. 

“The texture though is spot on, and the icing goes very well with it. Decoration was great. Just watch your spices.” the male judge said. Bucky nodded, picking up his sculpture and bringing it to the back of the room. 

“You’re fine.” she whispered, waving him off like of course he was. Then again, they liked his signature and he won the technical, so he really was fine. He gave her a twitch of a smile, settling back onto his stool to watch the rest of the judgements. They thought they might chill out when the judges went off to deliberate, but everyone just seemed more tense.

“Relax.” Bucky muttered, watching Mika pace up and down the back of the tent.

“Relax? How can I relax?” she asked. “My cake was decent, but I can’t decorate for shit and my technical was terrible!”

“You’re fine.” Bucky reiterated. “I’m not losing my back of the room buddy. I paid them off to pass you through.”

“Asshole.” she said, making him laugh. She paused. “Did you really?”

“I can’t afford that, I’m sorry.” he said, making her groan.

“I’m gone. I know it.” she said. She wanted to think that she was the middle of the pack, that she could make it, but she was also deathly afraid that she missed something.

“Well, let’s find out.” he surprised her, drawing her attention to where the producers were lining up their stools. Mika gulped audibly, following Bucky on numb legs and sitting down. She crossed her legs, pressing her hands in between them to hold them still. Next to her, Bucky positioned his leg so his knee was gently touching her thigh - a bit of comfort as they awaited judgement.

In the end, she was neither Star Baker, nor sent home. Relief immediately washed over her, her shoulders sagging as exhaustion from the past two days piled onto her. “Holy fuck.” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. 

“And we’ve got to do it again next week.” Bucky said. She dropped her hands, looking him dead in the eye.

“What in the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”

[tcm]

Andy Hardy’s Leading Ladies by Jessica Pickens

Stardom is a strange and mythical thing. In the early days of Hollywood, scouts found new talent anywhere from dance schools to the Olympic games. Today, a teen uploading a video to YouTube could become famous enough to land a record deal or a starring role in a television show. In the 1930s and 1940s, stardom could be found through the Andy Hardy film series, produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. The films were made on a low budget but yielded top profit.

The 16-film series spanned from 1937 to 1958. Each focused on the life of the Hardy family but particularly of the antics of their teenage son, Andy Hardy, played by Mickey Rooney. The father and head of the household was stalwart Judge James Hardy, played by Lewis Stone, who offered life advice to his son. The family was rounded out by Mrs. Emily Hardy (Fay Holden), their daughter Marian (Cecilia Parker) and Aunt Milly (Sara Haden).

Though Andy was generally the center of the stories, the women in his life were often essential to the plot. Because of this, these roles offered a great testing ground for new starlets.

“MGM used the Andy Hardy series as a popularity meter to gauge public reaction to its most promising young actresses, and it was considered a plum to be cast in one,” actress and swimmer Esther Williams wrote in her autobiography, The Million Dollar Mermaid. “If audiences liked you, you went on to bigger and better films. Lana Turner and Judy Garland started that way. So did Kathryn Grayson and Donna Reed.”

In each film, Andy may be smitten with the new star appearing with him in the film, but he would usually return to his girlfriend, Polly Benedict played by Ann Rutherford. Some of Hollywood’s top female stars got their start in the films. Here are a few actresses whose careers benefited from an early role in the series:

Judy Garland Today with her legendary status, it’s hard to imagine Judy Garland as anything but a star. But in 1938, she was still rising at MGM. Garland played the recurring character of Betsy Booth in three Andy Hardy films: LOVE FINDS ANDY HARDY (’38), ANDY HARDY MEETS DEBUTANTE (’40) and LIFE BEGINS FOR ANDY HARDY (’41). The character of Betsy is the granddaughter of the Hardy’s next door neighbor. Betsy is younger than Andy and has a crush on him, but Andy never takes Betsy seriously. LOVE FINDS ANDY HARDY (’38) was the first of eight films that Garland and Rooney co-starred in together. Before the Andy Hardy films, Garland co-starred with adult actors in other MGM musicals, but the pairing of the two young actors helped boost both of their careers. The year following her first Andy Hardy film, Garland went on to star with Rooney in another film, BABES IN ARMS (’39), and her best-known film, THE WIZARD OF OZ (’39). 

Kathryn Grayson Opera singer and actress Kathryn Grayson became one of MGM’s top stars—performing in Technicolor musicals like SHOW BOAT (’51) and KISS ME KATE (’53). But her first film was ANDY HARDY’S PRIVATE SECRETARY (’41), the 10th film in the Andy Hardy series. MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer heard Grayson sing and signed her to a contract without a screen test, according to an article in a July 1, 1944 issue of The State, a monthly North Carolina-focused magazine. In the film, right before graduating from high school, Andy decides to hire a private secretary, Kathryn Land, played by Grayson. Andy does this to help out Kathryn’s family, who is poor, and Judge Hardy helps her father find a better job. Though Andy Hardy films aren’t considered musicals, Grayson performs three songs in her film debut. Following the Andy Hardy film, Grayson starred in top MGM musical projects like SEVEN SWEETHEARTS (’42) and ANCHORS AWEIGH (’45). 

Donna Reed Donna Reed signed with MGM in 1941 and played a supporting role in another popular series, SHADOW OF THE THIN MAN (’41). Following this, she co-starred in the 12th Andy Hardy film, THE COURTSHIP OF ANDY HARDY (’42). In the film, Reed plays shy Melodie Nesbit, a teenager who is in the middle of a custody battle with her divorcing parents. Melodie isn’t as pretty or spunky as the girls Andy likes to date, but he invites her to a dance and befriends her at his father’s request. Reed’s star at MGM didn’t burn as brightly as some of her contemporaries, but she went on to star in one of the most well-known films of all-time, IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE (’46), and star in her own television show, The Donna Reed Show, from 1958 to 1966. 

Lana Turner Her role was brief and ends with murder, but audiences didn’t forget Lana Turner when she walked down the street in a tight sweater in THEY WON’T FORGET (’37). After a few small roles, her next larger role came in LOVE FINDS ANDY HARDY (’38). Costarring with Judy Garland in the fourth Andy Hardy film, Turner portrays Cynthia, the girlfriend of Andy’s friend Beezy. LOVE FINDS ANDY HARDY follows the Hardy family during the Christmas season, which is less than merry. Andy’s girlfriend Polly is out of town visiting her grandmother, so she can’t go to the Christmas dance with Andy. Betsy Booth (Judy Garland) is in town visiting her grandmother who lives next door to the Hardy family, and Beezy wants Andy to date Cynthia while he’s out of town for the holidays. All of the plans change when Polly comes home early, Beezy breaks up with Cynthia and Andy’s grandmother becomes gravely ill. LOVE FINDS ANDY HARDY was Turner’s first role with MGM after signing with the studio. By 1939, Turner became a star with her first top billing role in THESE GLAMOUR GIRLS. 

Esther Williams The swimming actress didn’t start out planning to be an actress. Williams was a champion swimmer who was assured a spot on the United States swimming team for the 1940 Summer Olympics. However, the games were canceled due to the outbreak of World War II. Williams said stardom was her consolation prize. Forced to reinvent herself, Williams swam with an Aquacade and was discovered by MGM. She signed a contract with the studio in 1942, and her first film was ANDY HARDY’S DOUBLE LIFE (’42), the 13th film in the series. Williams played Shelia, a friend of Andy’s girlfriend Polly Benedict. In the film, Andy promises to only dedicate himself to Polly but is sidetracked by Shelia. Williams even has the opportunity to swim in the film, which caught everyone’s attention. She languidly swims through the water and kisses Andy, causing him to mouth “Woo woo!” at the camera. Two years later, Williams made a splash with her first starring role in BATHING BEAUTY (’44).

[emilyplaysotome]

The Game of Love - Chapter 1

Since I have a bad tendency to obsess over what I write until I give up on it, I’m posting the first chapter of something new I’ve been dabbling with. Think of it like an original Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole, without the characters you know.

Meeting someone special is hard for anyone, but more so when you’re famous.

I can’t tell you when it was that I went from being Hana to being Hana on a billboard, but it happened slowly enough that I went from eating virtually unnoticed at a restaurant to being bombarded with selfie requests during the short time I picked up my food. I suppose that being one of the youngest women to ever win a Grand Slam will force you into the spotlight, but I’ve never thought of myself as a superstar.

The goal had always been to win gold at the Olympics.

Maybe Roland Garros.

And Wimbledon.

The U.S. and Australian Open if I was lucky.

They never told me that if you win the Australian Open and then manage to win the others in the same year, the world goes mad. They never told me that Nike, Adidas, and Reebok fall all over themselves trying to get you to agree to let them put out the “Hana shoe” and you go from being a struggling journeywoman on the tour to being richer than you ever could have imagined, thanks mostly to your team who milks you for every free moment when you’re not on the court.

You learn how to wear dresses and talk on camera and carry the weight of what it means to be a champion, constantly looking over your shoulder at the younger, hungrier crowd behind you that works twice as hard and trains harder because they don’t need to be on Good Morning America when you do. Your identity becomes “Hana the Tennis Champion” and you forget who you were when you were just “Hana, the girl who loves tennis” – hitting balls after dinner with dad on the courts by your house or joking around with the girls on the junior tour.

Those girls become competition, and your friendship is forced to change despite wanting it to be the way it was when things were simpler. They are nice and you love them, but the feelings are complicated and you forget what it means to have friends who see you as you are. There is always a commitment, a show, a movie, a project, a product – even during the off season, and of course, there’s the training.

You’re grateful to be successful doing what you love, but you know it can’t last forever and one day you decide you want to go out on top and announce that you’re done with the game that up until this point has been your entire life.

And you’re only 32.

I’m only 32.

The day after I retired I woke up as Hana, for the first time in 20 years. I suppose it’s out of habit that I still wake up at 7 A.M. and go for a run, but it’s been a few months and not much has changed.

My mom suggested I get a therapist.

That this major transition would be hard on anyone, but even harder on a prodigy who has been used to a regimented training schedule since she was 11.

I laughed it off, but after a couple of weeks I could feel the unease nagging at me, mocking me, asking me, “Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

My therapist says a lot of high achieving people struggle with their self-worth outside of their profession. She challenged me to reconnect with friends I’d made at all stages of my life and I learned that being great at one thing left little time for love, creativity, music, and hobbies.

I also learned that I didn’t make many friends in my 32 years since I was too focused, too dialed in to waste time on anything outside of the goal. To be the best in the world I had taken on the mentality that everything outside of my goal was superfluous, but now I struggle to make it through the day.

“Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

“I am…I am…”

“What are you feeling Hana?” my therapist asks.

“Scared. Confused. Angry. Lost.”

I’d had this rosy image of retirement, where I’d leisurely wake up next to a partner and make breakfast for us. Not just any partner if I’m being honest…him.

“I wake up at 7 A.M. and run 5 miles,” I find myself saying. “Then I make a breakfast smoothie. And then I remember that I don’t have anywhere to be and the depression takes over.”

“Have you been doing interviews?”

I shrug, “Not as many. They asked me to do commentary for the U.S. Open this year and I said I’d think about it.”

“What is your hesitation?”

I pause, thinking about what it would be like to live a tournament without participating in it. To see and comment on someone’s legacy that wasn’t my own. To one day have to announce that I’d been dethroned in my achievements and smile as if it didn’t bother me, when I’d probably just wonder if I’d retired too early.

“I never wanted to be on television. And I want to be able to answer the question who Hana is if there is no tennis.”

“It sounds like this time is providing you with a beautiful gift – to explore that question and your interests without limitations.”

She’s right, and I feel guilty for pitying myself when I have the freedom to do and go wherever I want. I let out a caustic chuckle and say, “I want to live in my games.”

“The ones you used to play on the road?”

I nod, wondering how serious she thinks I am and wondering if the statement is a joke at all.

“Why do you think you like them so much?”

“It’s fun to be someone who isn’t Hana. And it’s fun to fall in love.”

“Has Hana ever been in love?”

I think for a minute and nod.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” I ask.

She shrugs and pushes her glasses up.

“I’m asking Hana the person, not Hana the superstar.”

“But our breakup was all over the tabloids…”

“Our time together is about you, not what’s in a tabloid.”

“Superstars have to date superstars. It’s like a law,” I say laughing. “What would Instagram think if I gave them anything other than aspirational?”

I’m lying but I can’t help myself, even in therapy my pride gets in the way of being honest. Dating him was never about appearances, at least, it wasn’t for me.

“Tell me about him.”

Eight years of memories flash in my mind, 22 to 30.

“We met after I won my first major. His movie premiere had him in Australia and he got tickets to the final. We ended up at an after party together and he gave me his number. It was good until it wasn’t and then he broke up with me.”

“That’s a very condensed version.”

I shrug again, feeling bitter that he seems to have moved on just fine and I haven’t dated anyone despite the rumors that pop up from time to time. I don’t feel like talking about how I kept pushing for us to move forward, with a vision for my retirement and life with him as he kept pushing for me to stay on the road. I don’t feel like talking about how much of our time was spent apart and how I suspected he preferred things that way.

That it was better to have a girlfriend too busy to take up more than an hour of his day on a regular basis than a girlfriend who could be present the way she wanted to be when we were together.

A pleasant chime goes off and she silences the alarm, noting we’re out of time and asking if next week works.

“My schedule is free,” I joke, but I feel annoyed that there’s nothing but endless free time and nothing to do with it.

When I’m home I open the games I referenced in therapy – the ones I jokingly call “choose your anime romance adventure games” with my mom versus their proper designation of “otome” games, as they’re known with the fandom online that I’m a part of. It’s only when I’m online that I feel like I can momentarily answer the question that nags at me, and that’s because no one know I’m me.

HanaLovesOtome the tumblr user is popular because of the screenshots she posts, not because she’s one of the most celebrated athletes of a generation.

She participates in every event and has spent an ungodly amount of money on special date stories and lottery gatcha items that put her consistently in the top ten featured users of Ikemen Inc.

She’s popular because people will ask her to purchase stories and games they can’t afford, and she’ll video record herself playing or twitch live stream the sessions so everyone can get a sense of what it’s like to fall in love with Ikemen Inc.’s most exclusive bachelors.

Even when I was on tour, I loved playing otome games because for a couple of hours I could stop thinking about my life and instead lose myself in a world overseas where I get to make choices for a protagonist whose name I’ve made my own as I decide what eligible bachelor she’ll fall in love with.

I’d found the games a year before we’d broken up, mostly by chance after seeing an ad on twitter that boasted, “The Perfect Boyfriend is in your phone - meet him now!” While normally I would have continued to scroll past, something about the caption had stopped me in my tracks. Looking back it was probably because the idea of the “perfect boyfriend” being in my phone was ironic having had such a drawn out long distance relationship in which it often felt that he only existed in my life virtually.

After entering my name for the main character I would be controlling, “Decoding His Affections” thrust me into a world that consisted of a simple illustrated background, paired with a cartoon character sprite whose various expressions matched the dialogue being said in the text box where the story played out.

While the prologue of “Decoding His Affections” was free, it ended with a prompt asking me who out of the five characters I’d just met, I wanted to get to know as my Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department partner and future perfect boyfriend. For the low price of $3.99, I could purchase one of five options and determine how my protagonist would fall in love. Depending on my dialogue selections, I was either granted a “Love Ending!” or a less desired “Happy Ending!”

Throughout the course of 13 interactive chapters, Sebastian went from being my underling, to my partner, and finally, to my boyfriend. As the protagonist with my name started to fall for Sebastian, I found myself enjoying the escape from my reality with a game “self” who always met with a positive response in love.

I soon found myself lost in a world where I could be transparent with my intentions without any fear of rejection. Sebastian clearly liked my main character back, but was conflicted about falling for a woman whose time in Tokyo had an expiration date. Even though their relationship was in a grey zone for the majority of the game, he was always warm, always loving, and most importantly, had responses that gave me butterflies as I read his poetic musings from a cold hotel room after a long day of training.

Seeing as how these games were a product of Japan, in addition to the subdued romance I also found myself getting a kick out of the cultural differences that were peppered throughout the story. Simple gestures such as the time that Sebastian grabbed her hand in order to protect her from an impending explosion, resulted in a shook inner monologue where my heroine wondered if her heart was racing from the danger, or because of the physical contact. There was something sweet about this world in which men and women shared a shyness around physical touching that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced as a Western woman. Handshakes, hugs, and even kisses on the cheek were something that happened in my life on a daily basis, yet I was suddenly living in a world via my phone where every gesture was laced with romantic subtext.

It was clear that the only thing Ikemen Inc. changed in their games was the names of their clearly Japanese love interests, in order to better appeal to a western audience. Other than that, their games remained true to their point of origin.

Looking back, our relationship was already strained with me hinting towards my expiration date and him pushing me to stay on the tour. The day I’d played my first otome game we were bickering over text about it, him convinced it would be better for both of us if I refocused on my career instead of settling down with him in his Calabasas home. As I achieved Sebastian’s coveted “Love Ending!” thanks to my carefully selected dialogue choices, I surprised myself by tearing up in which I read an ending where Sebastian confessed to me, or moreover the woman I whose life I was intermittently controlling, his undying love.

I’d felt a bit foolish at the time, having fallen prey to simple plot devices and romantic tropes, however Sebastian had done something for me that my relationship could not.

He’d managed to touch that part deep in my heart that still wanted to believe that romance was possible in this world, and more importantly, was possible for me.

In the weeks to come I found myself leaning on these games more and more as it became clear that my vision for the future did not align with his, it felt like every free second I was pouring myself into my fantasy life. By the time he ended things, I’d made way through the entire Ikemen Inc. catalogue of premium games and started to make my way into the exclusives with a higher price point, more beautifully illustrated scenes (CGs), and the Ikemen Inc. community leaderboard.

I play them a lot lately.

Maybe too much.

When I log in to my tumblr I see a message from my friend KittyGirl.

OMG Hana! Did you see they released Tyler Holland?

I saw and I played and I’m posting the full vid on twitch later ;)

…

I wonder who KittyGirl is as she types, and I wonder if she ever wonders who I am. I wonder if she would care if I was Hana the superstar or if she even follows tennis.

A lot of the girls on here don’t.

A lot of the girls on here are much younger than I am.

I wonder if it’s weird I don’t have many friends my age and that the people I feel closest to at the moment are all usernames in my feed.

STOP HANA YOURE THE BEST!

I smile because it gives me a sense of purpose and I haven’t felt that for some time.

It’s really good. He might be in my top 5 boyfriends.

NO. Really!?

Really.

Sometimes I wish that the men in my phone would come to life. That one day I would wake up and Sebastian would be there in human form, not his two-dimensional anime character form. I’ve thought about what he would look like if he were real.

Not just him.

Him and all the others I’ve dated over the years.

I wonder what it’d be like to date someone you know would never leave you.

Who could be that perfect boyfriend, or husband, or father.

It’s just as I’m thinking about this again that my phone chimes, letting me know I’ve received an email. I’m surprised to see it’s from Ikemen Inc. and that HanaLovesOtome has been invited along with the four other top Ikemen community users for an all-expenses paid, one month vacation to Ikemen’s Dream Resort.

My gut reaction is to scream, “Yes!” but then I remember I’m Hana the superstar.

What would people think if they found out?

What would the tabloids write if they saw me?

I pause.

Who is Hana if there is no tennis?

Hana is HanaLovesOtome.

And so I write an email back, deciding not to loop in my management team, and let the team at Ikemen Inc. know that I would be delighted to experience the resort. The response back is immediate and includes additional details and an NDA.

I skim the details of the agreement, relieved that I am not allowed to talk about the experience as that means no one else will and my identity as Hana the superstar will most likely be off limits to the press and send it back.

It all happens quickly and before the hour is up I’ve managed to secure my spot in the Ikemen Fan 5.

In the two weeks leading up to my departure, I no longer feel depressed or as if time stretches out in a way that makes me feel small and insignificant. I have an event to look forward to and arrangements to be made.

My therapist thinks a solo trip will be good for me and encourages me to journal and continue with the homework she’s given me outside of our sessions. My mom agrees that it will be good for me to have a real vacation which is something I haven’t had in years.

I’ve seen the world through touring but I’ve never really had time for tourism.

To that point, when I get on the plane it strikes me that this is my first time on a plane without the purpose of coming from or going to a tournament. I check two large suitcases and still bring a racquet in case I need the release of losing myself in a training session or two, despite the fact my performance no longer matters.

I wear the sunglasses I always wear to obscure my identity in first class and a wig and baseball hat and n95 mask, which always does the trip. At Narita airport, I see a man holding a sign that says “HanaLovesOtome” and I follow him to a town car that takes me two hours outside of Tokyo proper. It’s only when we pull off the main road, down a long skinny isolated one that I take off my disguise and breathe a sigh of relief that I managed not to attract the attention of any photographers or fans.

In my head I always saw Ikemen Inc. as a small developer, tucked away on a floor in a nondescript office building somewhere in Toyko.

The reality of their facilities surprised me, and we drove 15 minutes through dense woodland, past another small road with a sign indicating guest and employee parking - up to a manicured property where at the center was a sleek looking high rise. My driver stopped under the porte-cochere and helped me with my suitcases, triggering the mechanism for the large glass double doors to open which caught the attention of a man inside.

“Please, allow me to be of assistance,” he said, quickly grabbing the roller’s handles and helping me in to a spacious reception area. “I’m Roman and I run the resort division of Ikemen Inc.”

“Hana.”

There was something familiar about the way that Roman talked and the way he dressed that I couldn’t quite put my finger on as he introduced me to the woman at reception and made small talk about my trip. I engaged in the idle banter until the persistent feeling that I knew him from somewhere became so overwhelming that I finally found myself asking, “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” a female voice called out behind me.

I turned to see a girl, no older than 20 approaching us with a suitcase of her own. She wore the same expression that countless fans wore upon recognizing me as they rushed up to me and asked for a selfie except she was not looking at me, but at Roman.

“He’s Roman Hinton, from Ikemen’s Paradise Palace.”

“Ah, you’ve stayed with us in Paradise I assume?” Roman asked the girl smiling.

“Oh you have no idea,” she said dreamily, and it was then that I realized my wish of dating one of the men in my phone might come true.

That’s the end of my rough first chapter. Let me know if you want to know where we go from here and I might post more. Tagging @nitelotus​ since she asked to see it 

[draquariius]

Great Hogwarts Bake-Off

or, in other words, I have been obsessed with two of these very British things and I have to exist in a world with a wizarding bakeoff with students, professors, and other randos that I love. Plus an au where no one dies and everyone is happy.

So it goes like this: Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy judging the bakes and showing off their superior knowledge. The two hosts, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown keeping everyone updated on whose bakes have collapsed and how much time they have left. And twelve wizarding bakers stressing about baking instead of fighting for their lives.

Hermione is the one who should have been the champion, gets star baker 5x, receives three handshakes, but has a bad weekend for the final and loses to Blaise who never got star baker but was super consistent. Fred and George cause the most chaos and are always on the edge of leaving but get saved in the end. Theo gets sick and can’t return so they don’t send someone home one week (the week Harry was totally the one to get booted out). Seamus is the first one sent home because he kept forgetting to turn is oven on and none of his bakes were cooked enough. Ginny and Pansy are complete opposites because Pansy’s bakes are always super fancy but taste like shit and Ginny always shows a hot mess on a plate but it tastes good as hell. And you wonder if the judges are influenced by her good looks (.......luna...). Neville is fairly consistent but rarely tries anything out of his comfort zone. Randomly he’ll have a bake that is so insane that other contestants wonder how he did it—bonus points if it’s a technical that no one finished but him. Harry always attempts something crazy and ends up showing his bakes half-done. Gets absolutely roasted by Luna and passive aggressive remarks from Draco. Draco is constantly staring at harry and making judgey looks at his technique. Ron is only skirting by the technicals because he copies Hermione and she is constantly having to help him finish his Show Stopper. He talks a lot about how his family inspires his recipes and keeps pictures of him and his mom propped up against his ingredients. Lavender and Parvati absolutely body the role of hosts and identify ALL the tension between contestants (and the judges). Are super comforting when bakers are having a breakdown. Lavender frequently helps Hermione center herself before she inevitably freaks out over whether or not she’s interpreted the recipe correctly. Everyone loves the hosts even when they’re stressed about their merengue cracking. 

Future seasons will include a Bake-Off between Hogwarts faculty, and one for parents/godparents/cool adults aka marauders era and co.

[pynkhues]

fortheloveoftagalog replied to your post “I just read the new TV Insider interview with Bans and Krebs and I...”

@pynkhues thanks for this post...what strikes me and I think a big part of the Fandom is the work taken to redeem Dean when we still have very little POV for Rio. Its sad that the fans have to be using snippets of Brio to try to understand the underlying meaning of the actions when there are so many creative things the writers could do...you guys do it all the time in your writing and these are professionals. While their aim may not be to do what the fans want the success of the show rests with fans. I know as a shipper from a previous show that got canceled because of poor writing and development. This season was very poorly done and I believe Bans and Kerbs( i may have gotten his name wrong) will need to go back to the drawing board. The whole issue of marketing Brio is also terribly deceptive on their part because I do believe the plan was to make fans side with Beth and the girls with trying to kill Rio because he ordered the hit on Lucy not realizing that him doing this inspite of her innocence was the best thing to do for the business that ultimately involves the girls we are all cheering for. Fans love Rio because of how Manny plays him which is not one dimensional...he plays him like how thugs really are...human just probably mostly bad but capable of good and love and in his case respect and a code. Why redeem Dean and not give Rio a POV?

You’re welcome, and thanks for commenting! :-)

SO. There are a few things to unpack in your reply. 

I’ll start with the simplest - the writers don’t have any say in the marketing of the show. It is frustrating that the promos feature Brio so heavily when the story itself doesn’t, but that’s an NBC thing, and it’s based on what the network knows picks up traction, not a Good Girls creative team thing. So you can’t blame them for the way the show is promoted (hell, never forget that the NBC marketing team called Annie Amy in a press release! I will never not be furious at the disrespect, haha). If there’s anyone to blame for Brio-focused promos, it’s all of us, for being so obsessed, haha.

I also strongly disagree that this season was very poorly done. It’s cool if you didn’t like it, and there are definitely things I didn’t like about it too, and places I felt the scripts needed further development, and sure, places where I personally would’ve made different creative decisions, but on the whole, I actually found the overall writing strong, the angle compelling (albeit sometimes frustrating), and most of the payoffs pretty satisfying. 

I also....hmmm. I don’t really know how to articulate this, haha. But look, as somebody who writes professionally and works for a successful, internationally-touring theatre company? I can guarantee you whose side the audience is on is very rarely at the forefront of any writer’s’ mind. 

Stories aren’t about sides or teams. 

They’re stories. 

And stories are usually designed to pose questions, to explore moral lapses, to better understand psyches. Stories – in my experience – like to splay people out and dissect them, not champion them or cheerlead. 

This show has never been a superficial, ra-ra-sisterhood story that tells us Beth, Annie and Ruby are perfect gals just doing what they have to. In fact, it’s the opposite. It’s positioned them, since the very first episode, as three deeply flawed women who are broken by their respective circumstances who want to survive and thrive for their children. We’re not supposed to agree with all their choices, but we should understand them (and the spaces where we don’t are reflective of the flaw in the writing, not the character making the choice in the first place). 

As for Rio, yeah. I get it. I agree in a lot of ways. I do think Rio’s role should’ve been fleshed out more in s3 (not heaps or anything, but a bit, yes), and I think the show teased opportunities for it – particularly through Turner and Rhea, and then pivoted away at the last minute whether through cold feet or narrative confusion or thematic frustration or wanting to keep the mystery alive, I’m not sure! But the last minute dip-out definitely happened! 

I do actually understand the hesitation of pulling attention too far away from the girls though. The thing is, Rio has functioned as a narrative island which I talked a lot about in this post, and the reality is that building out his world would require a drastic narrative expansion, a deep financial investment in terms of the production itself (something we can get away with in fic because, y’know, we’re creating for free), and a pull away from the story that the show is trying to tell.

I know, I know, we’ve seen storyworld expansions with both Dean and Stan this season, but both those expansions fed directly back into the girls’ stories – from Stan and Ruby’s push-pull to the heist, to Dean almost (definitely) cheating and Beth buying Four Star Pools and Spas, but I mean... 

Haven’t we seen storyworld expansion with Rio this season too? It might not have been what everyone wanted, but we got to know his bar really well, got to meet his ex, got to know his boy better, and his tastes and habits a little more. 

That’s actually pretty massive for a show that introduces minimal details about it’s main characters (I mean - - I dare you - - try to tell me five three things each about Beth and Annie, and Ruby’s respective parents).This show thrives as a plot and pace driven show, not a character study, and the result is we don’t know as much as we want about the characters unfortunately. Which is a bit of a shame! Because man! This show has some wonderful characters.