#Olympic Number 5

[cheekydaley-blog]

Olympic Number 5

🥉🥉🥇🥉🥈

[dinosaurwithablog]

Simone Biles!!!!! Those two words inspire fear and respect in anyone who had ever seen her do her thang. At 4'8", she can jump over 12 feet!!! Her balance, timing, and athletic ability are beyond compare!! She's going for her 6th gold medal 🏅 at the Olympics. I believe that what she did on this video is part of what's gonna win her that medal 🏅 she is only 27 years old, and she has already achieved a lifetime of glory!! I love watching her. She's a great athlete, a great team member, and an amazing human being. I'm glad that she's on our side. 😉😁😍 Let's go, USA, and let's go, Simone!!! ❤️🤍💙

[yevanss]

@hprecfest Day 5: A Romantic fic

Golden Love by @gwenmontrose [Jily, T, Olympians AU: Tennis player LE, and Swimmer JP, Secret Relationship. Oneshot. 2023].

Summary: Paris 2024. Lily Evans, English tennis star, is ready to face the highest challenge of her career and finally fulfil the dream of winning a gold medal at her first Olympics. Now, if only a certain handsome swimmer wasn't set on wreaking havoc in her life, everything would be very much smoother...

I loved this one so much that it left me craving for more Olympics Jily AUs and sent me through that rabbit hole. Will happily reread it. 💗

P.S: still catching up on past day's prompts, and on a quest to not repeat authors. There's so many amazing writers here that I want to show love to.

[half-man-half-lime]

Is it me or did I just spend 8 hours cooking 3 things. That can't be right

[lydia-demarek]

Hear me out…

A brotherband olympics au

[the-mascot-5]

ME IM SO DESPERATE FOR CONENT OF THEM IM ON THE FLOOR CRYING

the Syd, Millie and Ollie stans are out there somewhere

[ellecdc]

Hardass

Chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who survive a shift from hell

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

CW: fem!reader, mention of alchohol/drinking, fluff.

comes from a request from @maladaptiveescapism: chef!sirius and mixologist!reader. sirius is a chef at a fancy restaurant and maybe a mishap happens with booking and reader has to keep the people sitting at the bar waiting for a seat and she does such a good job because she’s flirty and fun and trained for this. sirius who always has such a short temper (chefs, am I right) secretly worships her because she’s the one thing he can count on

Sirius was fuming, to say the least.

He loved his job; he really did. The kitchens were his sanctuary, and it was the first place he fled to when he ran away from home at only sixteen. 

Though he knew Effie and Fleamont would have helped with anything he needed (or even wanted, for that matter), he didn’t want to become a burden or take advantage of their kindness. So, he found a part time job in a small family owned restaurant as a dishwasher.

Washing dishes became bussing tables. Bussing tables became hosting. Hosting became serving. He went from a server to a line cook, until finally someone took him under their wing, and Sirius made a name for himself.

Now he was a successful chef working in a successful restaurant and he certainly had made a name for himself.

That name? Hardass.

But it took a certain intensity to run the kind of kitchen that Sirius did, and he expected nothing short of greatness from the kitchen staff.

Fortunately for Sirius, it was the restaurant manager’s fuck up that caused tonights issues.

Unfortunately for Sirius, that fucked everything up for his staff in the kitchen. 

“So, quick question for you Jeffery; did you pass year four maths?” Sirius asked earnestly, watching Jeffery shove his tongue in his cheek to avoid snapping back at the glowering chef in all his tattooed intensity. “Because last time I counted, we don’t have this many sodding tables!” He continued, pointing at the number of reservations scheduled for tonight.

“Uh oh.” You carefully called out as you walked in through the front door, in the process of shucking off your jacket as you made your way towards the bar. “Looks like you could use a drink, chef.” 

Sirius was almost mad at how much of the rage seemed to settle down into a simmer at the sight of you; he didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to ring Jeffery’s fucking neck out.

But Jeffery, the coward, had used your entrance as a means to fuck off from whatever circle of Sirius’ personal hell he’d been summoned from. 

“We’re overbooked tonight.” Sirius grumbled as he sat dejectedly at your bar; mirroring what likely most of your patrons looked like as they spent their weekday evenings with you.

“Shit luck.” you sighed commiseratingly as you poured two shots of vodka and slid one to him. “Here’s to working our sodding asses off then, hm?” You said with a smirk as you touched your glass to his and threw it back like a pro. 

And you had indeed been right; the two of you had worked your sodding asses off tonight. But the difference between the two of you was astounding.

Sirius spent most of his evening sweating, cursing, and - more embarrassingly - shouting at the poor servers looking for their orders that ‘clearly weren’t fucking ready yet, were they?!’. 

But not you. 

Alright, did he take the opportunity to run out the odd plate for the servers just to steal a glance at you? Sure. Sue him. And everytime he did, he’d pass the very busy bar which was always full of couples and groups waiting for a table to clear. None of them seemed to mind, however, as they watched you shake, throw, spin, catch bottles like it was an olympic sport; all with a smile on your face and mischief in your eyes. 

It was as if they were your captive audience and you were thriving on stage. 

Sirius wanted to stay and enjoy the show; but you were working your arse off, and Sirius should be too.

Sirius’ feet were killing him, which meant most of his staff’s feet were worse; his shoulders ached, his head was pounding, and his fingers were raw.

But they made it to the end of the shift; and he supposed that was all that mattered.

He brought out two plates of the restaurant’s famous (read: Sirius’ famous) pasta alla gricia.

You were no longer wearing your beaming smile and Sirius could now see some of the weight of the night in your shoulders and the way your hair was falling as you reorganised your bar.

“Think you can take a break?” He asked as he sat at your freshly cleared bar and placed one plate in front of him and one behind the bar for you.

You startled, which Sirius thought strange for someone who seemed so confident and assured every time he’d walked past your bar for the past almost year the two of you have worked here, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Oh my God.” You groaned appreciatively as you abandoned your task to take in the plate he’d prepared for you. “I’m starving; thank you!”

Sirius chuckled and suddenly felt shy, which he did not think suited him at all, but you were smiling at him like he was your personal angel on earth and he couldn’t help but return the gaze.

“Let me get you a drink?” You asked, but turned to start pouring him a glass of wine (perfectly suited for the dish, mind you) before he had a chance to answer. 

You placed both drinks on the bar and brought your plate around to sit on the stool beside Sirius.

The two of you ate in relative silence; allowing the stress and exhaustion from the shift to wash over you. 

“I think I made Chloe cry.” Sirius said finally, causing you to snort.

“You did.” You agreed quickly. “She came and helped me in the bar for a bit and Jeffery had to run her tables after that.”

Sirius barked a laugh as he took a sip of his wine. “I was wondering why that sod was in my kitchen. Well, I’m sorry to Chloe, but happy to have put Jeffery to work.”

Speaking of the devil; Jeffery came out front with his jacket on and a work bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I’m heading out now; are you two okay to close up?”

You smiled at him, but unfortunately for Jeffrey, Sirius responded first. “Yes we can close up.” He sneered. “We’re not new here Jeffery.”

“Thanks Jeffery, have a nice night.” You relented; giving Sirius a gentle kick in the shin.

The door shut behind the bastard and Sirius felt his shoulders relax. “I hate that sod.”

Thankfully, you only laughed at him.

“I think you hate everyone here.”

“That’s not true.” Sirius disagreed quickly.

“Well you certainly don’t like anyone here.”

“That’s not true either. I quite like you.” Sirius admitted, quickly hoping to god his cheeks didn’t flush at his impromptu admission. 

You hummed in acknowledgement with a cheeky smile on your lips. “Is that why you made me dinner? As a thanks for being the most tolerable coworker?”

“Most tolerable, certainly. Also for saving our arses tonight in the kitchen; I’m not sure how you managed to keep those folks so happy all evening.”

“Oh, that’s easy; get them drunk and steal desserts from the kitchen.”

“That’s where all my tiramisu was going?” Sirius asked in faux contempt.

You only smiled at him and shoved the last bite of your pasta in your mouth.

“You minx.” He continued, taking the now empty plates to the kitchen as you followed dutifully behind him with the glasses. 

“Get out of my kitchen.” Sirius joked, plucking the wine glasses from your hands as he moved to wash the dishes.

“I’d think not.” You argued. “I got a free meal; put me to work, chef.”

“First of all, it was not a free meal; you more than earned it after your performance tonight. Secondly, don’t call me chef.”

“Why not? You are a chef, aren’t you?” You teased as you leaned sideways against the counter to watch him work.

“Yes; but if you call me chef, what am I supposed to call you?”

Your eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean ‘what are you supposed to call me’? My name is fine.”

“My name’s not chef.” He countered.

Your eyes narrowed challengingly at him. “What do you want to call me, Sirius?”

Mine?

“Haven’t decided yet.” He said instead, keeping his eyes on the dishes in his hands instead of meeting your gaze currently burning into the side of his head.

“Well…” You started, walking over to release some paper from the chit, and scribbling something out on it. “Why don’t you just call me…tomorrow?” You said, handing him the paper after he dried his hands on a teatowel.

Your number was scrawled out with a dainty little heart beside it.

Sirius looked back up at you to see you smiling shyly at him.

“I can assure you I will be.” He promised.

Your smile grew at that as you began walking backwards towards the backroom. 

“Have a nice night, Sirius.” You said before you exited the kitchen.

It was too late to wish him a nice night; he’d already had one.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - March 18

1. FDA to Finally Outlaw Soda Ingredient Prohibited Around The World

An ingredient once commonly used in citrus-flavored sodas to keep the tangy taste mixed thoroughly through the beverage could finally be banned for good across the US. BVO, or brominated vegetable oil, is already banned in many countries, including India, Japan, and nations of the European Union, and was outlawed in the state of California in October 2022.

2. AI makes breakthrough discovery in battle to cure prostate cancer

Scientists have used AI to reveal a new form of aggressive prostate cancer which could revolutionise how the disease is diagnosed and treated.

A Cancer Research UK-funded study found prostate cancer, which affects one in eight men in their lifetime, includes two subtypes. It is hoped the findings could save thousands of lives in future and revolutionise how the cancer is diagnosed and treated.

3. “Inverse vaccine” shows potential to treat multiple sclerosis and other autoimmune diseases

A new type of vaccine developed by researchers at the University of Chicago’s Pritzker School of Molecular Engineering (PME) has shown in the lab setting that it can completely reverse autoimmune diseases like multiple sclerosis and type 1 diabetes — all without shutting down the rest of the immune system.

4. Paris 2024 Olympics makes history with unprecedented full gender parity

In a historic move, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has distributed equal quotas for female and male athletes for the upcoming Olympic Games in Paris 2024. It is the first time The Olympics will have full gender parity and is a significant milestone in the pursuit of equal representation and opportunities for women in sports.

Biased media coverage lead girls and boys to abandon sports.

5. Restored coral reefs can grow as fast as healthy reefs in just 4 years, new research shows

Planting new coral in degraded reefs can lead to rapid recovery – with restored reefs growing as fast as healthy reefs after just four years. Researchers studied these reefs to assess whether coral restoration can bring back the important ecosystem functions of a healthy reef.

“The speed of recovery we saw is incredible,” said lead author Dr Ines Lange, from the University of Exeter.

6. EU regulators pass the planet's first sweeping AI regulations

The EU is banning practices that it believes will threaten citizens' rights. "Biometric categorization systems based on sensitive characteristics" will be outlawed, as will the "untargeted scraping" of images of faces from CCTV footage and the web to create facial recognition databases.

Other applications that will be banned include social scoring; emotion recognition in schools and workplaces; and "AI that manipulates human behavior or exploits people’s vulnerabilities."

7. Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022.

The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

---

That's it for this week :)

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[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (5)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Alexia Putellas Segura. The one that got away? She was my first. First kiss, first person I had sex with, first person I was in love with. Maybe in a different universe things could work out. What’s the saying, right person wrong time? That seemed to be the case with us Every time. I loved her, she wasn’t ready for that. She loved me, I had just gotten together with Emily. 

There was a moment when things would’ve happened, after Emily died and before I went MIA. But after that first night I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt her, to break her heart. So I left, breaking her heart anyway. Now she is with Olga and things are going great with them, right? The what ifs always playing on my mind. 

•————————————————————-----------------------———•

I was glad to have Ariel, my social media manager. I didn’t have to deal with the comments or the tweets, I could live in my peaceful bubble and not have to worry about anything. The news of Sam Kerr tearing her ACL ripped through the football community, the Matilda’s were out a striker. There were two possibilities, Michelle Heyman who is retired or me. The girl who hasn’t played an international game since the 2019 World Cup, the same person who left the team high and dry for the 2020 Olympics. 

The tillies were coming off a successful World Cup, secretly I’d watched every game, cheering them on from the safety of my own living room. When Jona had informed me that Tony had rang and asked for my number I was shocked, surely he’d call up Michelle before he rang me. She deserved it, I’m sure there were lots of younger players that deserved it too. But alas, it was me he rang. Just as training ended and we’d made our way back to the locker rooms. 

“Hello?” Confused by the unknown caller, forgetting the conversation with Jona. 

“Amelia? It’s Tony Gustavsson.” 

“Oh shit. Yeah hi Tony. How are you?” 

“I’m good Amelia, listen, I know you’ve heard the news about Sam, we are in an Olympic year and now without a striker. I know you’re just coming back and you haven’t played an international game in a few years, but if you’re willing I would love for you to join us this international break.” 

“What? What about Michelle or one of the younger girls? I’m sure there’s someone more suited to this.” 

“There is no one else I would rather. You’re the person we need. The missing piece to this team. The girls look up to you, they listen to you. We need you, I need you. Take some time and think about it, we have a few days before the foster needs to be released. Call me in two days ok?” 

“Yeah yeah okay. I can do that. Thanks Tony.” 

Disbelief. Was I excited for this opportunity? Sure. Did i deserve it? Probably not. 

“Who was that?” Keira’s voice broke me from my thoughts. 

“Uh it was tony. The Matilda’s head coach. He wants me?” 

“Holy shit that’s amazing! Milly that’s so good! Congratulations!” The high fives poured in from everyone, expect one person, Alexia. 

If it was so good, why didn’t it feel it? The first thing I did when I got back to the apartment was make a pros and cons list. 

Pros:

It’s the olympics 

Cons:

It’s the Olympics 

Media

The team? 

Football 

I was stuck in my own head until a knock rippled through the apartment. Apprehensively I opened the door to Alexia standing there. She walked straight on through as if she’d been here before.  

“What are you doing here? How’d you get my address?” 

“Hi to you too. I’m good thanks how are you? 

“Yeah yeah answer my questions?”

“I heard the phone call in the locker room and how you looked stressed. So I thought I’d come and be a good friend.” 

“And you got my address from?” 

“Jona. You should add that you can see me and Jenni.”

“Huh?”

“Your list” she points. “We will probably be there.” 

Silence. Unsure what to even say in this situation. Alexia was still standing, looking around. There wasn’t much to look at. I had bought a couple of plants but other than that, it was just furniture. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

“3 and a half years. Why?”

“Oh. It’s… empty?” 

“It’s easier this way.” 

“So when you want to run away again, there’s nothing you need to take? Clothes and furniture can be replaced right.” 

“That’s not fair Alexia.” 

“No what’s not fair is you leaving in the middle of the night! You disappeared Amelia!“

“Seriously? We are doing this now? Fine. Yes I did leave, yes I disappeared, yes I fucked you and told you everything you wanted to hear. But I couldn’t stay. Not after everything. You deserved better Alexia.” 

“I didn’t want anyone else but you! I loved you and you just left.” 

“You should go.”

“Mil”

“No. Go home to your girlfriend Alexia.” 

After she left I got up to write another con on this list:

Potentially seeing Alexia 

Maybe in another life time things would be different. 

The next week is rough. The tension between Alexia and I is very clear to the team, not to Olga though. She reached out inviting me to dinner with her and some girls from Manuelas. It was a nice night overall, it definitely felt weird being friendly with Olga. It was hard to separate the Olga from Manuelas and Alexia’s girlfriend Olga. 

the morning of my first game arrived, I had barely slept because of the nerves. I wasn’t starting, however Jona said he’d bring me on in the second half. The thought of playing again was extremely overwhelming. My body went into autopilot, doing my old day time routine: making breakfast and coffee, brushing my teeth, changing my sheets, laying out my clothes and then going for a swim. 

The ocean was calming and refreshing. It reminded me of home. The one place I could go and enjoy myself when I was living in foster homes. I taught myself to surf after watching some people do it, it took a lot of trial and error but in the end I was successful. As I came out of the water, I noticed a familiar pale, ginger sitting on my towel. 

“It’s nice. You should go in.”

“Don’t be stupid Milly. I would never get in there in the winter.”

Keira was a constant. No matter what happened or what teams we played for, she was always there. She’d drop everything to come help and wasn’t afraid to tell me I was being a dickhead. I wasn’t expecting what she was going to say. 

“You being here is hard for her. Being so close and her not being able to be with you. It’s a lot, I know you did what you thought was best but you broke her heart and she’s been different since.” 

Alexia. It always comes back to her. 

“I couldn’t let her love me Kei. It was too much.” 

“But she loved you anyway. Pretty sure she always has and always will. She was mad for the first few weeks, then really worried, then sad. Every Sunday she would message Leah and ask if she’s heard from you, and every Sunday it was the same answer.” 

“We should go. Got a game and all.” 

[alexlwrites]

Olympic swimmer! Jungkook who's determined not only to get that gold medal, but also to get with as many athletes as he possibly could.

Until your edits start showing up on his tiktok for you page and suddenly he's obsessed. You're a gymnast in your first year competing and you had Simone Biles shaking in her leotard. You couldn’t be much taller than, like, 5 feet, but you aura filled up the stadium in a way that he could only gawk in awe, watching video after video of you strutting in a borderline arrogant manner with you countries flag bedazzled on your chest, some Charli XCX song playing as you raked up medal after medal, waving to your fans and hugging Rebeca Andrade like you were long lost sisters.

He had to have you. He wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

He tore down the olympic village to find you, but you were off to press conferences after press conferences, witty answers always sharp on your tongue, charming interviewers with smirks that had him biting his lips and shifting in his seat, suddenly too hot in his outfit with the image of your skin tight uniform highlighting your muscles.

In the end, a friend of a friend had your number and he scrambled to text you, no concern for looking too pathetic as he begged you to take you out on a croassaint date.

"Get that gold and we'll see" you texted back.

Oh, Jungkook was breaking records that night.

[edenfenixblogs]

Me: I think I’ll catch up on the Olympics. I’m a former gymnast who loves gymnastics. Let’s see what’s going on there!

Me: Awesome! Way to go team USA and Simone Biles! What an achievement! I’m so proud of them. How cool that two women of color from the USA take gold and silver in the individual all-arounds! And Simone got a record breaking number of awards Olympic medals and took gold at age 27!!!! That’s unheard of in gymnastics!!!!

Olympic YouTube Video: Here is cool stuff about Team USA and Brazil.

Me: this is a hard time for Israelis. I’m so glad we have these Olympic Games—an event specifically about putting aside politics and celebrating individual humans regardless of where they’re from. I think I’ll do a quick search to see if any Israelis are competing in any televised events this time! It’ll be nice to see some apolitical stuff about Israel. I love that Brazil placed, too. And team USA was cheering them on! What good sportsmanship!

YouTube Search Result Video 1: Israelis play SOCCER??? In France???? When GAZA IS GETTING BOMBED???? Sounds like Jews love the GENOCIDE-lympics am I right????

Me: …um. Did you want the athletes in Israel instead? Actively involved in the bombing you said you don’t like? Isn’t it good that young, talented people are here in Paris using their strength and talent for something other than war???

YouTube Search Result Video 2: This is a news report about Houthis threatening to attack Israelis as the Olympics and Israeli olympians needing increased security. Some have had their data breached and also faced threats from Iran.

Me: This is definitely normal and not at all a terrifying memory of the time a bunch of Jews were attacked at a previous Olympic Games.

YouTube Search Result Video 3: Israeli athletes report feeling isolated and threatened at Olympics to the point that they require 24h security.

Me: EverythingIsFine.jpg

Youtube Search Result Video 4: Israelis booed at their soccer game. Protestors shout “Heil Hitler!”

Me: Hmmm, something about the fucking HITLER part makes me think that perhaps this is less about supporting Palestine and more about hating Jews.

YouTube Search Result Video 5: Algerian Olympian refuses to compete against Israeli Olympian in Judo.

Me: …so…he gave Israel the victory in that event? In protest of…Israel? Placing him on the podium? With a bronze medal? After waiting his whole life to be in the Olympics? …that sure will show him…something?

Official Olympics YouTube Channel: There is no war in Ba Sing Se, and I have never heard of this place you call Israel.

Me: (heavy sigh) of course not

Official NBC Sports YouTube Channel: umm???? Israel. Israel? Israel you say? Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Are you sure they make athletes there?

Me: Yes.

NBC Sports: Did you mean you want to see Simone Biles?

Me: No, I saw Simone Biles already.

NBC: How about Suni—

Me: Let’s assume I’ve seen all of team USA gymnastics.

NBC: Katie Led—

Me: No, that’s US swimming. Which is very cool. But I have run a search for Israeli Olympians please.

NBC: Ugh. Fine. Best I can do is a video of Qatar winning at volleyball. That feels related to Israel, right?

Me: Not…really what I was going for. But thanks, I guess.

[cheekydaley-blog]

Congratulations Tom Daley & Noah Williams🥳

We are all SO proud of you🫶🏻✨

🥈🥈

Tom, thank you for always working hard for the Olympics and it’s so amazing that your family gets to see it in person this time🥹 You amaze the fans every single time!

Cheers to un-retiring like Wolverine and coming back stronger as ever for OLYMPIC #5️⃣💪🏻

[augustinewrites]

when rin had been told the team was doing pr today, he thought that meant a quick interview, or maybe a photoshoot. 

never in a million years would he have imagined this. 

“how many more classes are there?” nagi yawns, plopping down onto a wobbly bench. “we’ve seen like eighty—”

“we’ve only seen three classes,” isagi informs them. “and i think we only have one more before we can go home.”

“finally,” rin sighs. 

it’s turns out that “pr” for the day was to split the team off and send them to schools across the district. they spoke to the students who had gym that day, talked about what it was like to be an athlete, the importance of staying healthy, what it was like to go to the olympics.

it certainly wasn’t the most difficult pr task he’d been faced with during his time on the national team, but he had to admit that kids could be exhausting. with their absurd abundance of energy and never-ending cache of questions.

it’s then that the doors to the gymnasium open, prompting the three of them to stand. his two teammates greet the kids, who are practically bouncing with excitement. 

but rin…his attention is drawn to you. 

“hi, thank you so much for coming,” you grin, holding a hand out for him to shake. the touch lingers longer than it should, but neither of you say anything. “wow— um— i just can’t believe you’re actually here. i’m a bit of a fan…”

you’re a fan of him? 

before he can open his mouth, your gaze snaps back to your students, who have swarmed his teammates.

“settle down, please,” you instruct them, managing to calm your class of 5 year olds with ease. “i know you’re all excited, but let’s give them the chance to talk and introduce themselves.”

after briefly introducing themselves, nagi and rin are comfortable letting isagi take the lead. rin, having heard his inspirational speech too many times today, lets his gaze drift over to you. 

you’re smiling, listening intently along with your students. as if sensing his stare, you avert your gaze and send a small wave in his direction. his heart is a butterfly beat in his chest. maybe after this he could—

“why are you staring at our teacher?” a young boy wearing a team japan jersey asks. (rin spots his last name is on it, but the number is sae’s. 

of course.)

he clears his throat, face suddenly burning with embarrassment as he wonders how much force it would take to put his head through the wall. “i wasn’t staring.”

“yes you were!” the same kid insists, and rin very briefly considers fist fighting a five year old. 

“you kind of were,” nagi chimes in. 

“do you have a crush on our teacher?” another student asks. 

you hide what rin is sure is a smile behind your hand as he feels his palms begin to sweat. 

“i— i wasn’t—”

isagi saves his ass, pulling out a signed soccer ball. “who wants to play soccer?!”

_____

“i’m sorry if they embarrassed you,” you apologize later, once the period is over. rin had managed to sneak away while nagi and isagi are signing notebooks, joining you near the entrance. “five year olds don’t have filters. i’ve learned that the hard way too.”

“it’s fine,” he waves off, noting your posture laxes in relief. “but…i kind of was.”

“what?” you ask. “staring?”

“yeah,” he admits, suddenly bashful. “i couldn’t help it. you’re…beautiful.”

“careful,” you laugh, gazing up at him. “if you keep saying stuff like that, i’m going to have to request you visit more often.” 

“what if i visited tomorrow?” he blurts, because apparently grown men don’t have filters either. “to take you out for lunch?”

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 5 - Cracks in the ice

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of nightmares, blood, stabbing, violence, fear, case-related discussions, mention of potential stalking/harassment, rivalry, use of Y/N, bitterness, failure, and career-ending behavior, mentions of the Olympics.

A/N: The number of videos and articles I’ve watched and read for the latter half of this chapter is insane… My cookies are going to be messed up for the rest of my life, and I’ll forever only get figure skating suggestions.

Masterlist

The investigation had taken a grim, unsettling turn since Leah’s tragic death, leaving an oppressive weight hanging in the BAU. Tension crackled in the air, thick with unspoken fears, and the mood had shifted from determination to something darker, much darker. You sat at the round, cold table in the conference room, the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down on you and the BAU agent's tired faces. Their heated discussions about leads and suspects echoed around the room, voices rising and falling, but none of it truly registered with you. You weren't really paying attention. The words blurred together, becoming distant murmurs as your mind raced, consumed by a whirlwind of disbelief, anxiety, and grief.

The upcoming competition had once been a beacon of excitement and pride, but now, now it loomed over you like an impending storm. What had once been your passion — your escape, your everything — now felt like an obligation, a chore tainted by the shadow of Leah’s death. You knew it would be the talk of the competition. And as much as you longed for and missed Leah, you were sad that an event like this — supposed to be filled with happiness and talent — would be tainted by such tragedy. The rink had once been your sanctuary but no longer felt safe, its ice stained with the memory of Leah's pool of blood. The thought of returning there filled you with dread as if each glide across the ice would be haunted by the echoes of what you had lost — what you could lose.

“Based on the victimology and the profile we’ve constructed, it seems likely that the unsub is someone who’s been involved in the skating community,” Hotch said, his voice was steady and authoritative. His eyes swept the room, making deliberate eye contact with each member of the team, ensuring his words landed with full impact. “They know the routines, the schedules — this is not a random act. It’s targeted.”

His words cut through the tension in the room, sending an icy chill down your spine. The thought that the unsub was not some outsider, but someone within your world, unsettled you deeply. The faces of familiar coaches, skaters, and staff flashed through your mind as you struggled to imagine who could be capable of such a heinous act. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising unease gnawing in your bones. This wasn’t just a case you had somehow gotten involved in anymore — it was personal. The world you had loved, the routines and schedules that had once brought you comfort, now felt like a trap, manipulated by an unseen hand. And the worst part was knowing that you or someone you cared about could be next.

 “Let’s consider the patterns of behavior we’ve seen in previous cases,” Hotch said, guiding the discussion. “Unsubs with similar backgrounds often display obsessive traits. He could be lurking in the shadows, watching practices, studying routines, trying to find his next victim. He likely wants to instill fear within the community, and as far as he can tell, it's working.”

“Garcia,” Hotch called out. “Can you gather information on any past complaints or incidents involving the victims? Anything that stands out — arguments, jealousies, or even online disputes. This might help us uncover underlying tensions in the skating community.”

“On it!” Garcia replied, her fingers dancing across her keyboard. “I’ll start digging into social media as well, looking for posts or comments that could hint at underlying rivalries or tensions. You’d be surprised what people let slip online, especially when emotions are running high.”

You felt uncomfortable by the conversation between the analyst and Hotch, knowing fully well that although you weren't aware of any disputes or fights, the fact that she could dig up your whole digital footprint in a matter of minutes was terrifying. It reminded you of how vulnerable you were, especially in a world where everyone was connected yet so distant.

“Garcia, while you’re at it, could you also pull up any recent reports of harassment or stalking within the skating community?” Hotch asked. “Even if they’re not directly related to our case, they could provide context that helps us understand this unsub’s behavior.”

“Absolutely!” Garcia replied, already typing away. “I’ll prioritize those reports and see if anything stands out. If there are any patterns or common threads. You'll have them faster than you can say; Four fine fresh fish for you"

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said with a nod, appreciating her enthusiasm. “Just remember to focus on cases that have happened in the last year or so. We need the most relevant information.”

“Got it, boss!” she chirped, her fingers a blur across the keyboard.

Turning back to the team, Hotch continued, “Let’s not lose sight of the potential victims. We need to ensure their safety first. Morgan, I want you to coordinate with local law enforcement to increase visibility around the rink during practices and events. Perhaps even set up a temporary command post nearby.”

Morgan straightened in his chair. “I’ll get on it right away. If the unsub thinks he can target skaters without consequence, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

As the discussion continued, theories and speculations flying around the room, a wave of frustration surged within you, crashing against the carefully constructed walls you had built to cope. It was becoming harder to keep those walls intact. Your once meticulously planned training schedule had been thrown into chaos, completely upended by the heightened security measures now in place. Extra patrols at the rink, agents stationed in the shadows, and constant check-ins from Hotch had become your new reality. What used to be a sanctuary — a place where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of the ice and the thrill of competition — now felt suffocating, the weight of the investigation always pressing down on your chest. With every passing day, it grew harder to focus, the pressure of preparing for the competition clashing with the ever-present fear that gripped not only you but the entire staff and skating community.

You felt trapped, caught between the urgency of the investigation and your desperate need to reclaim the life and the passion that skating had always brought you. Every time you laced up your skates, it felt like a battle to push past the fear, the reminders of Leah, and the nagging thought that the person responsible could be watching you from the shadows. You longed for the days when skating had been simple, pure, untouched by the dark realities that had suddenly invaded your life. But now, that world seemed distant, blurred by the same shadows that clouded your thoughts.

You leaned back in your chair, staring blankly at the scattered files on the table as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud, dark and chaotic. You were sure that Hotch and the team broke every protocol by letting you see these files. The knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened with every passing second, twisting until it felt almost suffocating. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of when the ground beneath you might give way.

You could feel Hotch’s gaze on you. And even as you tried to avoid looking in his direction, his concern was noticeable, etched deep into the lines of his face. There was no judgment in his eyes — just understanding, a reminder that he, too, had carried the weight of loss, fear, and duty. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to face. His presence, though comforting in its own way, was only a reminder of how far this had spiraled beyond your control, maybe even beyond his control.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, fighting the urge to get up and escape the tension in the room. It felt like everyone was moving forward, searching for answers, while you were stuck, paralyzed by the collision of your personal and professional worlds. The fear that had once been an abstract concept in your life now felt way too real, manifesting in the way your body tensed and your thoughts spun, unable to focus on your routine, your spins, and jumps — they craved precision, one that you weren't able to find. You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to ground yourself, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that everything was slipping through your fingers. You knew you needed to get back on the ice, to feel the cold air in your face. It was truly the only way you knew to ground yourself.

“Y/N,” Hotch said quietly, his voice slicing through the fog of your spiraling thoughts. It was soft but carried enough weight to pull you from the chaos inside your mind. “Are you alright?”

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was no demand for an answer, just concern. For a brief moment, the tension in your chest eased, though the knot in your stomach remained. You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but they stuck, caught between the urge to let it all out and the fear of appearing vulnerable.

His eyes remained on you, he was patient, waiting for whatever response you could or would give.

You forced a smile. “Just trying to figure out how to train with all this going on,” you muttered, the words feeling flat, like an excuse that even you didn’t believe. They felt hollow, as though they were a weak attempt to cover the frustration and fear gnawing at you, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to find the right way to express the storm of emotions swirling inside.

The truth was, it wasn’t just about training. It was about trying to function while everything around you seemed to be unraveling.

Hotch’s eyes remained steady on you. You knew he wouldn’t push, but his silence felt like a gentle nudge, urging you to be honest with yourself, to admit that this was all far more than just about disrupted training schedules and competition jitters. It was about how lost you felt, how every part of your life had been infiltrated by fear, leaving you grasping at the last remnants of normalcy.

But you couldn’t admit that — not yet and certainly not to him. So you held onto that smile, fragile as it was, and hoped it would be enough to keep the conversation from delving deeper into your emotions.

Hotch’s expression softened as he took a step closer to you. The sharp lines of concern on his face seemed to ease, replaced by a warmth that made your heart feel a little lighter. “I know it’s difficult, but we’re doing everything we can to keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Hotch. I appreciate it.” You met his gaze, finding a flicker of hope in his unwavering support, and for that instant, the weight on your shoulders lifted for a moment.

As the meeting wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at him, captivated by the way he commanded the room, drawing everyone's attention to him. The measured cadence of his voice had a calming effect, making even the most intense discussions feel more manageable. Each time he spoke, it felt like he wasn’t just leading the conversation; he was anchoring the team, grounding them amidst the chaos of the investigation.

You could only imagine that this was how all their cases went.

You could see how his presence inspired trust and respect in his team and it made you acutely aware of the influence he had over those around him. The way he engaged with each member, listening intently and responding thoughtfully, fostered an environment where everyone felt valued and heard.

When the meeting finally concluded, you stepped outside into the crisp air, which hit your face like a splash of ice water, jolting you back to reality. The stark contrast between the stuffy conference room and the brisk outdoors was initially invigorating, a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts. You had hoped for a moment of clarity in the cold, fresh air, a chance to catch your breath and regain your focus. However, instead of the relief you sought, it felt like the weight of the world settled more heavily on your shoulders, an almost tangible burden that threatened to crush you.

You took a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with the fresh air, but it felt heavy with the remnants of your worries. As you leaned against the cool metal railing, you felt a mixture of frustration and despair. How could you prepare for a competition that could define your future when everything felt so uncertain?

“Y/N!” Hotch’s voice called out from behind you, cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You turned to see him striding toward you with purpose and determination. “Can we talk?” he asked, his tone laced with a sense of urgency.

You nodded, curiosity mingling with a flicker of anxiety. The way he approached you suggested that something dire was afoot. As he gestured for you to walk with him, you fell into step beside him.

“Listen,” he started, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I know things have been tough lately.” His expression softened. “I can see the toll it’s taking on you, and I want you to know that you don’t have to be as involved with the investigation if you don't want to”

You swallowed hard, the knot of anxiety in your stomach shifting as his words resonated within you. It was a relief to hear him acknowledge what you had been feeling, to know that your struggles hadn’t gone unnoticed.

But you felt a surge of frustration bubbling to the surface, a mix of anger and helplessness that threatened to spill over. “Easy for you to say,” you shot back, your voice sharper than intended. “You don’t know what it’s like to put everything on the line and have it ripped away from you. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while my entire future hangs in a balance!” Each word felt like a weight lifted, but you could see the flicker of surprise in Hotch’s eyes.

“I understand more than you think,” he replied, his tone shifting, revealing a vulnerability that you hadn't expected. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. “This job… it takes and it takes. And in the end, it takes a toll on all of us. But your safety has to come first. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“I just…” you began, searching for the right words to convey the whirlwind inside you. “I’m trying to stay focused on my training, but it feels impossible with everything going on.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t want to let anyone down, especially not you or your team. I want to find Leah's killer.”

Hotch stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours “You won’t let anyone down,” he reassured you firmly. “We’re all in this together, and I’m here to support you — like I do with my team — in any way you need. If that means stepping back from some responsibilities for a while, then we’ll figure it out.”

His words washed over you. “I just don’t want to fall behind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This competition means everything to me. It’s my chance to prove myself.”

“I understand,” Hotch said. “But remember, this isn’t just about the competition. It’s about you and your well-being. That’s what truly matters. The rest will fall into place once I catch the unsub.” He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you felt a surge of gratitude for his support.

“It’s hard to let go of the pressure I put on myself,” you confessed, allowing a hint of vulnerability to seep through. “I’ve always pushed myself to be the best, and now... it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers.”

“It’s natural to feel that way, especially in times of crisis." He offered you a small smile. He straightened up, his posture shifting back to its familiar authoritative stance, his demeanor transitioning seamlessly from supportive to professional as he glanced at his watch. “You should get to the rink and start your practice. It’s important to keep up your routine in case the unsub is watching you. I'll have a few agents follow you from afar, just in case he decides to show himself.”

The following days blurred together as the investigation deepened, each one slipping by like a fleeting shadow while the team methodically narrowed down their list of suspects. Every morning felt like stepping onto a tightrope, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on your shoulders, making it harder to find your balance.

That morning, long before the sun had even risen, you found yourself at the rink, alone. The arena was dimly lit, with only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above and the echoing silence of your skates cutting through the ice. It should have felt peaceful — you hadn't even been bothered to turn on your playlist — a rare moment where the world was quiet, and no one was watching. No coaches barking corrections, no judges sizing you up, no teammates glancing over with judgment. Just you, the ice, and the rhythm of your blades.

But something was wrong.

You took a deep breath, pushing off from the boards, the familiar glide of your skates over the ice normally brought you solace. Today, however, the ice beneath you felt foreign, unpredictable, like it had a mind of its own. You tried to settle into your routine, warming up with some simple crossovers, the scrape of metal against ice echoing in the air. But even that felt off, your feet slipping slightly as if the ice itself was rebelling against you.

You shook it off, heading into your first combination. A simple waltz jump into a loop. Your muscles should have remembered this — they’d done it a thousand times before — but the moment you took off, your timing faltered. Instead of a graceful arc, you landed awkwardly, your blade catching at the wrong angle, sending you stumbling. A soft grunt escaped your lips as you fought to regain your balance.

"Focus," you whispered under your breath, determined not to let frustration take hold so early in the practice.

You pushed harder, determined to shake the creeping unease from your mind. You launched into an Axel — a jump that normally felt so freeing, defying gravity for just a moment. But as you pulled into the air, your arms too tight, your rotation uneven, you came down hard on your right leg, the edge catching before your ankle buckled beneath you. You hit the ice with a sharp thud, the sting shooting up your side as you let out a breathless groan.

Pushing yourself back up, your hands shaking slightly from the impact, you shook your head. It shouldn’t be this hard. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were better than this.

Next, you tried a simple layback spin — something you’d mastered long ago. But as soon as you hit your entrance edge, you felt the wobble. Your leg extended behind you, your back arching, but the spin was unstable. Your free leg swung out too wide, and instead of holding the tight, fast revolutions, you slowed and lost your center, the spin breaking apart awkwardly before you had to step out, gasping in frustration.

The rink was supposed to be your sanctuary. The one place where you could escape everything. But today, it felt like you were battling against it. Every jump, every spin — nothing was landing. Nothing felt right.

You tried again. This time a lutz, but your entry edge wobbled, your weight shifting too far inside, causing you to pop the jump, barely getting off the ice before your feet hit the surface again.

"Come on," you growled to yourself, pushing harder, anger and frustration bubbling up inside you.

A triple-toe loop, then — something that you could do without even thinking on a good day. Surely you should be able to get this right. You gathered speed, your arms pulling in tight as you prepared to launch into the jump. But again, in mid-air, it fell apart. Your body twisted wrong, your arms lost their placement, and you came crashing down to the ice, landing hard on your hip. The sharp sting of the cold surface against your skin made you wince as the air rushed out of your lungs.

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You wanted to scream, scream out in frustration, not because of your inability to perform your routine, but because of everything surrounding you. Your life had become suffocating.

The rink, it was supposed to be your escape — the one place where the outside world didn’t matter, where it was just you and the ice. No matter how many times you told yourself to focus, your mind was elsewhere. Every jump was weighed down by the knowledge that someone could be watching, studying your every move, learning your routines. Every spin felt heavier, tangled with thoughts of Leah and the nightmares that had followed after her death.

The nightmares had started almost immediately after Leah’s death. At first, they were flashes — brief, jarring images that startled you awake, leaving you gasping in the dark. But as the days passed and the investigation deepened, they grew more vivid, more suffocating. You saw Leah on the ice, one moment she was dancing peacefully across the blank surface, the next her lifeless body was sprawled where you had found her, her eyes just as blank as the ice.

But in the dreams, she wasn’t alone.

The unsub was there, too.

He was always just out of reach, a shadowed figure standing in the background, faceless yet terrifyingly familiar. You never saw his face, but you could feel his presence — that sickening, oppressive aura that clung to him like a second skin. Sometimes, in the dream, you would skate toward Leah, desperate to reach her, to help her, but no matter how hard you pushed, the ice stretched farther and farther ahead of you. The more you skated, the further away she seemed, until the rink disappeared into a vast, empty hole, with only the unsub's shadow moving closer.

Other times, the dream shifted into something far darker — more visceral. You would see him there, standing over Leah’s crumpled form, his face still enveloped in darkness. His hand gripped a long, gleaming knife, its blade catching the cold, artificial light of the rink as he raised it high. And then, he brought it down, again and again, each strike tearing into Leah’s stomach. The sickening sound of the blade sinking into her flesh echoed in the arena.

Blood spattered across the ice in those dreams, bright red against the white, spreading in jagged patterns that stained the pristine surface. It splashed onto the unsub's hands, staining his clothes, but he didn’t falter. He just kept stabbing, over and over, as if possessed by a cold, mechanical need to destroy. You could hear Leah’s gasps for help, weak and broken, her body twitching with each new wound, her eyes wide in terror.

You were frozen, paralyzed with horror, screaming her name but unable to move. The ice felt like quicksand beneath your feet, holding you in place as the unsub’s violence escalated, each stab more vicious than the last.

The unsub never spoke, never showed his face. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, he would stop. Slowly, deliberately, he would turn his head in your direction, as if he knew you were watching, as if this whole display was meant for you. The faceless shadow would lock eyes with you, his knife still dripping with Leah's blood, and you knew in your bones — he was coming for you next.

And then you would wake up, drenched in sweat, your heart racing in your chest, you always woke up before he had the chance to stand up, to attack. The feeling of dread never fully left you on those days. It clung to you like fog, following you throughout the day, weaving itself into every thought and every moment spent on the ice.

You slowly sat up, your body aching, your muscles stiff from the repeated falls. You sighed, brushing the ice shavings off your leggings determined to try again. Just as you were about to push off for another attempt, you felt you heard your phone ringing. You hesitated for a moment before skating over to the boards, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the caller ID.

Hotch.

The screen glowed with his name, and a knot tightened in your chest. You knew it couldn't be good. You quickly swiped to answer, lifting the phone to your ear. "Hotch?"

His voice was steady but carried a hint of urgency, instantly pulling your mind away from the nightmares. "Y/N, can you come to the Academy? We've made some progress on the case, and we need your input."

A rush of anxiety surged through you. “Progress?” You repeated, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Garcia found something,” Hotch continued. “It’s not definitive yet, but we think it could help us narrow down the suspect list. We’re also cross-referencing it with the harassment reports we pulled the other day. Your insight in the community could be key here.”

You exhaled slowly, a million thoughts swirling in your head, but none of them were clear enough to grasp. The idea of getting closer to identifying Leah’s killer — to identifying the man who had terrorized your thoughts — sent a jolt of adrenaline through you, but it was knotted in fear — fear of what they might find, of how close the danger could be — whether you knew him or not.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you said, gripping the phone tightly, you tried to keep your voice steady despite the uncertainty brewing inside you.

“Good,” Hotch replied, his tone softening slightly. “Take your time. We’ll be waiting.” The line clicked off, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand.

You glanced back at the ice, at the grooves from your failed jumps, the scars etched into the surface. The maintenance guys would fix them before your return — they always did. Normally, you’d stay until you got it right, but today, none of it felt right.

You had somewhere more important to be.

Grabbing your skate guards, you slid them on and quickly packed up your things. As you left the rink, the echo of your footsteps followed you.

You hoped that maybe, just maybe, Hotch and his team were getting closer to stopping him.

The drive to the academy felt longer than usual, the rhythmic hum of your tires on the pavement did little to calm your nerves. The sun was still low in the sky, casting a golden light over the city as you sped through the empty streets. Your thoughts raced, bouncing between the nightmares that had plagued you all week and the urgency in Hotch’s voice over the phone.

By the time you arrived, the familiar sight of the academy’s structure grounded you just a little. You parked and quickly made your way inside, flashing your visitor's badge — Hotch had let you keep for the duration of the investigation — at security before heading up to the 6th floor where the team was waiting.

As you stepped through the door, you were greeted by the low murmur of voices and the glow of the overhead projector casting a map of the skating rink on the screen. You dropped your bag filled with your gear to the floor, not knowing why you had brought it inside with you — perhaps out of instinct. Hotch stood at the front, ready to begin the briefing.

“Y/N, thanks for coming in,” Hotch greeted you with a small nod. You took a seat at the table, your pulse still racing as you glanced at the team, each of them deeply focused on the files in front of them.

Hotch stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room before landing back on you. “We’ve identified a former skater, Thomas Mercer,” he stated. “He has a history of aggressive behavior and a documented rivalry with Leah. His animosity toward her has been noted by others, both skaters and coaches.”

The name hit you like a slap to the face. Thomas Mercer. You knew him. Everyone in the skating community knew him. He had been a rising star, someone with undeniable talent, but his reputation had been marred by his temper and erratic behavior. Rumors of fights with other male skaters, shouting matches with coaches — it had all but ended his career. Leah had mentioned him once, briefly, but you had never given it much thought.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the information as Hotch continued.

“Garcia has pulled up records of confrontations he’s had at various skating events. Verbal altercations, threats — nothing that was officially reported as violence, but enough to paint a picture of someone who potentially holds a grudge to this day.”

You weren't sure if you believed it was him. No one had seen Thomas in years. It was like he had gone underground.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a sinking feeling in your gut. “Leah never mentioned anything to me,” you murmured, trying to recall any conversation, any hint that this could have been brewing beneath the surface. But there was nothing.

“Don’t blame yourself,” JJ said softly, her eyes kind as they met yours. “People like Mercer are good at hiding their intentions until it’s too late.”

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. “Garcia is working on tracking his movements in the days leading up to Leah’s death. If he’s our unsub, we need to move fast before he finds another victim.”

“Do we have any concrete evidence linking him to the crime?” Rossi asked the same question that had lingered in your mind.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, turning back to the screen where Mercer's picture had been pulled up. “But we’re working on it. Y/N, your knowledge of his career might help us fill in some gaps. Is there anything you can tell us about Mercer’s relationship with Leah or other skaters?”

You hesitated, searching your memory for anything that could be useful. “He was always… intense,” you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “Everyone knew he had a temper, but Leah never said much about him, she knew him better than I did. I think she tried to stay out of his way, but maybe that might’ve made him angrier. Leah had a reputation for being untouchable, and I've been told that that kind of thing usually fueled his anger. But there's been rumours, ever since I started training in the pavilion.”

Hotch turned his gaze toward you, his brow furrowed. “What kind of rumors?”

“About Mercer,” you replied, your voice steadied as you recalled the whispers you’d heard in the locker rooms at competitions. “People said he was bitter about not making it to the Olympics. He used to blame others for his failures. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a vendetta against those who he thought stood in his way.”

Hotch nodded, the wheels in his mind visibly turning. “And Leah was a rising star. She likely represented everything he wished he could’ve achieved.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your heart racing at the thought. “He wasn’t just competing against her talent; he was competing against his past failures. I think that fueled his obsession. There were nights when I would hear him shouting in the rink after practice, cursing himself or others. He just never seemed to take responsibility for his actions. It was always someone else’s fault — but I was young, so I didn't think much of it then, I just thought that sort of anger followed loss.”

Hotch scribbled some notes on his notepad.

He gave a short nod, acknowledging your input. “We’ll look deeper into that.” He turned to the rest of the team, wrapping up the briefing as they gathered their files and began to disperse.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, his voice felt authoritative, resonating in the now-quiet room. “Let’s regroup in 4 hours to discuss our findings. Keep digging into the backgrounds of our suspects and monitor any new leads."

As the team nodded and filed out, their chatter faded into the hallway, you watched as they left, each one consumed by their thoughts and tasks. The room gradually emptied until it was just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken words. You need to tell him about Mercer.

Doubts gnawed at you. Deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mercer wasn’t the unsub. Yes, he had a temper and a documented rivalry with Leah, but you remembered the last time you’d seen him — a shadow of himself, of the skater he once was, barely holding himself together — he had looked miserable. Since then, he’d become a ghost, disappearing from the skating scene, the traces of him in the pavilion slowly fading away, his trophies and pictures disappearing — It was like he had completely vanished off the face of the earth.

It didn’t sit right with you to blame him for Leah’s murder when he seemed to be fighting his own demons. The thought of him being capable of such brutality felt wrong, even if others whispered about his bitterness.

What if he was just a convenient scapegoat for the killer, making sure the unsub could still lurk in the shadows? What if he had nothing to do with it? You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. You couldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, but the idea that an innocent man might be wrongfully accused weighed heavily on your conscience.

A man you had once looked up to.

With a deep breath, you looked up at Hotch. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He nodded, pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down. The air was heavy with unsaid thoughts. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his tone was gentle, his eyes searching yours for any hint of distress.

“I just… I don’t think it’s Mercer,” you blurted out, your voice shaking slightly. “As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t even live on this side of the country anymore. He’s been a ghost since the last competition when he successfully ended his own career with his temper.”

Hotch regarded you, processing your words. “I understand your hesitation. It’s natural to want to protect the community you care about. But the evidence we’ve gathered—”

“I get that,” you interrupted. “But what if you're chasing shadows? I mean, there are so many other skaters who could be more likely suspects. Thomas was always… erratic, but he never crossed the line into actual violence, at least not like this. Not to my knowledge.”

“So, you believe we should look elsewhere?”

“Yes!” You leaned forward, the intensity of your conviction spilling over. “There were so many skaters at his last competition. Anyone could hold a grudge against Leah — She did win the competition after all. Mercer was volatile, but he wasn’t the only one who felt overshadowed by her talent.”

Hotch took a moment to absorb your concerns, his fingers steepling in front of him. “I appreciate your insight. You know the dynamics of this community better than anyone. If there’s even a chance that Mercer isn’t involved, we need to consider other options, but we'll keep him on our radar just in case.”

Relief washed over you, but you quickly stifled it, wanting to remain focused. “I just want to make sure we’re looking in the right direction. The thought of it being someone else from the rink — it terrifies me — I can't put the thought past me that I might know them. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“You’re right to be concerned. We will reevaluate our suspects and dig deeper into the skaters who were at that last competition. If there’s any chance that someone else was motivated to harm Leah, we’ll find them.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, feeling a relief of gratitude wash over you, although the anxiety still lingered deep down. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I don't want the wrong guy to be harmed.”

He smiled slightly, admiring you for a moment. He admired how much you cared about the people around you, about your sport, about everything.

With that, Hotch stood up, his demeanor shifting back into work mode. “I’ll have Garcia pull additional records from the competition. Please stay safe for the time being.”

“Will do,” you replied, determination coursing through you as you watched him head toward the door. “And Hotch?”

He turned back, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Just… be careful. I don’t want to see you or anyone from the team get hurt either.”

@love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon

[triptychgrip]

Yuuri’s love of Viktor’s extraness

Something that I've seen a lot of in Yuri!!! on Ice post-canon fanfic is a tendency to write Yuuri exhibiting a certain amount of chagrin around Viktor's extra-ness.

Perhaps I've misinterpreted intent and simplified instances that in actuality were meant to convey something completely different, but at times, I've noted this implicit (or explicit) weariness attributed to Yuuri when it comes to his reactions to Viktor's behavior.

Specifically, his excitability and charisma.

To reiterate: I'm talking about post-canon content, meaning that Yuuri and Viktor have already bridged that initial gap between them and are in a committed relationship. I say this b/c a certain amound of overwhelm/wariness in response to larger-than-life Viktor is very understandable in the beginning, when Yuuri is not only struggling to understand why the hell his idol has come to Hasetsu, but is also realizing that the public persona that Viktor exudes doesn't match up with the flesh-and-blood being that is the real him.

This "God, why in the hell am I engaged to an excitable child?!" characterization of Yuuri confuses me, because one of the most endearing parts of the show is the fact that Yuuri is capable of 1) being just as extra as Viktor (but in different ways) and/or 2) matching Viktor's extra-ness in the way of the whole "meeting him where he is" theme.

I think there are plenty of examples of #1 (that quad flip at the Cup of China!!), and the Chihoko incident is a perfect encapsulation of number 2. With the latter, note that Yuuri doesn't minimize Viktor's insecurities by being all "you're being ridiculous, Viktor, why is THIS your way of trying to get my attention?"; instead, he tells Viktor that he could search the entire world and still find no one better. Oh, and then at Viktor's request, he strips down and joins him on the top of Hasetsu Castle.

Writing him as only being tolerant of Viktor's extra-ness (rather than celebrating it) also confuses me because as they get to know one another, I would imagine that Yuuri is able to see more clearly than most how Viktor was at a breaking point before coming to Hasetsu. You don't get to be a 5-time World Champion without being somewhat of a workaholic with extreme discipline, and there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that prior to coming to Hasetsu, Viktor hadn't really allowed himself to let loose, have fun, and do something entirely for just himself in a very long time (aside from that Sochi banquet night, of course).

So then, after coming to understand just how much Viktor might have been suppressing his true nature prior to their coming into each other' lives, why would Yuuri make Viktor feel bad about this intrinsic part of his personality? I've always gotten the impression that Yuuri would adore Viktor's innature curiosity and excitability, especially when he comes to realize that Viktor is keeping true to his episode 4 request to just be himself.

I might make a part 2 to this post, because there are honestly a lot of Viktor headcanons floating around in my head, particularly with respect to the fact that he seems like a man who has been told his entire life that he is "too much". Thus, to perceive this same attitude from the love of his life (again, maybe not explicitly, but implicitly) would probably tear him up inside.

I actually explicitly addressed this in Chapter 7 of my post-canon Olympic Games series, by way of a BuzzFeed "Couples' Quiz" appearance that the Katsuki-Nikiforovs make. Their last question to one another asks them to list the things they think their partner loves about them the most, and frankly, it was healing for me to be able to write Viktor answering that he thinks his husband loves his charisma/excitability 😭🥹

[thoughtfulseason]

btw got placed 44 out of 55

guys!! tournament is over and i am so happy! not only i won my first fight in a tournament, but also got no zeros and no ones aaand - i almost burst from happiness when i heard - i got into the next round and as a first time it was decent too, i lost 8-15. she was only a bit better than me and i could’ve won but i’m not gonna complain when i reached even my optimistic goal so yeee this is AMAZING