#how do we make it an olympic sport | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norrisainz33 · 4 months ago

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Best in Show || CS55 & CL16

☆ summary: charles’ sister is headed to the olympics and she’s ready to bring things to the next level with her fwb carlos

☆ pairing: carlos sainz & olympic!leclerc!reader

☆ f/c & warnings: none; slightly suggestive & terribly translated french

☆ requested: yes!! thanks for your request 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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user3: i don’t understand how all of the leclerc’s are so perfect and talented

user1: the leclerc brothers are so 🤤

user2: princess of monaco about to eat up the competition at the olympics

user8: wait that’s insane only 6 athletes? the uk sent 327… y/n must be really good

user2: she is!! she’s been to the show jumping world cup AND she won the jumping international in monte carlo (both huge accomplishments especially at her age)

user4: their genes are strong and full of sporting talent huh

user24: they should’ve gotten carlos in on this interview. he loves talking about y/n

user18: no fr he very clearly has a crush on her

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ynleclerc: did someone say ,, olympics? get ready to watch your favorite duo (me and [horse’s name]) take on paris 😉

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user6: HI Y/N (louder than everyone else)

user7: she’s so unserious i love her

charlesleclerc: and why did you have to post the last photo

ynleclerc: because i love it frère [brother]

arthurleclerc: why didn’t i make the olympics announcement post

ynleclerc: bc you refused to put on the glasses bebe

user11: the royal family of monaco is so beautiful

juliaanalvarez: looking forward to seeing you in paris

ynleclerc: you better cheer me on julián

user88: ik carlos is shaking in his boots. he’s got competition it seems

user99: no y/n anyone but a soccer player

carlossainz55: congratulations on making it to the olympics y/n 😍

ynleclerc: thanks carly 🤭

user22: CARLY DNSKSJF

user18: i ship y/n and carlos so hard

use r23: day 124 of wondering why they aren’t together

ynleclerc has made a post

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, yourbff, landonorris, francisca.cgomes, and 534,230 others

ynleclerc: don’t worry everyone - the party has arrived in paris and we already made it through the first round 🇲🇨

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user12: oh thank goodness (i wasn’t worried)! congratulations on an incredible first round

user13: what do i have to do to be that horse

landonorris: when are you gonna let me take a ride on ya?

charlesleclerc: mate that’s my sister

landonorris: i was talking abt the horse

ynleclerc: i hate you landonorris

landonorris: no you don’t ma cherry

ynleclerc: CHÉRIE

landonorris: 😘😘

user29: lando is so real for this

user24: impatiently waiting for carlos to get here

alexandrasaintmleux: the prettiest girl in all of paris. i am so proud of you 🤍

ynleclerc: please get your beautiful self here quicker 😫

carlossainz55: paris is looking real good these days 😍

ynleclerc: you should come find out just how good it looks 😏

user23: whoa get a room

arthurleclerc: please stop flirting

texts between you and carlos

ynleclerc has added to their story

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user77: my god you’re gorgeous

user99: now who … sent you those flowers ms y/n? was it charles? was it julian? was it carlos? i won’t spill the beans if u tell me i promise

user34: i’m rooting for you y/n!! you and [horses name] are going to crush it

landonorris: i know i didn’t send you flowers… so who did?

ynleclerc: wait… you didn’t send these?

landonorris: y/n/n don’t play with me. was it him?

ynleclerc: yes 🤭

landonorris: I KNEW IT. so you guys together or?

landonorris: DONT LEAVE ME ON READ TF

charlesleclerc: y/n/n - i only sent you the white ones… who are the others from?

ynleclerc: my adoring fans!

charlesleclerc: arrête! [stop it] we both know that is not the case

charlesleclerc: just tell me who they are from. i’ll be cool about it

ynleclerc: no you won’t charlie 🤍

arthurleclerc: charles sent me - tell me who those are from

ynleclerc: no! hope that helps bebe 😘

arthurleclerc: are they from a certain spanish driver or an argentinian footballer?

alexandrasaintmleux: your brothers are insufferable sometimes…. but don’t worry i didn’t tell them who sent those gorgeous flowers 😍🤭

ynleclerc: my girl 😘

user87: wagering a bet that those flowers are from carlos

ynleclerc has made a post

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, landonorris, danielricciardo, yourbff, and 876,456 others

ynleclerc: obviously not the result i was hoping for. we tapped the last bar on the last jump as we were about to set the fastest time. i’m gutted but at the same time i am immensely proud of everything [horse’s name] and i have accomplished. we are bringing home monaco’s only medal from the entire olympic games and for that i am elated. i think i prefer silver anyway 🥈🤍

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user67: being the reason monaco is getting a medal is still an insane serve

user87: my favorite horse girl

landonorris: a medal is a medal - proud of you punk

ynleclerc: thank you bobby

juliaanalvarez: congratulations on a hard won medal!

ynleclerc: merci julian! glad we got to catch up 🤍

user57: back!! back i said 🤺

carlossainz55: y/n/n you gave it everything you had out there and you have so much to be proud of. i am in awe of you

ynleclerc: carlos 🥹

user55: this is so sweet i’m gonna throw up

user23: day 145 of wondering why they aren’t together

arthurleclerc: good job or whatever sis

ynleclerc: thanks loser

carmenmundt: you are an absolute inspiration! congratulations on following your dreams and making them come true 🤍

ynleclerc: i love you so much carmen

charlesleclerc has made a post

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charlesleclerc: we made it to paris in time to see y/n in the final event. ma petite sœur je suis si fière de toi. je suis pour toujours et à jamais ton plus grand soutien. [my little sister, i am so proud of you. i am forever and always your biggest supporter]

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scuderiaferrari: congrats y/n on a hard fought silver! we are so proud of you

user16: wake up ! hottest photo dump of the summer just dropped 😭😫😍

user37: wow arthur is eating charles up in the 4th slide

ynleclerc: merci charlie. je t'aime jusqu'à la lune et retour. merci d'être là [thank you charlie. I love you to the moon and back. thank you for being there]

charlesleclerc: je t'aime y/n/n. i wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

ynleclerc: btw who even invited pierre?

pierregasly: why can’t i turn up and support my favorite leclerc?

ynleclerc: i’m your favorite?

pierregasly: no , not even close

francisca.cgomes: i’m sorry y/n! he simply insisted upon tagging along 🙄

ynleclerc: i’ll let it slide because i got to see you my love 😍

user34: so special that they were all able to make it to paris

alexandrasaintmleux: my favorite girl in the whole world is an olympic medalist! monaco and all of us are so proud 🤍

ynleclerc: don’t make me cry 🥹

user76: monegasque royal family is my roman empire

ynlecerc has posted to their story

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user55: I KNOW THATS MY MAN CARLOS

user87: you ain’t slick id recognize that hand and arm anywhere. that is mr carlos sainz jr

francisca.cgomes: your brother resorted to calling me to see if i knew who was in this post 🙄

ynleclerc: of course he did…. he’ll find out soon enough 🤭

charlesleclerc: anything you want to tell me? looks a lot like a teammate of mine

ynleclerc: nothing i want to tell you charlie :)

carlossainz55: had a wonderful evening with you mi amor. let’s do it again.. and again and again and again.

ynleclerc: i had an amazing time. i’m already looking forward to our next date!! you may as well just come back to my flat now idk why you even left in the first place

carlossainz55: didn’t want to come across too clingy

ynleclerc: good thing i like clingy! get back here 😏

carlossainz55: yes ma’am

user27: begging to know how much charles and arthur are stressing over this story

ynleclerc has made a post

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ynleclerc: yes, you all guessed it! he’s mine 😘

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user13: someone check on the user who has been counting the days since they started flirting

user23: i’ve been summoned!! all i can say is thank god

landonorris: it’s about time

arthurleclerc: i called it

user99: old money carlos is perfect for our equestrian goddess

charlesleclerc: so this is how i find out?

ynleclerc: you did say you were one of my fans so… yes?

charlesleclerc: you are on my last nerve

carmenmundt: adorable 😍

carlossainz55: my gorgeous girl 😘

ynleclerc: my man my man my man

francisca.cgomes: time for a double date 🤍

pierregasly: charles says i’m not allowed

ynleclerc: who said you were invited pierre?

user47: vibes in the ferrari garage in zandvoort are gonna be wild

user98: carlosy/n truthers our time has come

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: another installment of olympic reader wahooo! slowly but surely making my way through my requests. liked and reblogs are always appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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andwordsarefutiledevicess · 6 months ago

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press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon.

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom.

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals.

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl.

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations.

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer.

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room.

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again.

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body.

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl.

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?).

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss.

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you.

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

#art donaldson x reader #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 month ago

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Icy III

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: He watches your match

He sits up in the box with Laporta, stretched out on the foldout chair like it's his personal throne.

He's wearing a new suit, freshly ironed and tailored to fit his body perfectly. His hair has been cut and styled to give that almost effortless look about him.

"Trust fund, I reckon," Patri says from your warm up circle," That guy that's up there with Laporta."

"No way," Pina disagrees," That's new money, not old. Probably a hedge fun manager."

"Or some kind of oil and gas giant," Mapi laughs.

"None," You say," Real estate at first then tech and then big pharma over in the states."

"What made you guess that?" Mapi asks and you stubbornly kick the ball away.

"I didn't. Laporta's not going to get money out of him anyway. The wife is the one that invests in sports but only ones she gets good profits out of. Two NFL teams, a Formula One team. She owns a tennis stadium in Paris. Big investor in the Olympics."

"Oh come on," Patri complains," There's no way you just know that off the top of your head."

"It doesn't matter. If Laporta wants money he should talk to the wife."

You can feel his gaze on you throughout the match.

It's a team at the bottom of the table and you're so technical that they can't get close but you can still feel the weight of his stare on you at all times.

'You carry the weight of our family'.

He's told you that many times.

'If you cannot exceed expectations then we have no use for you'.

He's told you that too, something you remember as you cross the ball into Pina, who taps it in easily.

You celebrate together, hugging and you feel Ingrid's familiar presence behind you as she gives you her customary kiss on the head.

You look up at him in the crowd, just out of reflex but you can't see much.

He's still splayed out like he's a king on a throne, looking down at you like you're a peasant in the street, fighting with someone else for just a scrap of bread.

That's his idea of entertainment, like holding up a magnifying glass towards an ant hill in the middle of a sunny day.

You feel small under his gaze, dipping your head in submission as you walk back into your position.

You assist in the next three goals.

Alexia.

Aitana.

Even Keira.

You're good at that. You've perfected the art of assisting.

Mapi's even joked before that you're going for the record of assists from one person this season.

Alexia says she's going to make you be more selfish and shoot more but you don't think you really need to do that, not when Caro can do it instead of you.

This is one of the rare matches where Caro's being rotated so gets no minutes. You fill her place though, like you always do, setting up goals and carrying the ball down the wing.

Barcelona win, of course, and you drift back to Ingrid and Mapi like you normally do.

Mapi grins at you, arm thrown over your shoulder and a frown on her face as you go rigid under her.

Laporta is on the pitch with him, stuttering over his words and hurrying to keep up.

He stops in front of you.

"Y/n."

Your head drops automatically, thoroughly chastised as you step out from under Mapi's arms.

His hand clamps down on your shoulder and you can tell how this is going to go before he even opens his mouth.

"Of course we're very proud of her," His honeyed tone tells Laporta," We've wanted nothing but the best for her."

For them, you correct in your head.

"She's always had such a passion for football. We love watching her play."

He's never seen you play in his life.

"We-We're very happy to have her here!" Laporta tells him," She's a real talent. You're produced quite the footballer."

He laughs, waving away the compliments as his hand feels like a shackle around you. "You're too kind. Sports has never quite been my thing. I'll have to talk to the wife about what we were talking about, I'm sure you'll understand."

"Of course! Of course! Take all the time you need!"

He will. You know he will.

He'll discuss with her and they'll write up a contract if it's really something they're interested, about what they pay in and what they get out of it.

She's always been better at the sports side of it, despite her background in real estate. She knows how to talk people around in circles. How to get through the little boy's club that every sport has. She'll get what she wants if Barcelona is even something she's interested in.

You hope it isn't.

"I'll leave you alone with your daughter," Laporta says and you want to call after him.

You want to tell him not to leave with your father.

Barcelona was supposed to be yours. You were supposed to be safe here.

You can't control when they summon you in Norway but if you're in Barcelona, they're not supposed to be able to get to you. You're not meant to be subject to their whims in Barcelona.

You want to go home. You want to go home with Mapi and Ingrid and curl up in your bed with Toast and not move for a week.

His casual hand on your shoulder grows heavy in an instant, nails digging in to your skin through your shirt and you have to keep the smile on your face to keep up appearances for the cameras you know are on you.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you," If you ever blindside me like this again then I promise you won't like what happens next."

"Sorry, Father," You say back.

"You better be. I didn't like sitting up there with potential business partners to see my own daughter down there like a football hooligan."

"Sorry."

"I'm better than that and I raised you to be better than that too."

You resist the urge to tell him that he didn't raise you at all.

Your wrist twinges, the phantom injury flaring up like it always did when you're nervous.

You throat bobs, already closing up as you fight back tears.

"I'm sorry."

"Apologies mean nothing." His voice is harsh in your ear and you find a point ahead of you to stare at so you don't cry.

If there's something that he hates more than apologies, it's tears so you stubbornly don't let even one fall.

"Who's this, y/n?" Ingrid asks, clearing her throat and you flick your eyes to her.

"My-"

Your father says his name, sticking his hand out and he's back to playing the role of proud father. "And you are?"

"Ingrid Engen. I play with y/n on the Norwegian team too."

"Ah! Yes. I think she's mentioned you before!" He's lying.

He didn't even know you played on the national team.

"And I'm Mapi. She lives with me and Ingrid."

"I can't thank you enough," Your father says," She can be quite a handful sometimes." He laughs but no one laughs with him.

"I think she's delightful," Ingrid says," Very helpful. Very studious. She's the best in her class."

The smile on his face is real now, like it always is when he hears about your academics.

He started in real estate and then moved to investing in technology and pharmaceuticals. He and your mother are scarily intelligent and it might be the only thing they passed onto you.

"We expect nothing less of her," He says," I'm sure everyone at the party will be glad to hear it."

Your breath stutters in your chest. "The party?"

"Yes! The party! I must have forgotten to tell you! We're having a little get together with a few potential business partners. We'll have to get you a dress."

"I don't need to go."

"Don't be silly!" His hand tightens on your shoulder and you know that this isn't a discussion. "There's some people I should introduce you too."

Your head drops again, the fight leaving your body.

"Do you want us to go?" Ingrid asks, ever polite though you feel like without her and Mapi there you won't survive. "So you two can have dinner?"

Your father is laughing again, finally releasing you and you take several quick steps to duck behind Mapi.

"I've got a flight to catch. Meetings to get to. Far more important things."

He can't see you anymore, not with your head bowed and pressed against Mapi's back and you finally let the tears fall.

Ingrid watches your father leave, down the tunnel and escorted to the player's exit by the staff that seem to be falling over themselves to make him happy.

"Y/n," She says, coaxing you out from your hiding spot," Oh, sweetheart...Are you okay?"

You look at her, bottom lip trembling as the tears run down your cheeks.

"Ingrid," You say, sounding small and wounded like an animal," I want to go home."

Ingrid nods as Mapi tucks you under her arm.

"Let's go home."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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fatphobiabusters · 1 year ago

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People say weight loss is for sure possible...but no one agrees on how to do it.

Dieting works...but there's now an "ob*sity epidemic" despite people lining the pockets of weight loss corporations more than ever.

Weight loss products work...but weight loss corporations are making the Exact. Same. Claims. about their products that they did in 1910 with the products that were sold and then discontinued over a century ago.

Humans are all meant to be thin...but there are families of fat people who stay fat no matter how much "willpower" they muster and have fat ancestors going back generations.

It's about health and not looks...but people who are losing weight due to smoking, cancer, illness, mental disorders, and other health conditions are praised for their weight loss and told to keep going.

Fat people aren't oppressed...but fat people have no positive representation, no proper access to clothing, face a wage gap, endure deadly medical neglect and abuse, have their deaths by police brutality excused with their fatness, and countless other aspects of oppression that they deal with every single day.

Fat people are all fat because they overeat...but you can point to any fat person on the sidewalk and there's an extreme likelihood that they're on their 30th diet attempt in the past 10 years while there's thin people who eat whatever they want, however much they want, and don't exercise yet never gain a single pound.

Fat people are privileged because they gorge on unnecessary food...but fat people are overwhelmingly living in poverty, are not paid the same amount of money for the same work as their thin peers, are not chosen for promotions, are turned away from jobs that an employer wants more than a "pretty face" for, are at major risk of workplace harassment, and endure oppression even beyond just that.

Fat people aren't treated badly...but people use the word "fat" as a metaphor and synonym for "ugly," "unlovable," and "unworthy," while at the same time believing "fat," the most basic term for a specific body type, is a dirty, taboo insult you should never allow to leave your lips.

Professionals agree that fatness is inherently bad...but almost any weight-related research study that people, especially weight loss corporations, use to justify demonizing fat people has the worst methodology imaginable with validity errors and logical fallacies galore as well as conflicts of interest due to how many of these studies just happen to be funded by the corporations that make millions and billions of dollars off of the demonization these studies promote.

All health conditions a fat person has are caused by their fatness...but there is not a single health condition that only fat people obtain, many fat people developed the health condition in question when they were thin or thinner, weight gain is often a symptom of said health conditions, fat people are not given the same amount or quality of healthcare as thin people, and repeated starvation attempts (also known as "yo-yo dieting") have been shown to worsen a person's health.

Fat people can't have eating disorders...but fat people are the group encouraged to partake in disordered eating by this fatphobic world the most and then are not given any support to recover.

Thin privilege doesn't exist...but thin people who see the way fat people are treated in society do their absolute damndest and take whatever drastic measures they have to in order to prevent themselves from ever becoming one of "Them."

Fit and fat are mutually exclusive...but there are fat athletes as far up as even the Olympics, and sports are intentionally made inaccessible to fat people to the point of fat children even being turned away when trying to join a sports team.

Fat people are ugly...but all we grow up ever seeing in media are thin, conventionally attractive people painted with layers of makeup next to fat characters who were intentionally designed with an ill-fitting outfit, matted hair, and all other traits that fit the "ugly" stereotype that the character designer could manage to slap onto a single person.

Fat people are big, bad bullies...but studies show that weight is the number one excuse that children use to bully their peers, outcompeting a multitude of other oppressed identities considered.

Fat women are just men and vice versa...but sometimes they're androgynous, and sometimes they're basically nonbinary, and sometimes they're just things, and sometimes they're nothing at all depending on what labels a fatphobe decides will hurt a fat person most that day.

Fat people are subhuman...but fat people deserve the same love, respect, compassion, and support that all people are born inherently deserving.

Fatphobia isn't real, but—

-Mod Worthy

#fatphobia #healthism #diet culture #fat liberation #Mod Worthy #o word

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deadlyhuggles6 · 10 months ago

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i think the thing i love about Skizz in season ten the most is- so you know those jokes like "oh they should have one normal person competing in each sport at the olympic to show what a normal person can do"

skizz is the single normal person on this olympic server and the hermits are so concerned for him. like. nothing skizz is doing is That out of the ordinary for a regular builder hermit- but skizz isn't so the other hermits are extra aware of his limits.

from skizz's episode 3: grian: have you made this in creative at all Skizz: no i dont do stuff like that :D *worried grian silence*

Gem: it's a great idea! just dont burnout making giant things!

he's having such a great time with it but the hermits are so worried about him trying to keep up with them. i think its cute and it really shows just how aware the hermits are of how far from Normal this server is, which is hard for us, the viewers, to keep track of since we dont have non-hermits to compare the hermits against. and now we do and i love him so much

#skizzleman #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s10 #genuinely skizz was such a good addition #he's so fun and i think the ongoing bit of his shoulder tango is hilarious #but he's just a perfect example of an almost normal person compared to these master builders

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intheupside · 5 months ago

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addressing the boys in the locker room and living his ted lasso dreams

also there’s an athletic article about it:

“It was a roller coaster,” Crosby told The Athletic of the game, shaking his head and smiling. “I feel like there’s been a lot more eyeballs, a lot more attention on this team.”

Crosby, wearing Canada’s red home kit, watched one of the more thrilling games of Copa America. Canada took an early lead thanks to Jacob Shaffelburg, who not only comes from the same province as Crosby, Nova Scotia, but is just the second men’s national team player from the province. Canada’s very own ‘Maritime Messi’.

Venezuela tied the game thanks to captain Salomon Rondon’s long-range chip in the 64th minute but Canada looked composed through penalties and midfielder Ismael Kone scored the winning spot-kick.

And not long after Canada entered their locker room to continue celebrating, Crosby joined them.

“Crosby said it was an ‘Unbelievable Canadian moment,’” defender Alistair Johnston said. “He said ‘The penalties were insane’ and something that he couldn’t even imagine doing.”

Crosby then singled out what midfielder Jonathan Osorio called the “guts of the group” to step up and score in penalties. “They look like a real tight-knit group,” Crosby said.

Crosby’s visit to Canada’s dressing-room soon began trickling out on social media but it wasn’t planned. Crosby said that every summer he and a group of teammates from his days playing junior hockey for Rimouski Oceanic in the Quebec Maritimes Junior Hockey League organize a trip together. This year, once Canada qualified for the quarterfinal, they made the decision to travel south to Arlington.

It was only in the hours leading up to the game that a mutual friend of one of the Canadian players extended an invite to Crosby to come into the dressing room.

As he made his way around the room, Canadian players beamed. Osorio said Crosby nabbed Shaffelburg’s jersey postgame.

“I got to see a Nova Scotia legend,” Shaffelburg said. “I’ve always looked up to (Crosby). To meet him was unbelievable.”

Crosby then encouraged the team for the future and reminded them how proud they have made Canadians.

“His words mean a lot,” goalkeeper Maxime Crepeau said. “But it’s an example of how we are slowly changing things for our country.”

Crosby then posed for a photo with the entire team. He’s no stranger to winning over the hearts of an entire country, having scored arguably the most important goal in Canadian sports history to win the 2010 Olympic gold medal over the United States.

And Crosby understands what so many others are coming to learn as well: This Canadian team is becoming a truly special one.

“The way they reacted after (Venezuela’s tying goal) — it’s a tough goal to give up, but they kept coming,” Crosby said when asked what makes this team special.

Canada is no stranger to having heroes visit the team: Famed astronaut Chris Hadfield joined them for a pre-game speech before their 2022 World Cup opener.

But Crosby’s star status is as radiant as they come in Canada. For generations, Canada’s national team was looked at as an afterthought. Qualifying for the World Cup began to change the perception of the team at home. Yet what they have lacked as of late are results against top teams to earn more fans.

That’s changing, and Crosby isn’t just witness to it. Against Venezuela, he was part of it. “With the games that they’ve put together, they’re only going to get more and more (attention). It’s fun to see. They deserve it. It seems like they’re a really great group of guys,” Crosby said.

This Canadian team is tasked not just with winning matches as they’ve done under new head coach Jesse Marsch; they also understand it’s their responsibility to continue to grow a game that might enjoy heavy participation among children but still falls behind hockey in terms of national popularity.

“What a legend to have on our side,” Marsch said of Crosby. “This is important for us in 2026 (at the World Cup with Canada hosting alongside the U.S. and Mecico). We want to feel the power of the entire nation.”

Now, the team is looking at Crosby’s endorsement as another example of their own star in Canada growing brighter.

“You can tell how much it means to the team that we are taking that next step in Canadian pop culture,” Johnston said. “You could see that we’re reaching a bigger crowd than just the football mad crowd. We’re inspiring a lot of people.”

Canada’s next chance to inspire will undoubtedly be their most difficult test yet: A semifinal against world champions Argentina.

As difficult a test as it might be, Canadian players all agree they believe more people than ever will be watching their team. And that includes Crosby.

#pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #copa america

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kithtaehyung · 4 months ago

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bet wrong (3tan717) | myg

drabble: bet wrong pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 | one rating/genre: pg (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: after seeing how comfortable yoongi is in his place with your brother and their friends, it’s hard for you to leave… but it’s also hard for you to stay. note: apologies for all the late postings! but kim yeji’s aura was so strong it made me write about her so here we are hahaha. it's not really edited cus i just wrote this up and posted so apologies for any mistakes! note 2: this is in a pocket universe in the three tangerines series, so if you haven’t read the series yet, these characters would make more sense if you did hehe. even though this is very heavily influenced by the olympics, i’m keeping it as easy to read as i can. you can imagine them watching any of the events happening lol warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, angst, olympics talk, yoongi fights back??, the Yearning is Strong, reader is a tease, shiv is back!, brother and jimin are dorks, but so is everyone else, yoongi on the phone, he's so down bad y'all i wanna cry :(( drop date: august 1st, 2024, 7:17pm est word count: 2.3k (just like the first drabble omg?)

—

“Hey, you made it!”

“Oh, shit, look who’s here!”

After a quick greeting to everyone in Yoongi’s living room, you slip off your shoes with a distracted, “I can’t stay long but, I’m here!”

Even though the handsome devil next to you shoots a look, it’s your brother that speaks up, “Wait, why?”

“I’m meeting my friends in a bit.” You hand a still-quiet Yoongi some snacks you brought for everyone, asking a question with a very obvious answer, “Where should I put these?”

He blinks before forcing out, “Over here.”

“K.”

Sounds of conversation and sports games spring about. Jimin’s clearly in some sort of squabble with your brother and Shiv is fanning the flames. There’s a couple guys you recognize but don’t really know talking on the opposite side of the coffee table, but they’re all watching the Olympics and giving their own comments.

Hopefully it’s noisy enough to shroud your dizzying thoughts. Because Yoongi looks damn good in his casual fit and his hair speaks volumes.

What you would give to run your fingers through those waves. Following him through his bustling apartment is already giving you the shivers, so what would a sudden touch feel like? A burst of fire?

“I’ll take those,” he instructs, taking the bags from you and pulling everything out with crinkles. When he sees a certain bag, his blinks make you giggle.

It’s a specific chip he likes, recently divulged during a long night of learning things about one another—like favorite foods, and how fast or slow he likes you riding.

So of course you threw it in your basket before heading over.

Commentators make conversation on the television as you shrug, “Don’t ask me, I dunno how those got in there.”

God, that smile always makes you melt. And he proceeds to turn you into mush as he shows gratitude under his breath,

“Thanks, doll.”

“Seriously, I think they just handed me those,” you joke, trying your best to not do any of the million and three things you want to. “Said I was cute or something.”

His laugh is immediate. But it’s shoved away by cheers and yells, and both of you pop out of the kitchen to see what happened on the tv.

Something big must have went down because even Yoongi reacts, scaring you with a delayed reaction,

“Holy shit, what happened? Sorry,” he immediately apologizes at your flinch, putting a daring but comforting hand on your lower back before making his way to the group.

Did he really just…

He is lucky your brother didn’t see from the other side of the couch.

That was the boldest Yoongi’s ever been and he’s quite literally kissed you in your kitchen.

“Yeji got silver.”

“What? Wait, run it back!”

“I thought she'd take it!"

Chill out. Relax, relax, relax. Everyone else is clearly entranced by whatever happened and no one is even looking at you. Relax.

But damn, that touch meant a lot more than an apology.

Seems like the one vocally surprised at the replay wants to do a million and three things, too.

On your emotional decrescendo, you scuttle back to grab a plastic cup. No use in trying to join them anyway. All you can do for now is get a drink in a kitchen you’re not supposed to know your way around.

Being in his place while your brother is too is quite the experience.

However.

This is absolutely the ideal situation you should be in. You would be the one showing up at Yoongi’s at the invitation of your brother, and it would be a small party where you blend right into the background with minimal interaction.

But of course, the feelings of distance and guilt creep onto your feet, rooting you in place and forcing you to watch from afar.

They’re all checking their phones and pointing at each other—accusingly? Excitedly?—before switching between different games on the tv and yelling at each other.

And while you adore them for being such lovable geeks about this, your eyes cannot stop pinning Yoongi with longing. He’s so radiant doing the most normal things, and his eyes have that sparkle they get when he’s comfortable and at home.

He’s perfect.

Your heart’s warm.

And the cup in your hand never touches your mouth.

—

After you take a seat at his dining table—yet another thing you should not know anything about—you cycle between watching them interact and scrolling on your apps.

At first, you thought you were safe. Staying in the back and letting them have their own time together is good enough for you, especially since you were invited by your brother to stop by.

Really, you were just a courier for food they wanted.

But it was on the way. And it’s a chance to see someone you’ve been missing.

So of course you faked reluctance to come.

The plan was to do exactly this. Hang back until you had to leave, maybe have a bite or two, and try hard not to yearn for Yoongi too long.

Failed step three.

But also now step one, because Shiv decides to twist around to yell, “Hey! Come join us!”

“I’m good over here,” you reply, smiling when he gives you a look.

“Suit yourself!”

One of the guys you recognize but don’t really know gets off the couch to head into the kitchen, asking a question as he opens the fridge.

Wait, he’s asking you something? You?

You leave your chair so you can hear him better, and when he repeats his question you respond.

“Want a drink?”

“Oh, uhh. Sure.”

“Pick your poison. Yoongi doesn’t have much but it’s all strong.”

He’s pretty cute. But then again, all your brother’s friends seem to end up this way. “Water’s fine,” you say with a light smile. “I have to be somewhere else in a minute.”

“Leaving so soon?” He grabs a cup to fill with your choice before handing it over. Leaning against the same counter Yoongi has smushed you against many times, the man takes a sip of his beer. “You just got here.”

“I was told to bring food.”

“Ah, come on. You can stay a bit.”

Uh huh.

Bold choice to be flirting with the company present today.

But you know what to do. Swerve. “What even happened back there? You guys scared the shit outta me.”

From the creases of his eyes, your plan works. “Oh, Yeji? She was supposed to win gold.”

“Feel like she won anyway.”

You both snap your heads over to the kitchen threshold, and your stomach could win a floor routine with the amount of flips it completes. “How come?” You decide to ask, throwing both guys for a loop.

It’s Yoongi that responds first, “She’s trending from a video back in May.”

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Fucking boss. But yeah, none of us got that one right,” his friend responds, which leaves you intrigued.

“Got it right?”

“Mmhmm. We picked her for gold.” Glancing over at Yoongi now crossing between to get to his fridge, he claps his back. “Even this guy bet wrong and he’s usually right.”

“Bet with my heart,” your secret drones as he cracks open a bottle.

“We all did, bro.”

Fucking hell, that move was hotter than it should’ve been.

But now you’re kinda invested in what they’re all doing, so you ask how the whole thing works.

Which leads you to sitting in the living room with everyone three whole minutes later.

“So all of these are events, and I pick what I think happens?”

“Yup!”

“Good luck.”

“Choose quick, the next games start soon.”

Everyone’s eyes are on your paper as you look at the options, with some laughs and comments as you circle your choices.

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

“Hey, hey, no help.”

You glance at your brother and Yoongi before laughing, “I have no idea what I’m doing but this is fun.”

Their amusement is noticeable.

“If you get any of those right, I’ll be surprised,” your sibling teases, earning a laugh from Yoongi and a counterpoint from Jimin,

“Dark horse?”

“Nah, no chance.”

Park’s shoulders raise as he smirks. “It's all luck, you never know..”

Huffing, you pretend to have confidence for days, just happy that you get to be involved and not hang back like the initial plan. “Yeah, I have masterclass intuition, don’t you know?”

Reactions pop and fizz around you.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Master class, huh..”

“We have a hustler here!”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi’s at Shiv's comment, and you both share a quick, mirth-filled, intimate stare.

This really is a lot more fun already.

Your phone buzzing is the one thing that interrupts, and you immediately feel relieved and saddened by the fact that you have to go.

Finishing up, you hand your brother your picks before standing, heading to the door and saying that you have to leave.

“Wait, already?”

“Tell them you’re busy!”

“I kinda want to,” you admit, feeling a little shy at all the eyes on you. “But we’re watching a movie and tickets are stupid expensive now.”

Yoongi’s already next to you as he waits to let you out. “You okay to drive?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I just had water.”

“K.”

Why does he have to be so considerate right now? Now you just wanna stay here instead of sit through whatever movie your friends picked!

“Be careful,” your brother comments from the living room, and you wave goodbye.

“I will. Y’all have fun!”

“Okay!”

Facing Yoongi, you wanna do so many things. Hug him, hold him, kiss the shit out of him for his exuding presence in the kitchen earlier.

“Thanks for the food.”

But you obviously can’t.

So you settle for giving him a smile. “Thanks for letting me come over,” you decide to say. “Have fun tonight.”

You get a small lift of his lips in return. “You, too.”

“Yeah.. I’ll try.”

Hearing sounds from outside as you walk to your car, you feel the loneliest imaginable.

But alas.

It’s still not your place to stay.

—

Much, much later, you check your phone after the movie ends and you’re all walking out. While the girls are busy discussing the movie and Taehyung's checking his phone, you're greeted with two very surprising keystrokes.

Yoongi [9:30pm]: :(

He texted that so long ago. Did something happen?

You [10:34pm]: you ok?

All of you talk for just a little longer. When you finally get into your car, you wave goodbye at everyone before looking at your device again, wondering what the heck warranted this rogue of a text.

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Yeah

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Just miss you

Well, fuck.

Heart clenching, your fingers skirt across the screen.

You [10:45pm]: i miss you too.. i didn’t wanna leave😭

Yoongi [10:45pm]: You did though😔

There are plenty of people in the lot. Many people walking past as you wait in your car.

And all you can do is stare at your screen.

Is… Is he drunk?

Yoongi [10:46pm]: So now you have to make it up to me :)

That catches you so off-guard you scoff at your screen through a smile.

You [10:46pm]: don’t be a loser!!

Yoongi [10:46pm]: I’m your loser

Cheeks hurting from your shy as hell grin, you bite your lip to keep your screams from alerting people in the nearby theatre.

How dare this man be this bold when your brother is over there!

If he’s gonna keep this shocking behavior up, who are you to not play into it? You fucking miss him and imagining being there and being yourselves—your true selves—makes your chest clench.

You [10:46pm]: not today you weren’t :\

And now you have to make the drive to a house that no one's occupying.

This is so hard. So, so hard.

But you have to keep going until that one day comes. If it ever does. The day you can do whatever you want with the man you’d fight the universe for? No one will know how to react, and frankly you don’t give a shit about that.

And then you wonder.

Does Yoongi feel the same?

Yoongi [10:48pm]: They're still here

Yoongi [10:48pm]: You down to come back?

Oh.

You are.

Yes, yes, yes you are.

Grateful eyes shut, forehead hitting your steering wheel and heart hurting but still burning lovingly.

There’s no fighting how desperately you want to see him. Especially after seeing him so happy earlier today. Of course you’re going to go. You’d cross mountains even if that meant you’d only get to see him from afar.

Because—and this you know for sure—he would do the same.

...But that doesn't mean you won't prank him just a little bit.

You [10:49pm]: don't bet on it w ur heart again💕

Buzzing with excitement, you start your car and pull out of the lot, calling your brother and letting him know you’re coming back.

“K! You gonna bring food again?”

Normally, you would say fuck no and hang up. But you’re so elated you get to go back, and imagining Yoongi's shock makes you laugh. “Yeah, yeah, what do y’all want?”

“Wait, really? Hey! What do we want for dinner—”

“Wait!” You interject, something pinging into your mind and igniting your curiosity. “How are my picks doing?”

There’s a scuffle on the line, and you can hear your brother complain, Jimin laugh, and a very, very familiar voice answer from your brother’s phone.

Because Yoongi’s voice drones so beautifully through the speaker, and you can’t stop your cackling when he responds,

“Turns out Jimin was right.”

“Damn, I'm the best,” you boast, earning a loud laugh from him and welcoming the way your cheeks hurt with open arms. “Show me that video you were talking about when I get there?”

This is safe to say. It's all you really can say.

There's a little bit of silence before he answers how he can, too.

“Yeah, I will.”

Mm. Maybe Yoongi does feel the same.

“Nice," you whisper. Lips curved up in hope, you keep your voice neutral, “See you soon!”

Again, he responds how he's supposed to. And right after, you both hang up exactly as expected.

For now.

“See you soon.”

—

fin. :)

how did the second 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe | three tangerines

a/n: love you love you love you. that's really all i can say. but also, here's the video of kim yeji being an absolute badass in may and i cannot stop thinking about her GAHHHHHH and now the guy from turkey?? hello?? this year is so fun and interesting istg!!

#well hello LMAO #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #three tangerines #3tan7172 #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fluff #*latest #ryenwrites #3tanextras #yoongi angst

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onsomenewsht · 4 months ago

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'cause everybody knows something I don't wanna know

About when, despite the victories and the defeats, you still talk a bit too much, but all the questions are answered

《 read part 1, I just wanna feel something, tell me where to go

》 Alexia Putellas x fencer!Reader

》 words count: +4.5k

》 move mountains [idiom]: to do something that seems impossible, particularly when love or belief makes one feel determined to succeed in something incredibly difficult to achieve

“En garde!”

The weight of the blade in your hand is familiar, well balanced as you adjust the position of your feet on the piste.

“Prêtes?”

A cocky smirk appears on your opponent’s face, somehow not disguised behind the mask tinted with the Hungarian flag. It just sparks more determination inside you, fuelling a fire that will burn ‘till the very last point.

“Allez!”

You know she’s coming even before her body moves in a leap, the sabre twitching to surprise you with a low line attack. A quick step on the side is enough to gain the space you need for a clear defense, deflecting her blade away from the target and sliding your own on her back.

A red light turns immediately on, firing up your side of the fencing piste.

The referee gestures in your direction to confirm the touch, the score is now 10-13.

With not much time left to catch up to your opponent’s advantage before the end of the second period, the need to start another assault overcomes the joy of the successful hit.

Three points behind, you can’t concede anything, you know that, but every single person in the arena thinks you’re desperate to land as many touches as possible.

However, you’re not desperate.

You’ve never been desperate in your entire fencing career, and you’re not tonight, at the dusk of your Olympic experience.

For once, for this last dance with the gods and goddesses of the sports, it’s all about being present and enjoying every moment.

“Look, this could be us if you let me take you out on a date”

Barely awake to register your words and definitely not enough to deal with your overexcitement this early in the morning, Alexia just takes the phone you unceremoniously put on her face as soon as you spot her eyes opening.

The article on the screen reports about "the 9 couples who competed at the Olympics together and won" with great details and pictures. She’s definitely not going to read it.

“We don’t play the same sport”, she states.

“Not the point of the article”

“We don’t even compete for the same country”

“Still missing the point”, you roll your eyes unimpressed, knowing she’s once again just avoiding the topic.

Or trying to annoy you for the abrupt wake up.

“We’re not together–”

“Yet!”

The footballer isn’t able to hide the smile that rises on her lips, yours is always so contagious. She hands back the phone, turning on her side to face you properly. The light sheets now barely cover her body, exposing a couple of darkening marks.

Not letting your gaze wander is, ‘till this day, the greatest display of strength and self-control you had to perform.

And you came back from the Olympic Games just a couple of months ago.

“We’re not together yet ‘cus you don’t let us go out on a proper date!”

It’s Alexia’s turn to roll her eyes, but the redness that tints her cheek is much more difficult to hide than your disappointment.

The two of you meet a few times since the Closing Ceremony, both with medals hanging from your necks and a strange force in your chest pulling one towards the other – despite everything.

Despite the older woman insisting it can’t work.

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, you push her back onto the bed, sliding one leg over her body and successfully holding her hands above her head. The blush spreads on her face and your grin grows, but when you find her eyes, you make sure she knows you deeply mean what you’re saying.

“I just need a chance, Alexia”

“I’m–”

“Just give us a chance”

Fencing is a strange combat practice.

“En garde!”

Doesn’t matter how many times, how hard, or where you’re hit.

“Prêtes?”

You’re immortal.

“Allez!”

The only touch that kills you is the 15th one.

You launch yourself at the Hungarian girl, knowing that to win the game she just needs to land two more attacks or rely on your mistakes. She’s pushed to the very end of the piste, her sabre desperately circling around yours to defend her target, while her foot is moving quickly to avoid a step behind – a step that could mean one more point for you.

An idea comes up as you intentionally let your attack fall short, fooling your opponent to advance. Her front leg extends in a forward motion, pushing with the back foot to create more energy and gain space from the end line.

She’s exactly where you need her.

With a clean parry, deflecting her blade away, you successfully withdraw her line and gain right-of-way to attack. Now vulnerable and off balance, you just have to press the tip of your sabre on her shoulder.

The piste lights up with a vivid red and, a second too late, bright white reports her no valid touch.

11-13.

In your corner, your maestro is nodding his head slowly and suggesting you the next move with rapid motions of his hands.

Not a man of many words, someone could say, but you like him like that.

He knows exactly when to spur your competitiveness and hunger to win, when to keep your feet steady on the piste, and when to let you be.

“You know, I think I wasted my entire life”

Alexia moves her hands from your back to your shoulder, raising a sceptical eyebrow at your statements but now used – and resigned – to your questionable sense of humour.

“I’m made to be a wag”

As her head drops down and her eyes light up with pure amusement, you can’t help but think you want to be able to do this for the rest of your life. Managing to make her laugh so openly and carefree is still one of your biggest accomplishments.

“I have to say, you do look good”, the footballer points to the jersey you’re wearing, blushing a bit at the thought of her name on the back.

She can just hope you will not notice, blaming the effort the past 90 minutes demanded from her.

“Better do, I don’t know how much longer I can keep rocking Barça merch for”

“Good for you, there’s only one game left”

“Bold to you to assume I’m stopping at the Champions League, Putellas”, you reach out to drop one arm around her shoulders to hold the Catalan in an embrace you’re now really familiar with, “There’s a World Cup title to defend next year, I’ve already cleared my schedule”

Coming from a family of respected and accomplished athletes of the sport, the road ahead of you is marked out with the characteristic arch of a fencing blade since you’re old enough to hold the weapon properly.

Probably even before that, knowing your parents.

“En garde!”

The techniques of parring and thrusting, the movements of feet dancing on the piste, the special feeling of the blade as an extension of the body. You master all before you’re actually ready to admit the desire to make fencing a living, not just a passion passed on or a demanting hobby.

Hating the sport could have been so much easier, blaming the ‘nepo baby’ status either you succeeded or you turned out not to be up to it.

“Prêtes?”

But you love fencing.

“Allez!”

And you’re damn good at it.

A couple of steps into the assault, you take advantage of a moment of hesitation in the Hungarian’s preparation to perfectly timing your next move. Pushing from your front leg with impressive force, your body flies high to quickly cover the gap that divides the two of you. The jump allows you to deliver the attack slightly earlier than expected, striking your sabre against your target with no mercy.

The red light turns on as the crowds erupt in cheers, 12-13.

“Shouldn't I be the nervous one?”

Alexia’s hand finds yours before you’re even able to register her comment, stopping you from biting your nails off. She pulls it away and kisses your knuckles, keeping her eyes on your tense body.

The drive through the countryside’s streets is slow and calm, giving the footballer the time to appreciate the view but also a clear idea of how little you want to arrive at your parent’s villa.

A summer break under the Italian sun looks like a great idea, taking your girlfriend to your favourite hidden gems all around the country and finding together new places for new memories is just what you two need.

And it’s perfect, until your mother calls to invite you to spend the weekend with them.

“It can’t be that bad”

“You know my parents”

“I don’t, actually”, she argues, honest but not unkind.

It’s not like you don’t want Alexia to meet your family, she had bumped into them on several occasions and had brief conversations with them when their paths collided in your life.

A formal meeting though? Two entire days with your parents at their summer house? Sounds like hell to you.

“They’re going to be obnoxious and stern without reason”

“I can deal with them”

You stop at the side of a deserted road, too close to your destination for your own liking. Needing some time to prepare yourself and your girlfriend for the upcoming and unnecessary drama, the unplanned break looks like the best compromise over turning the car the other way altogether.

“I know you can deal with them, I don’t want you to”

That sounds wrong.

Alexia’s face contorts slightly, even if you’re perfectly aware she’s trying to understand you without just assuming you don’t want her to enter your family’s bubble.

“I’m not making any sense”, you state, taking a long breath in and relaxing at the feeling of the Catalan’s hand still holding yours.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to”

“No, I– Ale, my parents aren’t bad, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they are good. I told you what my childhood looked like. I had everything I’d ask for, and I’m grateful for that, but–”

When you meet her eyes you find complete support and desire to know how to take this pressuring weight out of your chest.

You never felt more cared for in your life.

“I met your family, I’ve been in your house. It feels like home, warm and lived, and– I can’t explain, but your family feels like a hug. My family?”, you scoff, trying to find the right words, “My family feels like a distant pat on the back on the good days. I don’t want you to feel like that, I want you to feel all my love”

She doesn’t let your hand go to gently hold your face with her free one, her thumb wiping away the traces of tears from your cheeks.

She makes sure to have all your attention, she makes sure to convey all her love for you.

“I’ll be your hug”

The protests of the younger opponent are cut short by the referee, who gestured for the two of you to take the centre of the piste.

“En garde!”

An old maestro, one of the unfortunates who had to train you when you were an annoying and reckless teenager, demanded from you absolute control of your reactions every time you landed a hit.

“Prêtes?”

You used to never celebrate any point but the last one.

“Allez!”

You don’t hold back anymore.

The Hungarian’s steps are now more calculated, jumping forward every now and then but keeping a fair distance from you and your sabre.

Fencing has taught you a lot about discipline and respect, you’re grateful for how much you’ve grown thanks to the sport. It was a long way from a tiny hyperactive kid, who just wanted to win and couldn’t accept any decision against it, to where you stand now.

Sometimes you still feel like that kid.

You hold your ground, you don’t rush the action just for the sake of it. Keeping up the pace of the assault, your blade finds the opponent’s one in rapid motions of attacks and responses without any real commitment to push for the point.

Other times you wish you were still that kid.

Suddenly, you both launch forward – aiming for a different target but with the same purpose. While she uses her front leg and an elusive movement of her arm to find your shoulder, your back leg slides and your body extends lower, trying to catch the other fencer by surprise.

The blades collide several times in a rapid succession of parries and responses until the piste lights up and you both pour out in celebration, claiming the touch.

You don’t hold back anymore, you have nothing to prove.

You don’t have to prove you’re worth your family’s name, you don’t have to prove you’re good enough to compete with the bests of the world in the biggest stages.

You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.

When both signals indicate the hit, it rests upon the referee to decide which fencer scores the point – retracing the entire action and giving their interpretation of it.

If they say the point isn’t yours, you have to accept the decision.

It goes without saying that you are not happy with it when the referee indicates your opponent when conferring the point.

12-14, it doesn’t look good for you.

Your pacing around the rooftop is frenetic, quite comical if seen from outside.

A gust of wind makes your exposed skin shiver, blowing your hair and completely ruining the intricate style you spend almost an hour on. It could also be your nervous hands making, but you’re not going to blame yourself for that too.

“Can you just stop?”

“No, Alexia, I cannot!”

The footballer covers the distance between the two of you in a few, determined steps. Her dress moves in a way that perfectly highlights the curve of her body and the definition of her muscles.

You could be fixed on your fiancé, devoting your attention completely to her, if you’d not be too preoccupied with freaking out.

“It’s not working”, you state.

“You really think that?”

Another shiver runs through your back, this time caused by the thought of the ending of your relationship with Alexia. Do you really think it’s over?

“We’re planning a wedding and we’ve never been in the same city at the same time for more than three consecutive months”

“Since when has that been a problem?”, she asks, holding you by your arms and never dropping her gaze, “We deal with the distance just fine. We go on dates and spend time together, we communicate and we are honest, we are there for each other when it matters”

“I want to be there when it doesn’t matter too”

“What does that even mean?”

The desire of stability and an everyday life that can grow into a future is something you both crave but are too scared to admit to the other.

“I want to be there when you’re back from training and you just want to watch a wild nature documentary, I want to be there for the daily and boring errands like doing the dishes or going to the supermarket just because we’re out of toilet paper”

It’s difficult to build your lives together far away from each other, to then meet and intertwine your paths, just to say goodbye and start all over again.

But the life you’re building is so beautiful.

A life that now looks like a carefully planned date in a stunning location, set up months in advance, or like a spontaneous surprise just because you have a free weekend and a pull from your heart that cannot be ignored.

But a life that soon will look like a walk out with a dog in the middle of the night because you forgot to do it after dinner, or like a weekly double date with your friends at the same restaurant.

A life that now looks like expensive gifts and flowers sent from a different country, but a life that soon will look like an electric bill with both your names on it.

A life that now looks like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time.

But a life that soon will still look like a shared calendar to make sure you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, exactly at the right time, just for completely different reasons.

A life you are already building, already living.

“Do you remember when you asked me to give us a chance? Well, now is my turn”

“Alexia, I–”

“Just give us a chance, amore mio”

“En garde!”

As a smirk reappears on the Hungarian’s face, you take a deep breath and remember your journey to this very fencing bout.

Your fourth Olympic Games, your fourth Individual Final for a medal.

“Prêtes?”

This could be a poker of victories or a bittersweet send off to the biggest sport stage.

“Allez!”

Sabre is the fastest and most aggressive of the three fencing disciplines, both parts rushing their opponent from the moment the referee commands to commence action. Just to secure a touch as soon as possible.

That’s why sabre fencers purposely take the defensive approach just in really particular situations.

You make a couple of steps forward, faking a lunge, as the young girl let her blade circle around yours without a real intention to engage. The exchange goes on like this far longer than you wish for, you know it’s a matter of moments before someone has to stir the combat.

Learning to understand when to attack and when to wait has been a challenge your entire life – not just professionally-wise. A maybe too talkative kid, a maybe too reckless teenager, a maybe too presumptuous woman.

Always maybe a little too much.

There’s a fairly big distance between the two of you, the Hungarian’s back leg shakes in subtle desire to close the gap and take the initiative.

It’s the hint you need.

Learning to understand your feelings and your emotions, accepting them as they are, doesn’t matter how strong or uncomfortable, has been the real challenge.

A battle you still fight against yourself, against your own mind. A battle no one can really see or comprehend.

You accelerate and move forward, stamping your front foot to the ground and extending your hand, both fainting an attack and disguising your defence stance. The motion is quickly followed by your opponent’s launch, but, tricked by the fast movement of your blade, she completely miscalculates the actual distance between your bodies.

She falls short, and, without time to recover, she has to take your punishment.

A battle you face with yourself, but with people in your corner ready to cheer for you despite the outcome.

Once again, the only light turning on is the red one – the score is now a compelling 13-14.

“Oh”

Looking up from the paperwork you’re proofreading, you notice how Alexia stops in the middle of your bedroom with a cup of coffee in one hand and a startstrucked gaze fixed on her face.

“We have to make another one!”, she whisper-shouts as she doesn’t seem able to look away from the baby currently sleeping in your arms.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but it’s too early for you to deal with your six-month old daughter’s fussing and your wife’s quite emotional state.

“We make another one”

“No, now hand me my coffee, please”, you lay the papers on the bed to make some grabbing gestures towards the cup – still in her very still, very far away hand.

“We have to replicate, we have to make another one”

“No, we really don’t”

“Look at her!”

You don’t look at her, finally reaching for your coffee as Alexia comes sitting next to you to gently caress the little girl’s face.

A smile rises on your lips, the picture of your growing family is always able to warm your heart and make up any doubts in your running mind.

Being loved and taken care of is not as hard as you thought it’d be.

It’s simple, it’s comforting.

It’s the hug she promised you, and you feel it wrapping all around your body when you need it the most, and also suddenly, out of nowhere and for no reason at all, in mornings like this one.

“She’s like a white rhino or the Amur leopard”, she doesn’t need to look at you to feel your raised eyebrow, “We fell asleep watching a documentary about the rarest and most critically threatened animals on the planet”

“I can’t leave the two of you alone unsupervised, never again”

“She’s rare, amore mio. We need to create more so the world could be a better place”

Holding back your laughs is getting more and more difficult, restrained just by the idea of waking up the baby still fast asleep. At least the Catalan is keeping her voice down as her enthusiasm runs wild.

As soon as she starts kissing her cheeks you know you’re done.

“Leave her alone, let her sleep”

“I can’t, look at her!”, she pumps your daughter’s nose with a finger, making her steer in your arms with a too-cute-for-your-own-good face.

She’s always reacting to Alexia’s soft touches and whispers.

Your wife’s basically tearing up at this point, too overwhelmed by the moment. At least you can blame the post partum hormones for your now emotional state.

The happiness you feel all around your home? That’s all Alexia’s making.

The crowd is loud and beaming, excited for the last tale of this fencing Individual Final and to see who will come out as the winner.

“En garde!”

A quick look at your maestro, he nods with his arms crossed. That will do.

“Prêtes?”

Breathing in and out, you savour every second of this as you find your position. A good preparation means everything in fencing. It’d make the difference in any moment of the assault, in any moment of the entire bout.

You learnt that a good preparation means everything in life too.

“Allez!”

The younger girl moves fast, launching herself forward as soon as the referee gives the go. But you’re prepared.

A good preparation gives you time to watch your opponent, ready to move in either direction you need to. You’re ready to move forward or take a step back, you’re ready to jump or to slide low. You’re ready to do everything you need to not get touched.

You’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing at the Olympic Games, you’re prepared for this to be your last time fencing all together.

The Hungarian tries to take you off balance with a quick sequence of attacks, going for the high hit and then aiming at your exposed target. You parry every single one, predicting her movement with impressive precision.

There are different ways to prepare – the posture, the speed, the steps can be varied, depending on the style of the fencer and on the opponent. There’s no right or wrong way. But you’re prepared for anything tonight.

When you see her going deep, you know how to move to anticipate her blade, rotating yours against it and leaving her target open just enough for you to breathe out and press the tip of the sabre in the middle of her chest.

The red light turns on before the green one, the score now announcing a draw at 14.

“This one looks comfortable”, you tap Alexia’s foot, waking her up efficiently from the nap you find her taking.

How can she manage to fall asleep in the most unhinged positions, it’s something you ask yourself to this day. Your daughter takes after her, obviously.

That’s how you find the two of them on the sofa with a National Geographic’s documentary on.

At least the girl immediately stirred up at hearing you coming back home after a couple hours out to run some boring errands.

“I was just resting my eyes”

“Sure”, you bend down smiling, kissing her forehead, “You have training in an hour, coach”

“Plenty of time”

A firm hand finds the back of your neck, holding you in place for a proper kiss. Alexia’s lips are soft and taste like fresh tomatoes and kid’s chapstick – the latter probably your daughter’s doing.

Said daughter now alone and unsupervised in the kitchen.

You reluctantly pull back from the Catalan, leaving a light peck at the tip of her nose as soon as she frowns unhappily about the loss of contact.

“You used to like me”, she complains.

“Good old days, mi amor”

Eleven seconds left may be the entire time of a race or may count nothing in some other sports. In fencing, eleven seconds may be the longest time ever or not quite enough at all for a point.

You’re not going to drag this into the final round.

“En garde!”

Breathe in.

“Prêtes?”

Breathe out.

“Allez!”

Smile.

As soon as the referee gives the go, you rush forward with your hand held back – quite a vulnerable move if not for the four metres distance the starting positions guarantee. You bounce a couple steps, staying very high against the Hungarian’s low stance, building speed and momentum to lunge upwards without giving her any clear clue of what type of attack you’re going to choose.

Your blade slides on the target before she has time to realise where you actually hit.

There’s no doubt, no hesitation.

The red light turns on in what feels like the longest time ever, the crowd erupts in cheers, and the mask falls off your head as you celebrate like never before in your entire career.

Taking the centre of the piste, you point your sabre in a really specific direction, aiming at a very specific person.

Two, actually.

You mimic a bow and the audience goes wild.

It’s for none but the two people you can’t keep your teared up eyes off.

After that, it’s all a blur.

Saluting the opposition and the referee is a natural gesture. You manage to give the younger fencer your sincere compliments and some words of advice she takes more gracefully than you could have ever done at her age.

Your maestro holds you in a big hug, he says it’s been an honour, and you will not start doubting him now.

Someone drags you for a quick interview, asking questions you have been asked your entire life. You answer sincerely, but the desire to get this over with as soon as possible is clear as the smile on your face.

“It’s a bronze medal, how do you feel about it?”

“Honestly? I think this is the most important and beautiful of them all”, you politely say your goodbyes to run in the opposite direction.

Finding Alexia has always been easy, your eyes lock in the middle of full rooms despite everything and everyone. A warm hug envelops your body when you’re close enough to fall into her open arms, feeling tiny hands holding onto you at the same time.

“We’re so proud of you, amore mio”

“Thank you, for the chance”

fine.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #ap11 #here we go again #espwnt #spain women's national team #sefutbolfem

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singstaircase · 4 months ago

Text

Come What May - LH, Social Media AU

Summary: Their relationship has always been an interesting one. Fifteen years together, break up before one of their lives' most significant events, gold medal, a ring– and the rest is, as they say, history.

okay so bear with me on this. In this universe, Motorsports is an Olympic sport and we can figure out how it would work later but for now– 1) road race is your normal race, 2) there's going to be an event called Time Trial, similar to cycling and 3) Team Pursuit is a team event.

This is my first time doing something like this, I hope you enjoy!

Shock Split?! British MotorSporting Power Couple Call It Quits After 15 Years Ahead of Olympics Showdown

In an unexpected twist that has left fans and insiders confused, Britain's beloved sporting duo, Lewis Hamilton and [Name], have reportedly ended their 15-year relationship just months before they are set to compete together in the upcoming Olympics.

The couple, known for their remarkable chemistry both on and off the field, have been a fixture in the British sports scene.

Sources close to the pair reveal that the split has been brewing for some time...(read more)

Press Conference [Update] Silverstone, 16 June

Due to unforseen circumstances, Lewis Hamilton and [Name] will do separate interviews at 19:20.

(Name)_GB

Liked by teamgb, georgerussell63 and 966,419 others

(Name_GB) First time in the Olympics!!! Hoping to make everyone proud.

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pattyVAX no mention of Lewis. It's so over.

sunsetseb65 Not even a single pic either, they usually have pictures together in every situation.

f1gossip

Liked by gridgossip and 11,892 others

f1gossip First 'public appearance' of (Name) and Lewis Hamilton outside of their work since the alleged break up at the first round match of Rafael Nadal.

Notably, both came separately and sat away from each other 👀.

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A exclusive clip from Paris 2024 Podcast 02.08.2024– Hosted by Cristina Lindemann

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CL: So, we have to talk about the elephant in the room if you will.

N: The break up? (Laughs)

CL: Only if want to though!

N: No, don't worry about. (Clears throat) Yes, it's true, we ended our relationship at the beginning of June.

We thought about a lot of things– our future, career and thought this was the best decision for now.

We ended on a good note so please don't go harass Lewis. But, um that's what happened. Maybe it'll change in the future, who knows. (Laughs)

gridgossip

Liked by f1gossip and 2,741 others

gridgossip [Name] ditches ex-boyfriend and teammate to watch fellow brits Louise Brown and Oliver Bearman. Looking very happy while doing so.

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HollandTRasH Did you expect them to look angry or sad while watching her compatriots?

Kimipublicist Oh it's so over. It's never been more over.

bellaISdead are they even gonna do the final together or?

British Duo to Withdrawal Because of Relationship Drama?

....Our sources informed that they former couple, along with their team and TeamGB representatives held a 'crisis meeting' last night to discuss about the Team Pursuit Final and possible withdrawal from the event. (read more)

WATCH: (Name) confirms participation in the final amid withdrawal fear

British driver (Name) confirms plan to participate in Team Pursuit Final of the very first edition of Motorsports in Summer Olympic games.

They refused to comment on the alleged crisis meeting and the hand-shaking incident.

Olympic TV 2 hours ago

Team Pursuit Final | MotorSport (Open-wheel Track) | Olympic Games Paris 2024

(Name)’s hand doesn't leave Lewis’. It remains locked together, even at the podium as they wait for their medals.

They swing their hands together in excitement as the Dutch team receives their medals. Lewis can't help but smile at this, a glimmer of what they used to have still visible in his eyes.

“Ready?” Lewis asks as the announcer starts to announce them in French. (Name) turns to him and nods.

“–Great Britain!” (Name) and Lewis jump onto the podium together as the sounds of the excitement of the crowd fills the track.

Their locked hands remain a constant, even as they're waving at the excited crowd.

For the photo, Lewis, ever the showman, lifts (Name) into his arms. She lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck for support.

Cameras flash, capturing the moment and for a fleeting instant, it feels like nothing changed.

The national anthem begins to play. As the familiar words fill the air, (Name) feels a lump form in her throat. The culmination of years of hard work and sacrifice, hit her all at once. Tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Lewis notices immediately. He gently takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He leans in close. "Hey, it's okay,” he says, his voice soft and warm, “We did it. We made it."

(Name) nods, biting her lip to keep from crying.

The anthem continues, and she found herself leaning into Lewis' comforting presence. Despite everything, they are still here for each other, just as they always been. And that's enough for now.

As the final notes of the anthem fade away, the camera moves from the flags to where (Name) and Lewis are standing; holding hands and basking in the glow of their victory.

🏎️ nighttimeday Follow

(Name) and Hamilton Win Olympic🥇

About their relationship

(Name): “That’s our personal lives you don’t need to know that”

Hamilton: “So this is top secret. Top secret.”

(Name): “We like it when you are confused!”

Hamilton: “Exactly. That’s how we feel powerful.”

🎥: IOC

#yeah they are definitely back together #paris olympics 2024 #motorsports

(5,198 notes)

(Name_GB)

Liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 2,971,123 others

(Name_GB) Thank you for this and more, partner 💕

View all 10,788 comments

lewishamilton ❤️

usergayce yep, they are back together

pattyVAX WE ARE SO BACK

f1gossip • 2 hours ago

lewishamilton & (Name_GB) • 15 minutes ago

This was inspired by Katerina Siniakova and Tomas Machac and whatever the hell happened between them.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 social media au #f1 smau #social media au #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x you #instagram au #instagram imagine

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hairmetal666 · 4 months ago

Text

It's a fluke that Eddie ends up a gymnast. Wayne only signs him up for summer classes at Hawkins's tumbling gym to burn off his excess six-year-old energy. Nobody, lest of all Eddie or Wayne, expects him to be talented at it.

And now, somehow, he's at his first ever elite gymnastics competition. His coaches all said he was good, but he hadn't really had a frame of reference for what that meant. Not until now. Not until he's in 3rd place after high bar, right behind Steve Harrington.

They tumbled together, as little kids. Steve a tiny boy with an absurd pompadour, monopolizing the mats for insane tumbling passes and lording his high-end competition shirts over the other kids (none of the rest even wore actual gymnastics gear; they were six and it was Hawkins).

Now, he's a swaggering fifteen year old with the same pompadour and bad attitude. They're not on the same rotation, but as Eddie moves on from his floor exercise, Steve makes a point to ram into him.

Eddie doesn't react and maybe that would've been the end of it, but he ends up placing, and Steve corners him in the locker room.

"Come to congratulate me?" Eddie smirks.

"You better watch your back, Munson." Steve shoves him into the lockers.

"I knew you were an asshole, Harrington, but I didn't realize you were a sore loser."

Steve leans close, heat melting into Eddie. "You better count yourself lucky you've gotten this far. Not really a sport for poor kids."

Eddie bristles at this. Yeah, sure, his gear is secondhand, and he and Wayne learned how to sew to mend his competition shirts, gymnastics pants, and warmups, but they work hard, together, for Eddie to do this. "Don't worry about how I afford to be here." Eddie checks him as he brushes past. "Just fix those wobbly flairs on pommel."

The rivalry is hot and fierce and mean, made even worse by the fact that Eddie has an enormous hate-boner for Harrington. It's not, Eddie reasons, his fault. He's gay and surrounded by guys whose bodies are honed for a sport based on strength, endurance, and agility, Steve the most beautiful of all. So he looks, and he longs, and he hates Harrington with every fiber of his being.

Eddie's sure this would continue for their competitive lives, but everything changes the summer before their junior years of high school. They're at a training camp, the kind for world champion, Olympic hopeful types. Steve is practicing ring dismounts when he loses himself in the air, lands hard off the mat, destroys something in his knee. He needs surgery, the recovery time 6-8 months, if he's lucky to be able to compete again.

Maybe a year ago, Eddie would be excited by this development, but now it's kind of devastating. He doesn't bother examining why.

Steve comes back and he's--different. His first competition, he comes up, asks, "Eddie, hey, can we talk?" And, well, they've never been on a first name basis before and Steve is so so pretty, so he agrees.

"I just want to say, I'm sorry how I treated you back before. I was a real piece of shit and you never deserved it."

Eddie truly doesn't know how to respond, never foresaw this day coming. "Thanks. Uh--yeah. Thanks."

They stare at each other for a few seconds longer before Steve taps him on the shoulder and walks away.

It's not the only thing that's changed about Steve. There's this big group of feral children that follow him around everywhere now. Apparently, Harrington told them Eddie plays dnd and now they follow him around too.

He also. Has a girlfriend now. She's pretty; delicate looking. Her name is Nancy. And she's nice, or whatever. Eddie definitely isn't jealous. It's just. He's been with Steve in locker rooms for years, and he thought--well, he'd seen the way Harrington's eyes sometimes lingered on a bicep, a well-cut thigh, the intrigue of a pelvic v, and he thought--not that it matters, but he thought--

Anyway, Steve has a girlfriend.

---

They're at the winter classic, when it happens.

Eddie is doing good. Like. Really good. Like his routines, they're not flawless, but he's hitting the big skills and sticking landings, and stays in 2nd throughout the majority of the rotations.

It's not a huge shock when he finishes his final rotation, vault, and winds up finishing in 2nd. What is a shock, though, is that, when the scores go up, Steve is wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist, hoisting him into the sky. And, even after he's back on solid ground, Harrington doesn't loosen his hold.

And it's, like. Nothing, right? It's nothing because he has a girlfriend and, sure, maybe he's bi, but that doesn't stop Nancy from existing.

He's not going to think about it, is the thing. He knows it doesn't mean anything, so he isn't going to dwell. It's definitely not all he thinks about during the podium ceremony, or after when he talks to media, or even later walking into the empty locker room.

Or. He thought it was empty. But Steve is there, smiling, saying "you were amazing out there."

They hug again, and Eddie tries not to enjoy the warmth of Harrington's body, the comforting strength of his toned biceps. Eddie pulls back and Steve is--he's so close, gazing at Eddie's lips and--

Steve's mouth is hot and sweet, like he's wearing cherry chapstick, and Eddie can't--he thinks of Nancy; she's nice, doesn't deserve this, they should stop--

But he's sucking on Steve's tongue and Steve is making the sweetest sounds, hard against Eddie's thigh, and nothing else matters.

---

It goes on for months.

Eddie knows he needs to end it, vows to as soon as they're apart.

It all goes out the window as soon as they're together again. He can't get enough. It's Steve. How is he supposed to resist?

(He needs to. It's horrifying, what they're doing to Nancy)

---

The children who follow Steve around invite him to dinner after the first day of the USA gymnastics championships.

Nancy is there.

It's the worst three hours of his life. He can't look at Steve, can barely speak to him.

Nancy is beautiful and smart and kind and strong. She doesn't deserve any of this.

And when Steve drops by his hotel room hours later, Eddie greets him by saying, "I can't do this anymore."

Steve's shoulders drop, eyes squeezing shut. "Right. Yeah, I--Yeah."

"I like you, Steve. A lot. But I can't--you have a girlfriend. And I can't keep being whatever this is for you."

Steve nods, won't meet his eyes. "You're right. It's not fair to either of you. I--My parents expect--And I--I'm sorry," he whispers the last part.

Eddie smiles, heart aching. "Sweetheart. I get it. But. Figure out your shit, yeah? Maybe then we can talk?"

The smile Steve flashes him is a broken thing. "Maybe. Sure."

And that's it.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

The next day, he wins first in the all-around.

---

He and Steve stop speaking.

Somewhere around, ohh, the very first time they hooked up, he caught feelings. So sue him if it kills him, seeing Steve at every competition.

They don't speak again until the Olympic trials. And isn't that ridiculous? Eddie at the Olympic trials. It's such an insane pipe dream, being an Olympian, that he doesn't actually have any expectations whatsoever.

So knock him over with a feather when he fucking makes it on the team.

And so does Steve.

The announcement rings out, and Steve is there, out of nowhere, pulling Eddie into his arms. And Eddie's so hyped, so excited, that he just shouts and hugs Steve right back.

He pretends the proximity, the musk of Steve's cologne, the tangy saltiness of his sweat, doesn't bother him, doesn't transport him immediately back to Steve's bed.

They're teammates now; he can keep it casual.

Right before they leave for the games, news breaks that Steve and Nancy have broken up.

---

The Team competition at the fucking Olympics is going well. They've had good routines, with no huge errors, stay consistently within the top 5 scores. But then they're on the last rotation, parallel bars, and he's the very last competitor to go. They'll win bronze if he can score above 14.933.

But

He's inconsistent on parallel bars, always has been, something deep and psychological he can't quite let go of, and now their medal chances are all on him.

He salutes the judges, jumps into his starting position--and his mind goes quiet. Muscle memory, skill, years of training take over--he's flawless.

Eddie sticks his dismount, and the place erupts. He doesn't have a score yet, doesn't know if he's done it, but the rest of the team screams like he has.

They pull him into their arms, but Steve is closest, his grip the tightest. Their eyes keep catching, holding, and Eddie can't really breathe but he doesn't think it's the anxiety or the excitement.

The score goes up.

Not only is it high enough for bronze, it puts them in silver.

Eddie has barely a second to process before he's being hoisted into the air, Steve's arms bracing him up. The crowd's going crazy, his teammates screaming and hugging him, each other, but all he sees is Steve beaming up at him.

He's slowly lowered to the ground, Steve's arms still around him. "You were perfect, baby," Steve whispers. "Never seen anyone like you."

He wishes he could stay right there, Steve beaming at him, but they won the silver--they won the silver at the goddamn Olympics--and they have to get medals, do interviews.

They don't have a chance to be alone together until they're back at the Village, where Steve is just waiting in Eddie's room when he gets back.

"Is this okay?" Steve asks. "I wanted to talk to you and Jason let me in, but I can--I'll leave."

"Please don't." Eddie swallows. "Stay."

Steve smiles, a little. "I needed to tell you that I'm sorry for what I did to you and Nancy. It was unfair to both of you. I love her, you know? But she's not who--I'm not in love with her."

"No?"

"No. I thought it would make my parents happy, settling down with a nice girl. But it turned out it didn't actually make a difference to them, who I dated. And she isn't who I wanted to be with."

"I'm proud of you for figuring out what you really wanted. It's brave."

"I wish I could've been brave earlier." He gives a little laugh. "Before I hurt you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He wishes the same thing.

"Um, which is also why I'm here." Steve plucks at the waistband of his Team USA Nike joggers. "I wanted to see if maybe we could try again? Officially this time?"

Eddie can't keep his smile from taking over his entire face. "Sweetheart, I would love to."

"Yeah?"

And Eddie just--after all this time, he just--pulls Steve into his arms and kisses him. The silver medals, still around both of their necks, clink together with the force, but neither of them really care.

Steve sighs, nuzzles his nose to Eddie's. "Missed you so bad," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Eddie smiles. "But kiss me a while."

Eventually, they fall back onto Eddie's bed, which makes a horrible noise as their combined weight topples onto it, and they break apart to laugh. Steve smooths back his hair, wrapping a few fingers through his curls to keep Eddie close, even though he's not about to go anywhere.

"Can't believe we made it all the way here." Steve's looking at him like he hung the moon

"Cause we're taking medals home?"

"Honey," he laughs. "Because I'm taking you home."

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