#kick his ass prue! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandom-imagination-ss · 3 years

Text

Imagine: Being Life long friends with Sam and meeting Bucky unexceptionally when your in the middle of a life crisis

Being Sam Wilson best friend, and his family and your being family friends made your life fun growing up. It was like having a brother- but a brother you could send away too his home when you wanted too be more “girly” and play with his sister Sarah. Growing up with Sam it was a adventure he always got you in trouble. But it made life Fun.

You were one of the billions of people who Blimped. However when you returned. You were stunned too learn your husband Not only remarried but was married too the opposite sex of what you are. And that was a Curve ball you weren’t expecting. You and his new Partner fought for a week over who was the home wrecker. He stated you were since you were whipped from existence, while you said He was. Since you married your dum dum of a husband first. In the end your husband said he wasn’t going back too you.

Honestly you were relieved- you were having issues before you disappeared and you simply said that you wanted your stuff and you would leave... that’s when he informed you that he sold your stuff within a Week of dissapearing and giving your Favorite panda bear teddy bear too the neighbor who had a girl who was now five years old. You were MORE upset about the Teddybear then the marriage, or your stuff being Gone. Mr. P (your trusted companion thru out your life) has been their for you Thur heartbreak, the ups and the down. And you ere heartbroken that he gave up hope so quickly. But Mr. P being gone was the last straw.

luckily the neighbor understood and felt pity that you returned too Nothing and your husband left you for a man. And that you didn’t have a Job anymore. And basically had the cloths on your back and the few pieces of shirts you took from your husband. So they gave you back Mr. P.. who was missing a eye now and smelt of someone else. It didn’t smell like you and it made your return home too your parents depressing.

Sam was gone, he was blimped. Your friend Sarah was left with two little kids as you helped out. But when you got the divorce papers seeing your no good of a husband was claiming abandonment and wanting everything. You snapped. And you went too Europe for the summer.

Traveling, the food, the culture. Yu were Never alone in bed. It was a well needed mental break, No responsibility, No husband, No drama, just a break from reality. Then you returned home too see Sam was back. Captain America was Gone, and your life came crashing back. Fun was over. Time too restart your entire life.. and try too move on with your life.

Sam returned home as you and him had a few beers after work. Talking about life, the Avengers, Europe. (Most stories were glazed over. Mainly because you didn’t want too talk about the string of lovers you left behind in Europe that wasn’t you. You weren’t the sort of person too kiss or tell. Plus Sam was struggling he wasn’t mentioning it out loud but the lost of Tony Stark, and Now Steve he’s close friend in Washington it took a toll on your friend.

you use too ask about the Winter soldier The hot mysteries Killer who just Dissapeared and then was helping the avengers with the battle of basically life. Sam said he was a ass and that he wans’t much. You disagreed saying the mystery man was Hot. Which only made him question your values.

Sneaking over too the Wilson family was a common thing, you always walk right in, and they do vise versa. Today you got in early with a box of donuts from your mom shop you got up at 4 am too bake them as you got inside exhusted from your short shift it was almost eight am. As you got in seeing the boys were playing with a Captain America shield you walked over seeing someone sleeping on the sofa. Stepping over looking at it, ‘Holly crap that looks so real.”

“it is! Uncle Sam brought it over.”

“Shut up!” The youngest handed it too you as you held it. It was lighter then you imagined as you three played with it until you heard a deep voice. “Hey”

The three of you turned seeing the man awake he had a smile on his face as he waved at the three of you as you gasped, “Scatter!” The boys bolted as you put the shield down as you spoke, “Sorry-..” putting the shield down you spoke up, “I’m Y/N... ugh... sorry i walked in on the boys playing with it and- i couldn’t help myself.” He chuckled weakly shifting up as he said No worry as Sam walked into the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N” he reached over kissing your cheek it was a common greeting you both had. Since you were seven. You smield saying hey as he spoke, “what’s going on here? Your face is all red?”

Laughing weakly you shook your head, “Nothing! Nothing hey where is Sarah?”

“Not here- she went too the boat i think.”

You groaned hearing that. You were just at the docks at her boat looking for her- she wasn’t there. “No i was just there-“

“Sorry- oh so you meet?”

Shaking your head, “no- i mean i gave my name. He didn’t give his.”

Sam spoke, “good lets keep it that way.” You rolled your eyes, ‘your a prue gent Sam.” He rolled his eyes as the man chuckled as he spoke ‘I’m Bucky.”

Smiling at him Sam spoke, ‘hey- so.. Don’t mention the shield okay.”

he nudged his head at the shield that was leaning against the wall as you shook your head, “didn’t see a thing.. it’s not the real one is it?”

“yea- long story.”

you gasped gripping his arm, “Will I meet one of the Avengers? If I the Avengers are involved I’m going home too change out of my floured covered shirt.”

“No- No this is just Steve stuff.”

you meet Steve and even commented too Sam (when Steve went home) that if you weren’t married you would drool over Steve But at last.. you were married and couldn’t. But he was Fun too look at.

You nodded your head, “okay. Just- dont break it! With playing with it.”

Bucky grinned hearing that, you soon left as Bucky spoke, “So who’s that?”

“Family friend, she’s the kids godmother. And she’s like a sister so No flirting with her!’

“she’s not your special friend?” Bucky grinned seeing how he kissed her when he arrived as Sam spoke “gross No1 she’s like a sister she’s my best friend growing up she’s sensitive leave her alone.”

Later that day you arrived too Sarah’s Boat seeing Sam and Bucky were fixing it up for Her. As you walked over too the boat staying on the docks. Staring up at the two. they were having a drink as Bucky noticed you instantly wearing a plaid oversized shirt, some jean shorts that were covered in flour a grey -T shirt under the open plaid shirt and a grey hat. You wore sneaks as he smiled brightly, “hey Y/N.”

Smiling up at him saying Hey as Sam turned seeing you, “Yo Y/N what’s up?”

“where is your sister?! I haven’t seen her all day! It’s a small town!”

Sam rolled his eyes, “if you just carried a Phone you could joint the 21st century and Text her.”

Rolling your eyes at that. You stopped carrying your phone once you return from Europe mainly because you were getting Way too many text’s from the one night stands and everyone you wanted too talk too- you saw all day. You knew you should carry it for security and safety reasons. Plus playing music while you are alone in the morning working at the bakery would be nice. But you just keep forgetting. “I shouldn’t have too! She’s always other three places!”

Sam didn’t have the energy too fight but Bucky asked why you needed her so badly. As you spoke, “oh- Me and Sarah had planned something for tonight and I needed help with something nothing major I’ll keep looking for her-“

“Y/N!”

you all turned seeing Strewart dash over too you saying he had the fireworks . Which made you smile brightly, “seriously? “

“why you need fireworks?” Sam called out as you waved him off saying he would see later. You and Strew dashed off. Bucky couldn’t help but grin seeing you so gleeful.

“Hey- Stop looking at her-‘ Sam spat as Bucky chuckled softly saying okay.

It took you all day too find Sarah and too Get the “ritual” all set in motion. The Only thing your no good for husband had was your wedding dress. Mainly keep it because it was so exprience and he let he’s new Love wear it for a drag show. (The top was stained with makeup and it was in desperate need of some TLC ) but you got it.

Sarah suggested you just get ride of it. Which was such a marauded response. Get Ride of it? You couldn’t bar the thought of it being worn by anyone else. And the fact your husbands lover wore it. And ruined it. Made you decided too burn it. Too fully start anew.

your mom wasn’t thrilled with that idea. But Sarah was soon convinced espically seeing that the ball gown dress took majority of your closest.

it was her sons idea too attach it too a firecracker and fling it up into the air. And set it off. Which was a perfect idea.. which wasn’t very realistic So instead you figured. Fireworks by the water, and a huge Fire on the beach burning your dress and burning everything you had left of your former life.

Sam didn’t care one way or another that you did all this. He never personally liked your husband. By the time the fireworks were done, the parents went home and Sara’s kids went home which meant she went home. So Sam, Bucky and yu were sitting around the fire having drinks as you watched your dress burn.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked as you looked up too see him As he’s eyes brow frowned looking a t you, “you alright?”

nodding your head weakly you took a big gulp of beer as Sam spoke, “Hey maybe you should slow down.”

Shaking your head as you spoke, “I’m being reborn. Tonight Sammy.. No more stupid husband. i am officially Miss Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N again! I dont feel guilty anymore.”

“what you have too feel guilty for?” Sam said as you shook your head, “it wasn’t working before i dissapeared. Honestly we fought all the time. He was so controlling and demanding. LIke remember when i said that Winter soilder dude was incredibly Hot?” Sam chuckled as Bucky was stunned as he spoke “yea i remember you mentioning it.”

“that Jack ass- got so jealous. And of Steve! He kicked me out one night just because I had lunch with him and you.- that guy was a jackass and who gives up on their love after a week?” taking another drink you looke d at Bucky you were Far passed just a little tipsy. You didn’t care how drunk you got. Sam was here. And you were safe. “Would you give up on me. If we were in love? After a week?”

Bucky took a drink of his beer debuting on his answer mainly because he was worried he was overstepping on something between you and Sam. “No” he finally said as he spoke, “No i wouldn’t..” you nodded your head as you reached over patting his shoulder, “that’s because your a true gentleman!” He chuckled as Sam spoke, “okay.. your clearly drunk if your calling him a gentlemen.”

you laughed as you spoke, “i may be drunk Sir! But i can tell a gentlemen when i see one-“ you got up as you stumbled as Bucky swooped up fast catching you as you grabbed his arms. Feeling the hard metal arm as you chuckled weakly. “Hey you got a metal arm like that incredibly hot guy.” He chuckled as he went too talk but you patted his face, “you know- I told Sam the guy probably didn’t have enough hugs growing up.. you know your suppose too get ten hugs a day? Doctors prove it helps-“ you stumbled again as Bucky spoke, ‘I’m sure that’s it.” You chuckled as Sam got up, “Okay Y/N time too go home.”

“okay.... hey your getting blurry-“ and with that you passed out. Bucky grabbed you before you fell down as Sam sighed, “she’s having a hard time adjusting— I’ll carry her-“

“I got her.. lead the way.”

Sam didn’t argue he iddn’t really want too carry you all the way home.he could do it. But Bucky wouldn’t stugggle as much. Plus he was slightly tipsy and wasn’t sure he could carry you- without dropping you.

Sam let you all into your house. As Bucky carried you too your room. As Sam followed seeing how Odd how careful Bucky was with you. When you settled into your bed you mumbled something as Bucky covered you up As he smiled too himself before turning and leaving with Sam.

Sam watched as they left.

“So she doesn’t knwo about me huh?”

“No- thought i can’t wait too tell her tomorrow” Sam stated as Bucky grinned weakly. He couldn’t wait too see you tomorrow

#bucky barns imagine #bucky barns #fandom imagine #imagine #marvel imagine #tfatws #tfatws imagine #the felcon and the winter soilder imagine #the felcon and the winter soilder #Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson imagine

37 notes · View notes

ansel-posen · 3 years

Text

After Marion’s death, Ansel discovered he liked to break things.

Bones, specifically.

This discovery hadn’t happened necessarily by chance, or, perhaps it did. All he knew was that one night, not too long after his sister’s death, when Frieda had been unreachable in her own chasm of despair - locked in her room refusing to eat or drink or say anything - when their parents had been on go mode and then so resolutely and decidedly not after Marion’s death had been ruled a homicide, Ansel had gotten pitifully drunk in the way that boys get drunk: where they want to be loud and rowdy and fucking punch things. Ansel felt he had untapped reserves of anger in him - of a rage and grief that threatened to spill over and choke him. He had to do something. So he started drinking.

He remembers getting a text from a number he didn’t know at the time - certainly a number he didn’t have in his phone. All the message had contained was an address somewhere uptown and it didn’t take anything at all for Ansel to say fuck it. Why the hell not? What else did he have to do? What else could he do? He texted their family driver, hopped in the blacked out Escalade upon its arrival, and twenty minutes later, he was looking up at PS 154.

A public school.

“What the fuck,” Ansel slurred, rolling the window down and sticking his head out to get a better look. Definitely a fucking public school. He was meditating on whether he should just tell the driver to take him and the car back home and pick up some tacos on the way when his phone buzzed again.

Enter from the side. Two flights of stairs down. You can’t miss it.

Ansel closed his eyes, deliberating. He was too fucking drunk for this, and yet, his mind was clouded with the surety, the goldenness of youth. Even Marion’s death hadn’t tainted that for Ansel. Nothing could possibly go wrong, he thought, and even if it did, he knew how to defend himself. He knew how to fight. And also, it was just a school. Children went here. He figured he would at least get out of the car, check out the entrance. No harm in that.

Only he didn’t just get out of the car, or check the entrance. He found himself pushing open the door, taking a look around. The lights were on, but dimmed down, giving the walls and tiled floor a distinctly yellow wash of color that, frankly, was not welcoming at all. But he’d come this far, he reasoned to himself, and saw the stairs directly across from him. Why the fuck not. He took them down, two flights, going at a slight jog, skipping over every other step.

When he reached the bottom, it was like quite suddenly, jarringly, the volume turned all the way up, and he heard the shouting, the cheering, coming somewhere to his left two doors down. He followed it, the voices, the thumping bass of hip hop music layered underneath, and when he stopped, pausing, in the doorway, there was a second where he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at, and he swayed on his feet.

“There he is!” A deep voice rang out, only somewhat discernable over the din of shouting and music, and hands pulled him further into the room, which was low ceilinged, washed in blue and green light, with a whiter, brighter light in the center, which was where the majority of the room’s occupants stood in a wide circle.

“What -” Ansel blinked, looking around, and suddenly the hands on him had a face: another boy, slightly taller than him, but… weedier, almost, thinner, with a shock of blond hair on his head and a shadow of stubble on his cheeks and chin. His eyes were steadfastly gray.

“Didn’t think you’d come in,” the boy said, grinning, letting his arm drop from around Ansel’s shoulders. He reached into the pocket of his cut off denim shorts and pulled something out, pressing it into Ansel’s hands, which didn’t quite recognize the exchange of goods at first; he nearly dropped it.

“Tape for your hands,” the boy continued, giving him a serious sort of nod, but the grin remained in place on his mouth. “You’re up next, so I’d get to doing that. And - Prue!” Suddenly a girl with raven black hair and eyes just as dark appeared on his right, startling Ansel so bad he nearly dropped the roll of tape again. He clutched it to his chest, unsure of anything, suddenly, as the girl - Prue - gently tugged it from his hands and gestured for him to hold his hands out for her.

He did, and they were shaking. She laughed, as did the boy.

“Be right back. Another shot, I think?” he said with eyebrows raised before disappearing into another smaller group of people congregating next to what looked like a makeshift bar of some kind in the back of the room.

“The fuck is this place?” Ansel finally asked, as Prue firmly wrapped tape over his knuckles.

“A school,” she said, with the same smirk her predecessor had worn before he’d left them. “Ha ha, very funny,” Ansel retorted, but Prue said nothing else, simply judged her work on his hands with a keen eye before letting him go and nudging him towards the crowd in the center of the room. He turned towards her to say something else, to demand an actual answer, maybe, but she had gone. Of course.

“Here you go.” The boy’s reappearance should have been more shocking to Ansel, but suddenly it very much decidedly wasn’t, and he took what was offered this time without question or complaint: a shot of something that went down burning and smoky in his mouth, but which instantly made him feel surer. Stronger, if that even made sense. It was just some kind of whiskey, he knew that, but since he’d already started off the night drinking, Ansel figured it couldn’t hurt to have a little bit more.

He’d been right and wrong about that.

He remembers the boy slapping him on the back, against his spine between his angel bones, and then the boy had slipped between the people in the circle and stood there, in the empty center of it, the bright light hitting him square in the chest - which, Ansel suddenly realized with a focused clarity was bare - and held his arms out, spinning slowly in a circle. The boy seemed completely at home here, as did the group that circled him. There was the taste of anticipation in the air, as if everyone were holding their breath, waiting for something.

Ansel hadn’t realized at the time that that something had been him.

“We are joined tonight,” the boy began, still revolving slowly, as if he wanted to take the time to meet as many pairs of eyes as he could, “by someone who needs this as much as the rest of us. His sister was murdered, and so far the police don’t have any leads.” There was a murmuring then, and Ansel felt himself momentarily leave his body. What the fuck was going on? “I expect all of you to be kind and gracious hosts to our newest member. You all know how the initiation process goes. Prue?”

And there she was again, the girl who’d wrapped his hands for him, standing next to the boy. She was shorter than him, skin pale as cream. Her hair was tied up and away from her face, which looked out into the crowd. She almost looked bored, though that grin was still set lightly on her lips. Once again, Ansel felt it: anticipation. But for what?

“Ansel, if you could join us, please?”

He hadn’t realized that his feet had begun to propel him forward or that the crowd seemed to just part for him until he was standing next to Prue, looking down at her with an eyebrow quirked in askance. But she said nothing, just gave him what he could have sworn was a fucking wink, and faced forward again.

“Go easy on him, Prue,” the boy said, stepping back into the circle, melting in, and they laughed in response.

Prue did not go easy on him, but looking back, Ansel realized that that had been the point. She’d kicked his ass in the basement of that public school while people cheered her on and drank and danced and yelled and laughed, while the music played on heavily and people lit joints and took shots and mixed drinks and the green and blue and white light colored their skins and hair and inside of their mouths, their teeth. By the time Ansel had even thought to maybe, perhaps, hit her back, the fight had been over, and he was bleeding and he’d never felt more fucking free and alive in his entire life.

He couldn’t wait to fucking go back, which he did, and had been, for the last five years, several nights a week. He’d learned to fight properly, knew who benefited from a little riling up before the first swing landed, learned who he could have a few drinks with before and after and who he needed to stay sober for, learned how hard and how fast to jab and duck and aim and kick. He learned to take a beating, how to take a good beating, how to pay the favor back in kind. Ansel loved the bruises on his knuckles, loved a good blooding, and had eventually initiated his own picks into the group. His muscles grew sleek and smooth, the hollows on his face more pronounced with his defiance. The light came back into his eyes and he learned how to laugh again. He learned how to live.

Of course, he never talked about it.

That was the first and only rule.

#( ansel x intro )#( tw blood )#( open to plots/connections in the nyc plot! )

58 notes · View notes

phoebehalliwell · 3 years

Note

Oh could u do Prue/Micah? S4

okay okay okay so we're doing all hallow's eve in early s3 micah's reincarnation does Not show up at the end of the episode because we're saving him for something bigger. but we'll say that something on a later vanquish a physical item triggers something in prue she's like hey does that remind you of anything?? and piper and phoebe are like ??? no? it's just a(n) [item]? and prue's like really? nothing? and they're like idk what does it remind you of and she's like i don't know... the past? samhain, maybe? do you think it's one of our ancestor's? and piper and phoebe are like prue i don't know can we get out of here??? and she's like yeah yeah but she takes it with her and like. uses her auction house knowledge to like correctly id it back to the time they were in salem (or not maybe idk but if it is from the past she realizes that a) either it was something micah owned or b) it was the knife that killed him. if it's neither of those than it's modern and she can't figure out what about it is calling to her). the plot is kind of dropped. then, we enter s4, the battle with the source is on the horizon cole is. we'll say still on their side, successful relationship with phoebe. cole is the first one to pitch going on the offensive, which prue is first to back, then phoebe, and begrudgingly piper. leo's still not a fan but phoebe gets a premonition of something something darklighter so let's stamp that out before it begins. so they shimmer down with cole to the underworld leo doesn't go with them bc well. a) he can't sense as well down there so he won't really be able to find them if they get separated which leads to b) of they're separated the girls have no way out of hell and as a sidenote c) he's a whitelighter. so if the darklighters get him they Also have no way out of hell. so leo stays topside and cole's their ride. something something something they're closing in on where the clan lives or maybe their weapons forge and there's a darklighter just outside piper blow him up no wait and prue like Jumps in front of her and piper quickly deflects and hits the cavern wall next to them and wants to yell what the hell prue but it's too late because all hell breaks loose the darklighters were there waiting for them the seer foresaw this so they all duck for cover prue throws a couple phoebe karate chops cole energy balls piper blows up em and will occasionally freeze the cavern for a couple seconds but she still doesn't have a hold on her powers, but phoebe while fighting one of them gets a premonition: leo, shot. and over the din she's like it's a diversion, they're gonna kill leo like we have to get to leo but they're all hella spread apart right now so in one of piper's freezes cole gets to phoebe and another the pair get to piper but prue's still to far away she redirects an arrow that nearly hits phoebe in the hed she's like there's no time go!! and they're like no!! but prue just squints at cole and cole understands and shimmers them out of there and we'll say the guy who she initially dove in front of was knocked out by like rocks from piper's blast well he's coming to and see's prue fighting for her life and like. you know just starts to stir and prue spares a glance at him and he recognizes her just like he did in puritan times and he's like ...you saved me and prue looks at him and again connection but she can't find the words to say because she has to get right back to kicking ass, we'll say an arrow flies right past her face like through her hair she ducks down again like can you get us out of here? and he just like barely sits up head cradled in one hand, he's bleeding, but he just nods and places his other on prue's shoulder and black orbs them out and now they're in like a loft in san francisco prue still in fight mode and micah still bleeding from a head wound and he just kind of collapses on the ground and prue's like !!! oh shit.

back @ the manor leo's just been shot and piper's running over like help me get him to the attic i'll swap our powers you guys get out of the house so you're not affected go get prue and leo's like ??? go get her and cole's like she's still with the darklighters and leo's like no she's topside she's in the city and they're all like how??? and piper's like who gives a shit how help me get him to the attic then give me some space so phoebe and cole wait in the outside lil backyard type thing they have maybe we get a phole scene piper swaps powers and heals leo but he's still weak and piper hear's prue's call and leo's like go i'm still too weak to heal and piper's i'm not leaving you not while they're out there and leo's like hey don't worry you're still with me right ad blows up idk a lamp and piper just kind of smiles like okay but if you're gonna blow anything else up try to hit that vase because i've always hated it

piper goes downstairs gets phoebe and cole like okay let's go get prue and she orbs them all out into this loft where prue has got this guy slumped over his table pressing a damp towel to his head but jesus that's a lot of blood and she's like leo thank g- where's leo and piper's like he's resting he was shot so i had to tap in. and prue's like you can heal? and piper's like uh huh and prue's like okay great heal him and piper moves forward and then stops because prue is that the darklighter? and prue's like yes but you don't understand and piper's like what part of healing a Darklighter don't i understand prue when they Just tried to kill my husband now you're trying to save him and prue's like come on doesn't he look familiar to you and piper's looking at him like ew bc she can hardly see past the bloodcovered face but phoebe wanders forward and cole instinctively tries to hold her back bc Evil but she just kind of shakes him off bc she knows what she's doing and cole relents and she puts a hand up to his shoulder and she's like it is him. and prue's lookin like exactly! and piper's like who??? and prue's like micah and he stirs at the sound of his own name and piper's like Who??? and prue's like don't you remember he saved our necks--literally--multiple times; he died for us and it's clicking piper's like In Puritan Times??? and cole kinda blanches bc he Might have killed that guy i can't remember and prue's like piper for the amount of times he's saved us, please, just heal him and piper's like you get that that was centuries ago right? a lot changes in a couple hundred years; he's a darklighter now and prue's like piper. please. and piper relents bc what can she say she trusts prue. and micah comes to and sees cole and stumbles back like hits the ground again and prue's like no no it's okay and he looks at her and it's like we can see his world fade around him and just focus on prue and his hand flies up to his head and finds no blood and prue's like it's okay, you're healed and micah's like so that'd be the second time you've saved my neck today? and prue's like consider it returning the favor and piper's like okay well I'm breaking up the balcony scene this time how did the darklighters know we were coming? and micah's like this woman. she visited us and said you were coming, you were leaving your whitelighter vulnerable... and they're like what woman and cole's like the seer. and micah just nods and he's like i've read about you, you know, what you've done, i was hoping i could get away to warn you before... and piper's like Why. Why would you betray your own people and micah's like because i can see what dark magic can do... and it can't be undone [to later be revealed tragic backstory!! micah was raised by his mother topside or maybe his father and we get a complex darklighter situation with his mom potentially even having her defect but no matter when micah was like. idk twelve or something?? there was this bully in school and we're trying to stay with charmed morality and justify this so we'll say this kid was like serial killer bad killed puppies for fun type bad and he was a bully and micah was standing up to him #feminism when they got into a fight and micah was losing like Really losing like about to be beat to death at age twelve losing when his hand started glowing red and he shoved it against the bully and next the you know that kid was fucking dead. micah had killed a guy before he had even gone through puberty. oof. anyways top ten defining moments tried existing on the dl but has also killed a couple other people and we'll keep them Bad murderers and rapists but it's still like you end up in a bar fight and then the next thing you know that guy is dead and it doesn't matter what a cunt he was it doesn't matter than you didn't mean to do it you just have a power you don't know how to control no all that matters is you're getting manslaughter at best unless you go with this man who claims to be your uncle who can teleport like you who has the same deathtouch who can teach you to control your power].

blah blah blah plot progression all that prue and micah fall in love relatively quickly because they can feel that tug in their souls (SIDE TANGENT: i've already said before i like wyatt as a reincarnation of melinda warren but what if prue was Also a reincarnation of melinda warren, ipso facto wyatt is also prue reincarnated retconning why they can't summon her spirit. 👀?) but but BUT the seer foresaw this she new micah would turn to the side of good so she planted something that blew up in a metaphorical sense so now they don't know if they can trust micah prue wants to trust him but she doesn't want to put her family in danger if he really is in league with the source phoebe is advocating for her to follow her heart and piper is Hard No against micah like even before like she really didn't want him around before this bomb dropped even more so now and prue's like okay what's your beef and piper's like he's not safe to have around prue he's a damn darklighter and prue's like you know you keep like using that against him leo doesn't even care why are you so hung up on this and piper's like leo's safety isn't the only one at risk here!! and prue's like what you have some secret whitelighter you haven't told us about?? and piper is just silent and stubborn and prue's still in fight stance until it clicks and she's like piper... and piper's like still not talking and prue's like piper,,, are you pregnant? and piper's like no you know what i shouldn't even have said anything forget you even heard anything and prue's like ???? piper this is great news why why didn't you tell us and tries to hug her and piper just ducks away and prue's like heart is breaking watching her like this because piper's like really maternal she'd be a great mom so why isn't she happy and piper just looks at prue like : ( i didn't tell you because this isn't the first time this has happened. and prue's like ??? and piper's like towards the end of s3,,, i thought i was. well, no. i was pregnant. and, um. i was scared, because of all the demon fighting and everything, but i was excited prue i was so excited to be a mom and then a couple weeks later,,, and gets all choked up and prue just pulls her into a really big hug like sweetie why didn't you tell us and piper's just crying like i don't know we already have so much with the source and with the fighting every day,, i didn't want you guys to feel like i did, you're already going through so much and prue's like honey You're Going Through So Much and just know we're always here for you forget the source and his sorry ass forget the seer nothing's more important that you okay nothing's more important and piper's just okay okay : ((((.

so anyways we vanquish the source for the midseason finale but now we have the seer the real mastermind as the s4b villain and she's got her eyes set on a great prized: a prophesied baby. in one episode prue and micah get knocked back into a past life regression where they keep slipping back further and further in time and they keep finding each other in each life but they need to get out of here and piper leo phoebe cole are on the outside trying to get them out because if they reach their first life their life where their soul was new and slip back further, there's no way to bring them back after that we're not killing prue lol but what that really does is just cements prue and micah's place together like In Every Life they had each other in one form or another they were always destined to find each other....... fin <3

#charmed #prue x micah #it's funny bc i could have sworn i did darklighter micah before i just couldn't find the post anywhere so maybe i did Not #prue halliwell #piper halliwell #micah #margaretsminiessays #💌

6 notes · View notes

tvandenneagram · 3 years

Text

Charmed: Prue Halliwell - Type 1w9

Prue is responsible, controlling and self sacrificing. She believes it is her job to protect her sisters and later to help the world in the fight against evil.

At her best, Prue begins to become less uptight and concerned with what is expected of her. She leaves her job at the Auction house and starts to pursue her dream of being a photographer as it is what she wants to do. She becomes more content with herself and is more open to the ideas and opinions of her sisters, rather than telling them what she thinks they should do.

At her worst, Prue takes in more and more responsibilities and closes herself off to those she loves. As she becomes more stressed she is more vocal about the decisions of others and how they are not up to the standards she believes in. She thinks she knows the right answer and it is her job to tell others what they should be doing with their lives.

At a young age Prue took on many responsibilities and put pressure on herself to have her life in order. She puts a heavy emphasis on following the rules and conventions of society to be seen as a good person. Prue works hard at her job and is often at conflicting views with Phoebe who takes a more carefree attitude towards her future. She feels it is her duty to help lead Phoebe onto a more structured path as she is wasting her opportunities. Prue has some perfectionistic tendencies in her home life and work life and has very high standards for herself.

When Prue first gets her powers she finds it difficult to use and control them. She learns that her repressed anger is the key to using her powers to the fullest of her abilities. Prior to this, Prue has a lot of resentment and rage that she has been repressing in her personal life. She is angry at her father and blames him for leaving her and her sisters, she is angry with Phoebe about her life choices and potential affair with Roger and she is angry that she has to be so kept together and controlled all the time. This is very typical of a type 1 as they will often try to mask their anger as they see it as a negative and ‘bad’ emotion that they can’t and shouldn’t express.

Prue doesn’t always acknowledge her fears and vulnerabilities as she doesn’t want to burden those around her. She puts aside her feelings for others and will sacrifice her happiness to achieve the greater good. We see this with the way she handles Andy’s death and accepts that she can’t change his fate as it may affect the battle between good and evil. When Prue thinks she is right, she will act on her instinct and this can also be seen with the way she takes such a strong stance against Cole as she sees him as being a demon first and foremost. She is very rigid in her thoughts and sees the relationship he has with Phoebe in very black and white terms, which again puts her at conflict with Phoebe.

Prue has a wing 9 as she is very introverted and repressed in her feelings. She is more reserved and avoids her anger more than a wing 2 might.

Tri-type: 1w9 - 3w4 - 6w5

Some quotes to describe Prue’s motivations:

“We may not be murderers, but we're no angels either.”

“I'm gonna win this fight and save your ass, that way I can kick it myself later.”

“While I admire your confidence and your fearlessness, your utter lack of responsibility frustrates me to no end. Oh, god, that is so enough."

“I wish I could. Your work meant more to me than you will ever know and because of that, I have carried around this illusion of what it would mean to me to meet you and to learn from you and how that would make me appreciate your work even more, but now it is so hard for me to even look at your pictures because I think of the man who took them. And it is devastating to me to realize that the brilliance of your eye is completely destroyed by the ignorance of your mouth."

(Uninhibited Prue):“I'm outta here. You know what? You can not stop me, alright. I am never going back. I'm not going... Alright, you know what? I am sick of this. She is all about duty and obligation, well not me. Alright, I want to be free, I wanna find love, I wanna have a life.”

Prue: "Yeah, well, my sin's not nearly as much fun as yours." Phoebe: "Wait, your sin? I thought you didn't get hit." Prue: "Well, that was the pride talking and it almost got me killed already." Phoebe: "Pride? You don't seem all that different." Prue: "Really? Well, back atcha. We need to get home and try and track down this demon, okay?"

#prue halliwell #charmed #shannen doherty #prue x andy #prue x piper x phoebe #enneagram #enneagram 1 #type 1 #1w9 #1w2 #enneatypes #ennea 1 #personality types #charmed enneagram #character analysis #character breakdown #charmed cast #dailycharmed

19 notes · View notes

invisiblexcharms · 4 years

Text

@thegreatworkofmagic continued from here;

William nodded at the information about it possibly being a ghost that was after the child he now held in his arms. He looked between Prue and Matthew for a few moments thinking about what it would be like if it was their child. It was something he thought about quite a bit since they got together. He had always wanted a family.

“Do you know what size to get or anything else that he needs?”

He teased slightly and a chuckle.

“I’ll look in your book while I watch Matthew, but I’ll leave the kicking ass to you and your sisters.”

#C; William Andrews

31 notes · View notes

a-tamed-dragon · 4 years

Text

Within These Walls: Chapter 5

Here we are, Chapter 5 of my Tokka compilation thingy... I literally cannot believe I’m already on Chapter 5 but STILL can’t get my ass up and make myself go to the store. I’m a lazy adult. This one is spicyyyyyy... but also not. Short and sweet.

Setting: Fire Nation, the Palace, 2 years after Chapter 4.

Toph 22, Sokka 27.

The Fire Nation seemed to hold their secrets. It was a mutual ground between Earth and Water that protected them from the outside, kept their secrets safe, and what they did amongst one of those well-kept secrets.

They fell to their backs in a satisfied heap. Toph roll off of Sokka from where she straddled his hips with the last bit of energy she had left. Her head buzzed and pulsed with each breath.

Both panting in wordless agreement of their shared satisfaction. Sokka breathed heavily then smiled, chest heaving as he ran both hands up through the front of his hair.

A goofy smile plagued both of their lips, pure bliss coursed through their veins and flooded their brains, overloading every last nerve with pleasure. Anything said within this time was merely a by-product of the engulfing sensations wracking their bodies.

This too was a cause for their silence.

Sokka lay on the right side of the bed with Top to his left, the covers had been kicked or thrown or had met some other form of unceremonious demise on the floor.

His balcony door was open, the deep red curtains fluttered inward, tickled by the sweet night air. It cooled their bodies, acting as a different kind of cover as it settled over the sheen of sweat covering them both.

Toph moved the hair out of her face entirely, and met her left hand over Sokka's right which he had comfortably rested on her belly. He released a very content sigh, his other hand resting on his chest.

His smile never faded, even now as he looked up at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?" Sokka asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Toph drew out her answer, as though she let every syllable of his question hit her individually and distinctly.

With a weak laugh, she said "I'm completely numb."

Her index finger danced on top of Sokka's hand, still braced on her stomach.

"Good." He turned only slightly to gage her face, the silly smile playing at her lips told him that she was as happy as he was.

She glistened in the moonlight, her bare breasts rose and fell as her breathing steadied itself. His brain was still in a frenzy, the air was thick, even with the breeze, and he was cloaked in her. Wrapped in her scent, her touch, her lips, her hair. The imprint she left on him felt like she had earth bent him into the side of a damn mountain; it all slammed into him. A jolt of sensation shot through him as his body remembered a glimpse of her embrace, of what they had just done.

He craved more but could not move; his arms were lead, his legs paralyzed on the bed. Move and he may collapse.

Toph's body was the same boneless, immobile slag of rocks. The only adequately moving part of her was her heart as it recovered from the past few hours.

There would be soreness, and there would be an ache, but she would not feel it; not now, not for a few more hours.

Sokka skated his fingertips up and down along her stomach, taking time to dip and trace along her navel, tickling her.

Toph stiffened and released a shaky gasp, too weak to laugh.

"We should do this more often." She breathed, it made Sokka's eyes widen a bit and his eyebrows raise.

He nodded with a gulp, "We should."

He found Toph's hand as she wove it through her still-damp hair. Entwining their fingers he brought the back of her hand to his lips, leaving a lingered kiss on her skin.

"…. I miss you." She closed her eyes.

Sokka squeezed her hand, his chest tightening at her words. He looked off past the ceiling and into his own thoughts. He pressed his lips back to her hand, keeping it there while he thought.

He whispered against her skin. "I miss you too."

------

Leave a comment with a review, I'm unsure where to take it from here. I hope you like it!

- Prue

#tokka #withinthesewalls!tokka #sokkaxtoph #tophbeifong #toph #sokka #atlafic #atlafanfic #tokkafic #tokkafanfic #atamedrant #a-tamed-dragon

39 notes · View notes

beesimsfour · 3 years

Photo

Prue has passed her obsession of fitness onto Ian. More he works out to keep his body trim for the ladies! Prue likes to know she can kick anyone’s ass. They are both putting in time this morning to combat the extra calories from the Harvestfest meal.

#queue #s4 #sims 4 #sims4forfun #ts4 #Gameplay #sims 4 gameplay #sims4forfunGen2 #Prue #Ian

9 notes · View notes

whindsor · 4 years

Text

gbbo au pt 2

wellp, here we go! i’m technically not back on my bullshit cause i was never actually off of it.

p.s. would it be weird to actually name the judges/hosts of the show as paul/prue/noel/matt? or should i just keep it generic? or does it not matter and i should do whatever i want?

week 1: cake week

week 2: biscuit week

No matter how many years he lived in the UK, it still took Bucky a minute to remember that the biscuits were not the same as they were when he was growing up. They weren’t exactly a staple in his New York diet - they had bagels for that - but he did manage to stumble into a southern style diner or two and order a plate of biscuits and gravy. The biscuits were thick, and light, and tender, and tasted so good after a bit too much whiskey.

But those weren’t the biscuits he was dealing with this week. Well, except for his showstopper.

Florentines were an absolute beast. Sure, it sounded easy enough: a thin, lacy “biscuit” (cookie) with nuts and fruit and a base of some sort of caramel. But here was the kicker: they weren’t supposed to bend, they were supposed to snap. And that was the part that was going to send him home.

It was the day before the competition was set to begin. He’d woken up even earlier than usual, intent on getting in one last attempt at his Signature and one last practice run of his Showstopper. Plus, it helped that he got a nice PTSD-induced nightmare to get the blood pumping first thing, where he was back on the battlefield, except the battlefield was the tent, and he had no cover except for the flimsy benches.

He ran further and faster than usual that morning, his lungs and legs burning when he slowed to a walk outside the building. He’d been trying to solve his problem the whole run, and thought he might have a fix...if it didn’t work, he’d be out of options. He was distracted by the sound of a door opening, and looked up to see Mika on her balcony, a baggy flannel thrown over her pajamas and a cup in her hands. She looked half asleep still, her hair tousled all around. She was still pretty...not that he’d ever say anything, of course.

“You’re up earlier than usual.” she said in Romanian. The few encounters they had over the week, she always spoke to him in the other language; it was probably a comfort for her, and he didn’t mind the distraction.

“Early bird gets the worm.” he replied in English, knowing the phrase didn’t quite translate. He switched after that, since she looked like her brain wasn’t ready for a second language. “You’re up early too.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Want some coffee?” she asked, jerking her head back toward her apartment. He checked his watch; breakfast wouldn’t be open for another hour, and coffee did sound good.

“Thank you. Let me shower and I’ll be over.” he said. She nodded, telling him the flat number before going back inside. He supposed he should feel nervous about visiting a new friend in her apartment, but with all the other anxiety-inducing activities going on, this one was actually a relief. By the time he made it to her door, she had managed to get out of her pajamas and wrap her hair into a braid. He thought she might have put on a bit of mascara, but couldn’t be sure.

“Milk? Sugar?” she asked, going to the (beautifully full) coffee pot and pouring some into a mug with flowers painted around the outside. He went to the stools on one side of the island, taking a seat.

“Just black.” he said, earning a suspicious look from her. It fell a second later, as if something dawned on her.

“Right. No sweets.” she said, filling the cup a little more before handing it to him. Her kitchen wasn’t quite as neat as his was, and had the appearance of quickly being cleaned a few moments before. Not that he minded; it almost made it more comfortable, knowing that the space was lived in. “So tell me. How does someone who doesn’t like sweets end up a baker?”

“It was something to concentrate on.” he said with a shrug, taking a sip of coffee. Her question was definitely more loaded than she realized, and he had to try and figure out how to answer without making things more somber than they needed to be. “After I got back, the therapist recommended I find an activity that gave me a physical product at the end of it. I’ve never been good at art, and I wasn’t about to try and figure out sewing, so baking was the next best thing.”

“What’s your favorite thing to bake then?” she said, leaning her elbows onto the counter of her kitchen island. He could see a little white trail of flour on her sleeve.

“You’re just trying to figure out my strengths.” he teased.

“I am not!” she said. “I’m making conversation, like a normal human.”

“Uh huh.” he said, as if he didn’t believe her. “You have to promise to keep it a secret.”

“Of course. What happens in the back row stays in the back row.” she said, leaning in a bit closer. He couldn’t help but lean slightly away; it wasn’t that she made him uncomfortable, he’d just gotten used to people being a certain distance away from him during the pandemic. She seemed to realize this discomfort, and quietly slid back again.

“Patisserie.” he admitted, making the conversation go on and hoping he hadn’t made her feel bad. Luckily the answer was enough to distract her, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

“I did not expect that.” she admitted. “Patisserie? Really?”

“I like the details. And I have a steady hand.” he said, realizing the unintended joke a moment later. Mika pressed her lips together, as if determined not to laugh. “See? I told you it happens all the time.”

“I never realized how often hands get talked about.” she said, humor in her tone. “Well, you’ll kick my ass if I make it that far. I’m terrible when it comes to things that require artistry.”

“I thought you did fine last week.” he offered. She scoffed.

“You saw my peak last week.” she said.

“What’s your specialty then? Don’t tell me biscuits, my pride isn’t ready for that.” he said, making her laugh.

“No, no I’ll be scraping through this week as well.” she said, and he realized that she genuinely meant it. Did she not realize how good she was? “But bread is my favorite. So as long as I can make it to bread week, I’ll be happy with whatever outcome.”

Bucky gave a low, appreciative whistle. He was decent as bread, but could never get the texture just right. “Well, you’ll beat me there for sure.”

She blushed deeply, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know about that.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. Hers was a nice caramel color, lightened by the milk. Speaking of which...

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to pick her brain a little bit, to see if she could solve the bending problem.

“Almost, but not quite. The Showstopper is giving me problems.” she said with a sigh. “I’m probably trying to be too ambitious.”

“Not always an issue.” he said, though there was one contestant that got that feedback on both of his bakes the week prior. “If you get a snappy florentine, you’re already ahead of me.”

She looked surprised at that. “What’s your ratio of sugar to cream?” she asked. When he told her, she shook her head. “Less cream. More butter.” she said confidently. He let out a sigh of relief; that had been his last (and only) idea.

“That’s what I was thinking.” he nodded. “What’s your meal for the showstopper?”

“Hmm. Trying to get ideas?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Of course. I have no idea what I’m doing.” he said. He sounded a bit more serious than he meant to, so she looked at him for a long time before shaking her head.

“Full of shit.” she muttered. “I wanted to actually put beer into the pitcher or the glass, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Make it a mousse.” he said. She looked surprised for a minute, the looked away into the great beyond.

“Beer mousse...so crazy, it just might work.” she said. “Are you doing something similar?”

“Me? No. Whipped cream as gravy, that’s about it.” he said, and she nodded again.

“Beer mousse.” she said again, more to herself this time. She stood up suddenly, going back to the coffee pot. “Going to need more of this. You?”

He glanced at his watch; he really needed to get a move on if he was going to get everything done today. He gave her an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to go practice. Less cream, more butter.”

“And beer mousse!” she said, holding her mug up in a cheers. He laughed, saluting with his empty one.

“And beer mousse. Thank you, for the coffee and the company.” he said. They said their goodbyes, and he made his way back to his own flat to get to work, definitely more calm now than when he first awoke. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it through this.

The next morning, he made sure to get up early enough to get his run in, though he was definitely a little sore from the morning before. It was also a little chilly that morning, making the stump of his arm ache. When getting dressed, he thought about how hot it felt last week working in the tent, and decided to go ahead and just wear a tshirt with his jeans. Of course, after the tshirt, he put on his special shoulder cap, which would help the sensitive nerves that still gave him trouble sometimes if they spent too much time in open air. He then grabbed the little spiral hair tie, tipping his head over so that he could pull the majority of his hair into a little bun away from his face.

The interviews were still uncomfortable, but he was good at pretending to be at ease. “I’m a little nervous this week, but at least now I kind of know what to expect.” he said when the interviewer asked. “Does that mean I’ll make it out the weekend? That still remains to be seen.” Across the grass, Mika was laughing and smiling. She’d seemed nervous last week, but was much more relaxed this week. Impressive, really, how she adapted.

They went into the tent, and while they weren’t at the back of the class this time (which added another layer of nerves), at least they were still across the aisle from each other. Mika made a dramatic pout at their bench assignments, giving Bucky a wink before paying wrapt attention to the hosts and judges. Bucky tried not to think about how that little sign of affection made him feel. He’d been honest about his last relationship - how it ended amicably, how they were just in different places - but he had failed to mention that it had happened before he lost his arm. His best friend Steve constantly tried to get him to go out, but considering a friendly wink from a cute girl just threw him for a loop, Bucky reckoned he needed to remember how to be friends with people first.

“Bake!” the host said, startling Bucky into action. He started organizing his bench, putting everything exactly where he needed it before getting to work on the caramel. Almonds went into the food processor, and when that was done, he started making quick work of the sour cherries, which was of course the best moment for the judges and hosts to come to him.

“Florentines, James. What have you got for us?” the male judge asked. It was still weird that technically he was James for the show, but he would have to get used to it. Or maybe he would be sent home before then, who knew.

“Well, I’m not big on sweets, so today I’m combining almonds and sour cherries with star anise and some really dark chocolate.” he said, not looking up from where he was working with a very, very sharp knife.

“Now that’s not something I expected. But you do like to try different spices, don’t you?” the female judge asked.

“Spicy James. That has a good ring to it. Like a bar drink.” the host commented, making them laugh.

“Just remember not to overdo it.” the male judge commented, and Bucky nodded.

“I’ve practiced it a lot. It should be right this time.” he said. The judges smiled and nodded, moving on to the next bench, but the host and cameras stayed for just a moment.

“A Spicy James. What kind of drink would that be?” he asked, making Bucky laugh. He put the knife down to think.

“Probably whiskey with hot sauce in it.” he said, the grossest thing he could think of. The host took it in stride, nodding philosophically.

“Just burn everything. Really warm you from the inside out, just like the sight of your man bun.” he said, making Bucky laugh again before he took up his knife. “And now that you’re holding that, I’m going to fly away. Goodbye!”

Bucky shook his head, not minding the brief reprieve as he got back to work. He wetted a tea towel, rolling it up and nestling his mixing bowl full of ingredients into it. Then he was able to add his caramel, the towel (and his stomach) holding the bowl in place as he stirred the thick mixture. From there, he used an ice cream scoop so that he could place perfectly portioned cookies onto the baking sheets, making sure to leave enough space for them to spread in the oven.

He took a deep breath and let it out before checking his watch. So far, he was right on time. He chanced a glance over to his accomplice, who looked a bit stressed but overall handling things. She was also pretty from this angle. Dammit, Barnes, focus. It was time to temper chocolate.

Even though it would have been some sort of illegal not to let him bring his adaptive equipment, he was still very thankful to have his clip thermometer. Usually he could make the whole one-hand thing work, but stirring chocolate and monitoring the temperature was definitely a two-handed ordeal, and he had to make do. The timer for the cookies went off just as the chocolate almost reached temperature, which left him caught between the two. Finally, he had to make the choice, putting down the spatula to pull the cookies out of the oven. He nearly threw them onto the counter, quickly going back to the chocolate and barely pulling it off the heat before it went over the temp. He lost a few pieces of the seed chocolate when he dumped it in, but it was a welcome sacrifice to keep things under control. Cool it down, heat it up, cool it down, and then let it stay at a working temperature. Easy, right?

He held his breath as he moved to the florentines. They were cooled enough to work with...but would they bend, or would they hold? He carefully peeled one from the silpat; so far, it was holding, and the caramel underneath felt more solid than his other attempts. He pulled the rest, laying them out so he could go through the messy business of coating one side in chocolate. He pulled out his secret weapon - chopsticks - and thanked chef David Chang before getting to work. The camera men, noticing his odd tools, of course came to ask about it.

“It’s hard to keep the chocolate on one side if I use my fat fingers.” he said, hoping to earn a laugh and distract from any unwarranted pity at his situation. “I stole the idea from an American chef, who made the point that these are much better than tweezers or tongs.”

Mika apparently had noticed his chopsticks as well. “Can you teach me how to use those?” she asked, making him almost drop the florentine he was coating. He looked up in surprise.

“You don’t know how to use chopsticks?”

“No! That wasn’t a thing where I’m from!” she said, laughing. Romania had probably changed since she’d been there last, but her family had never been ones to invest in the skill.

“Fine, fine, I’ll teach you later.” he said, not noticing the grins between the producers.

“Thank you!” she sang, going back to her bake. After all, they only had five minutes left. Bucky swore under his breath in Russian, deciding that was the safest language for the British viewers, and quickly went to make a piping bag. He made a mess dumping the chocolate into it, and an even bigger mess trying to cut the smallest corner from it. Then, it was on to the small concentric circles on each of the biscuits. Bucky was glad he had a steady hand; it made this work significantly easier.

He technically finished the last circle after the time call, but no one seemed to notice. He tossed the pastry bag back into the cup, the chocolate oozing out of the bottom of it. He wasn’t sure if this was going to be good, but he hoped it was good enough.

His back ached already as he left the tent, his forearm definitely feeling like he worked it. Next week, he’d have to remember not to practice too much leading up to the competition days, lest he fatigue again. If he even made it to next week. Mika immediately walked up to him, her eyebrows already up in a question.

“So? How do you think it went?” she asked. She crossed her arms over her stomach, apparently cold underneath the shade of a tree. Bucky wished he hadn’t left his jacket back in the tent, otherwise he could give it to her.

“So far it was my best one,” he said with a shrug, “but whether or not it snaps remains to be seen.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” she said, waving his concern off. “They looked beautiful. I can’t wait to try them.”

“It may not be sweet enough for you.”

“It’s food, I’ll enjoy it.” she replied.

“What flavors did you end up going with?” he said, changing the subject. He didn’t want her to think that he only cared about his own bakes, plus he was curious. He’d caught her in the communal kitchen a couple times, always trying a new combination.

“Pistachio and apricot. It felt right.” she said, as if that was something that people came up with every day. “Even though it doesn’t look particularly appealing. Hopefully that doesn’t count too much against me.”

“Just mention ‘jewel tones’ and they’ll praise you for it.” he replied, earning a surprised look from her.

“And where does a man like you hear about ‘jewel tones,’ hm?” she asked. “Let me guess: another ex?”

“Actually, asshole best friend is an artist.” he said, referring to their earlier conversation. Mika put a hand on his arm, and though the movement initially startled him, he found he really didn’t want her to pull away.

“You’re joking.” she said. “Asshole sister is an artist too.”

“Oh my God they were made for each other.” Bucky said, a little more dramatic than he’d been in a long time. He was suddenly glad that Steve made him sign up for this; at the very least, he got to have fun and act like a human again after slowly becoming more and more hermit-like after his accident. They were denied further socializing by the producers calling them in, instructing them to return to their now clean benches and wait for their judging.

Judging maybe made him antsy, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was nervous. He was nervous about making a fool of himself, about saying the wrong thing or being too candid about the trauma he’d been through. He was nervous that he would disappoint his friend. But getting critique from people that knew baking much better than he did? He’d gotten an arm blown off. A couple judges did not make him nervous.

“Alright, James, let’s see how this goes.” the male judge said, rubbing his hands together and picking up two florentines from the plate. The female judge turned it over, admiring the dark chocolate along the bottom.

“Beautifully tempered. Look at that shine.” she said, impressed. He felt like he could breathe a little easier after that praise. The male judge went to bend the biscuit; the chocolate gave with a satisfying crack, but unfortunately the rest of the cookie bent like a green tree branch.

“Ah, no snap.” he said, shaking his head.

“Damn.” Bucky agreed, making them laugh. To further ease the tension, one of the hosts grabbed a florentine, and immediately tried to fit the whole thing in his mouth.

“Something snapped.” he said around the mouthful.

“Your molars, likely. Or your brain.” the male judge said, though he was clearly amused by the joke. He then took a bite of the florentine, chewing thoughtfully. “I was hesitant about your flavors, but you have managed to make something with a lot of bitter elements, and balance those out with the right amount of sweetness.”

“It tastes like the last of winter, just before the turn of spring.” the female judge said, earning a hearty “oooooh” from the host. “I enjoy those flavors a lot.”

“Thank you.” Bucky said with a nod, turning back to the male judge.

“Shame about the snap, though.” he said, wincing appreciatively.

“Shame indeed.” Bucky agreed, bidding them goodbye as they moved on. He let out a breath and let go of that part of the competition; there was nothing he could do about it now. He glanced over at Mika, who looked like she thought that went rather well. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but he’d pretend to for now.

She was much more relaxed when the judges arrived compared to last week, but he could tell by the tightness in her shoulders and the tapping of her thumb that she was still anxious. And of course, it didn’t help when the male judge said, “That looks a bit like what the dog coughed up.”

“That’s just cruel.” Mika cried, covering her face with her hands. The female judge smacked him and the host chastised him, and Mika laughed, though a blush was covering her neck and chest.

“Honestly. You’re terrible.” the female judge muttered, picking up florentines for the both of them. “The chocolate looks good, and despite the unfortunate coloring, you do seem to have a good spread of fruit and nuts.”

“I was going for a jewel tone.” she said, her eyes flicking over to Bucky for a split second.

“Don’t know many jewels like that.” the male judge remarked. He was still clearly joking, but Bucky could see Mika chipping away at her nail polish underneath the edge of the bench. The judges went to break the biscuit in half, and it broke with a satisfying crack.

“Now there’s a snap.” the female judge said, and Mika’s smile became more genuine, the blush receding slightly. They bit into it, and even from here Bucky could tell she’d gotten the texture spot on. “That is...exquisite.”

“It isn’t something I would’ve attempted.” the male judge started. “And I’m not sure it’s something I’d pick out if I saw it on a menu. But the ratios of your ingredients, and the way you’ve mixed them and have the perfect caramel...yea, that’s well done, that.” he said with a decisive nod. “Perhaps just needs a bit more thought on presentation.”

“Right, yea,” Mika agreed. “Thank you.”

The judges nodded and moved on to the next person. Mika looked to Bucky, making an exaggerated face and wiping imaginary sweat off her brow. He mimed for her to take a deep breath; besides the look of it, they’d given her a glowing review. Considering some of the other things he’d heard, even in his own judging, he didn’t think she had anything to worry about.

He was itching to get out of the tent by the time lunch came around. Like the week before, they had a sandwich spread for them, and he collected his food and his book before going out to the fire pit. He didn’t know if Mika would join him this time, but he certainly hoped for it. He sat and got himself arranged, getting a few pages in before he heard boots on the gravel, looking up to see his new friend smile at him and settle into the next chair over, content to sit on her phone while he sat with his book. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. So far, he’d managed to have multiple conversations with her without doing something completely off-putting, and the more he could stay silent, the better his record would be. Plus, it was just nice to sit with someone besides Steve and not have to stress about conversation.

They passed lunch in silence, only acknowledging each other once they were called back into the tent for the technical challenge. If he was honest, technical challenges were the part that made him most uneasy; everyone got the same ingredients, and the same tools. He didn’t want the judges to make any special arrangements for him, but just the nature of the challenge put him at a bit of a disadvantage. Of course, that also made him get a little riled up, wanting to prove that he could do anything with one arm that the other bakers did with two.

When the hosts announced that macaroons (not to be confused with macarons) would be the challenge, he figured that it would be easy, that he would totally have this in the bag like he did with the last technical challenge. Then he read the instructions, and everything promptly fell to shit.

First, cutting out circles? Why on earth did they need to cut out circles of parchment? Why not just outline the circles like an efficient person?

Then, make a curd. Fine. He could make a curd. He just couldn’t do anything else while he was making the curd because of the whole “continuous stirring” thing. They had hand mixers, but apparently they were only supposed to use that for the egg whites. Well, it was implied, not explicitly stated, so he was going to bend the rules a little bit.

Getting the coconut mixture right and in the pastry bag wasn’t the hardest part, except that he was currently low on time because of the whole parchment circle thing. So he had to try to rush, not knock the air out of the egg whites, and also manage to pipe perfect little coconut discs. Easy. So easy.

Oh, and chocolate! They had to make chocolate too! Fine! Easy! So easy!

Far too much time had gone by the time he actually got the macaroons into the oven, and he cursed himself a little bit. When he baked at home, he had all the time in the world and all the information he could need to set himself up for success. When applying, he hadn’t thought about the time constraints as much as he should have. Well, he was thinking about it now, and he was definitely going to start working on that for next week. If he made it through to next week.

The macaroons took even longer in the oven than he thought they would, and when he finally gave in a pulled them out, they still seemed too pale. He’d seen pictures of these things before, but he’d never tasted one, let alone made one.

“Those don’t look quite right, huh?” he asked the camera man filming him. He rested his hand on his hip, trying to decide if he had enough time to put them back in the oven or if he should just let them cool so he could put the curd in the little welled ones.

“Five minutes left!” the host yelled, making a couple of the bakers jump. Mika was definitely calmer than she was the week before, peeling the parchment layer from her cooled macaroons. Bucky sighed; the time call answered his question for him. He carefully turned his macaroons and tried to quickly and carefully peel the parchment from the bottom; since they were still warm, they were all too willing to lose their shape or leave coconut bits on the paper. He didn’t have time to worry about it, he just had to get something presentable on the plate. His wells were a little shallow and he had some chocolate leaking from the bottom of some, but when the host called one more minute! he was at least working on spooning the curd into them. They might be the worst macaroons the judges had ever seen, but at least they’d be finished.

Mika claimed the seat next to him, which was a welcome comfort. They’d only known each other for a week, but it still felt good to know that someone was in his corner. He eyed the biscuits behind her picture, noticing that they were perfect golden brown with bright yellow curd and no chocolate smudges in sight. Ugh, she was the worst.

“This one got away from me.” he murmured before the judges came in.

“I’m sure you did just fine.” she said, patting his hand. The judges eyed the plates, questions on their faces that they didn’t quite dare to say out loud. Bucky noticed, with some relief, that his didn’t look the absolute worst.

“Right. Let’s get started.” the male judge said, going to the end of the table and picking up the first one. One by one they went down the line, the same process that they did last week and all the other weeks in the seasons before this one. And yet, there was still something foreboding about it. With no one staring directly at them, the judges were free to be more ruthless in their assessments.

“Oh dear,” the female judge said as the male judge picked up one of Bucky’s macaroons, the biscuit breaking in half before he could set it down. “Not a good start.”

“No, this one needed more time in the oven, and more time to cool.” the male judge agreed, licking chocolate off his thumb where it escaped. Luckily, one of the mango curd ones stayed together as he moved it. They took their bites and chewed, the female judge making a noise of surprise.

“It’s further baked than I thought.” she said. “And the flavor is very good.”

“It’s barely baked, a few more minutes would have done it well to get that golden brown layer. But the curd is perfect.” the male judge said. Bucky relaxed slightly, and Mika looked like she wanted to pat his hand again, but held herself back. The reviews for her macaroons were far brighter, their only complaint being that she hadn’t ground the coconut as fine as she needed to. But at least hers stayed in one piece when they put it on the plate.

In the end, Bucky got eighth out of eleven, which was a big downturn compared to the previous week. Mika, the cheeky knave, smiled her way into second. He didn’t particularly want to do the end of the day interview, but that was part of what they signed up for, so he put on his blank face and waited until they set up the camera and got their warm up questions out.

“No, today didn’t really go the way I wanted it to.” he said, adding a self deprecating laugh so that he didn’t sound so bitter. He’d forgotten how competitive he could be - actually wasn’t really sure he had a competitive nature anymore - and the two losses today awoke a part of him that had been asleep for a long time. “But that just means I have to come back with a vengeance tomorrow, right?” He should have stopped there, and almost did, but then had to be a little bit of a turd and add, “But those parchment circles. That was nonsense.”

Luckily they ended the interview quickly so he didn’t have time to make any more Salty Disabled Veteran comments, which was probably for the best. He’d signed up for all this, and he’d made it through the preliminary rounds, so clearly he was good enough to be here. Like every other time in his life, it was time to adapt and overcome.

But first, he was hoping Mika would meet him for another drink.

“Fire pit?” she asked as they walked out, as if she read his mind.

“It might be a two glass night.” he sighed. She tossed an arm around his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze. He was very proud of himself for not flinching, and borderline enjoying the affection.

“Cheer up, daisy. You did fine today.” she said, making him smile.

“I think you mean, ‘cheer up, buttercup’.”

“All flowers look the same to me. See you soon!” she sang, going towards her wing of the building. He shook his head, going to scarf down some food and shower before heading back outside, whiskey and glasses in hand. The fire was going again, a welcome source of warmth now that the sun was down. He’d brought his book in his back pocket just in case, but Mika was already waiting for him, a blanket around her shoulders. He handed the glasses to her, and she held them so he could fill them.

“Well, start digging my grave. Dead man walking.” he said, leaning into the chair and sighing heavily.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” she said, waving him off. “You’re going to be fine. You’re not going to get star baker, but you’re not going home.”

“You have much more confidence in me than I have in myself.”

“Well the first challenge wasn’t as bad as you thought. And the technical was bullshit.” she said. “Your flavors are spectacular, and tomorrow you’ll wow them with whatever you make.”

“And what about you? Did you get beer mousse figured out?” he said, switching the attention to her. He was used to having his one cheerleader (Steve) and he wasn’t sure how to handle another one. She barked out a laugh.

“Not in the slightest. I’m just going to try tomorrow, but not tell them about it, in case it doesn’t work out.” she said with a shrug.

“Tricky tricky. I think that’s cheating of some sort.” he teased. His glass was only half empty, but he wanted to refill it already. He pushed down that desire, knowing that it would not end well.

“It is not! It’s just...equivocating.” she said with a wry grin.

“So full of shit.” he laughed, shaking his head. “Have you talked to your sister since last weekend?”

She nearly choked on her drink, her cheeks coloring for some reason. He patted her back as she coughed, clearing her airway. “Yea, yea I have. She was very impressed by you.”

“And what about you?”

“She was glad I didn’t get sent home. Mum was mad that I wore a leather jacket and said I need to get my nails done, which is her way of saying I didn’t completely shame the family.” she said. “What about you? Did you talk to your friend...?”

“Steve. Yea, he said I needed to loosen up a little.”

“You? No.”

“Hush, not you too.” he said, finishing his drink. If he’d drank it a little faster, perhaps he would loosen up, but he and Mika were still just acquaintances, and they were in a massive competition. He could self medicate better tomorrow. Mika wasn’t close to finishing hers. so he simply put his glass down.

“I thought it was a two glass night?”

“Nah.” he shook his head. “Two glasses leads to the whole bottle leads to things I’ll regret in the morning.”

“Oh, that sounds like it has a story.” she said, leaning towards him. “Spill.”

“Not so much a story as multiple data points.” he said. “After...well, you know...I uh, didn’t handle things so great. There was a lot of poor choices trying to put myself back together.”

“But you did.”

“Huh?”

“You did put yourself back together. You fought through it all. And you’re amazing for it.” she said. Something in her tone made him think something - or someone - particular was on her mind, but when she didn’t offer the information, he didn’t pry.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” he said softly. Sure, Steve had told him the same thing a thousand times, but it was different hearing it from someone else.

“You’re welcome.” she said with a smile, reaching out and patting his hand. “Now, chin up. I can’t have my bench buddy leaving so soon. You haven’t even gotten to the best one yet!”

“Patisserie? I know.”

“No! Bread!”

“Bread is only the best to you.”

“...Maybe.” she said, smiling and laughing. He couldn’t help but join in; God, he had an honest-to-goodness friend in her. Perhaps he should have done this whole “socializing” thing sooner. Either way, he was glad to have her in his corner.

The next day, they all scarfed down a nervous breakfast and made their way down to the tent, the sunny weather laughing at their anxiety. This challenge was going to be tough; but before they started, Mika threw a wink and a thumbs up his way, helping to bolster his confidence. She was right, he could do this. He didn’t need to be star baker, he just needed to not be the worst. He’d been thinking about what to do for this week’s Showstopper challenge, and after having a mess of a time the day before, he decided to just go all out. The judges wanted a table setting from a memorable meal, but made out of biscuit. And that’s what they were going to get.

He went to work quickly, knowing that it was going to take him longer to shape his biscuits than the other contestants, and that he had probably given himself a little too much to do.

“Right, James, what shall we expect from your place setting?” the male judge asked as the crew sidled up to his bench. Bucky couldn’t afford to stop and chat to them, so he continued measuring and mixing as he spoke.

“I’m making the setting of a traditional New York diner. It reminds me of the times we used to stay out too late and partake a little too much.” he said, grinning at the judges.

“Oh, what’s the best meal for that? A big burger?” the host asked, getting excited. Bucky shook his head.

“Oh no, burger’s too heavy. Today it’ll be biscuits and gravy.” Bucky replied. The male judge laughed, but the female judge paused.

“Not real gravy, I hope.” she said, so suspicious he almost said that it was. But he didn’t think he needed to lose any points right from the get-go.

“No, no. I’ll be making American-style buttermilk biscuits, but with lemon zest, and vanilla whipped cream for the gravy.” he explained. The male judge raised his eyebrows.

“And what will the rest of the display be made out of?”

“Homemade graham crackers, which is really just left of gingerbread.” he said with a shrug. He’d struggled with how to make his display different than the others, and that was the best he could come up with. “They’ll be flavored with honey and a pinch of cinnamon, with a very, very thin layer of white chocolate to make it that diner-ceramic.”

“Just a pinch of cinnamon, eh?” the female judge asked, looking over the rims of her glasses.

“Scouts honor.” he said, acutely aware that they had told him multiple times that his bakes were overspiced. “And then we’ll also have a coffee flavored biscuit for the carafe and mug.”

“So you’re making two types of biscuit?” the male judge asked, one grey eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“And American-style biscuits?” he continued.

“...Yes.”

“That’s a lot to do. We’ll let you get to it.” the female judge said, patting his hand and shepherding the male judge away. The host stopped for a moment, leaning towards Bucky.

“What’s in an American-style biscuit?”

“A lot of butter.”

“Excellent!” he said, pumping his fist once before following the judges to the next bench. Bucky took a deep breath to center himself. He knew that he’d probably done too much, but he needed to go all out if he was going to stay in the competition. His performance yesterday was not what he wanted.

And so he got to work. The dough was easy enough to pull together, though rolling it out and shaping it on the molds was tougher. He had to be very careful, because if he used too much of his strength, he’d rip the dough and have to start all over. So he carefully rolled it onto the back of a pie plate, trimming the excess and setting it aside. That was the easy one. The hard one was the coffee mug, which went around the outside of a single serve cake tin. He’d purposefully chosen one with rounded corners even if it wasn’t visually accurate, and when he was able to shape it the first try (and nearly pass out from holding his breath) he found he had no regrets. The carafe was easy enough; he’d just do the hexagonal percolator that diner’s used ages and ages ago. Then, after awkwardly fumbling with some foil to make molds for the handles, everything went into the oven. He now had sixteen minutes to make biscuits.

Biscuits themselves weren’t difficult to make, but when one had to rub butter into the flour with only one hand, it tended to take a little longer. Then, when one had to zest a lemon with only one hand, that added some time too. There was a minute left on his timer when he went to add the buttermilk, and he decided he just had to wait for that part so that the rising reaction didn’t take place too soon.

That’s when he remembered the chocolate. He muttered a curse, in what language he didn’t know, and started weighing out white chocolate to temper. He should have done this earlier, so that as soon as the other biscuits went into the oven he could get started on it. Shit. He didn’t bother chopping the chocolate to weigh it, instead breaking off bits with his hand until he had the right weight. He tossed it in a bowl just as the timer went off, and he plumb forgot to put a mitt on to grab the tray out of the oven. Turns out, things in a 350 degree oven were also 350 degrees, and he had to force himself not to drop it despite the fact that he was probably burning his whole hand off. He nearly pushed the tray off the back side of the bench in his haste to put it down, and he had to step back and shake his hand, red welts already appearing on his fingers.

And the plate was still in the oven.

Mika was by his side in an instant, her own oven mitts on as she reached into the oven and pulled the plate out, setting it much more carefully on the bench. “Are you alright?” she asked, her brows pinched. She reached out, her hands still covered, and took in the damage. The pads of his fingers were bright red and raw; that was going to suck this week. Unless he got eliminated, then the pain in his pride would probably eclipse it.

“I’m okay. Thank you, for saving that.” he said, gesturing to the plate.

“Do you need anything? How can I help?” she asked, tenderly touching his hand. It looked silly with her big oven mitts, but the sentiment was the same. The medic in the white polo was weaving his way through the tent, carrying the tackle box full of supplies.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a quick clean and a glove. You need to finish your bake.” he said. She looked doubtful for a moment, but the medic pushed his way between them, and she had no choice but to go back to work. She kept glancing his way ever so often, and after the medic patched him up, he sent a quick smile her way before going back at it. He was now way, way behind.

His tunnel vision returned as he mixed the buttermilk biscuits, cutting out two of them and throwing them in the oven. From there he started tempering the white chocolate, which was finicky even at the best of times. He wouldn’t know until he coated everything if it was tempered correctly, and between now and then he had to pull the biscuits from the oven and make his whipped cream.

“Fifteen minutes left, bakers!” one of the hosts called, and Bucky let out a low noise of frustration, quiet enough that the cameras and the other competitors didn’t pick up on it. His hair was starting to slip from its tie, but he couldn’t pay attention to it. He had fifteen minutes to put literally everything together.

Paintbrush for coating with chocolate. He didn’t have time to make it perfectly smooth, but at least it was all covered, and shiny, and looked like it was right.

Caramel, to start sticking together the pieces. This was the most difficult part, and if Mika wasn’t bent over her bench with a piping bag of royal icing and an intense look of concentration he might have asked for help. But now it was just him and the biscuits.

“One minute left!”

The whipped cream!

He poured it into the mixer and turned it on high, splashing in some vanilla paste and sugar as it mixed. He got everything on the tray just in time, and as the hosts counted down the last ten seconds, he managed to stop the mixer, grab a huge spoon and add a few dollops of whipped cream on top.

Through some kind of miracle, he finished.

“Take a break, bakers!” the producers called, shepherding everyone out so they could get the benches clean and set up for the judging. Mika’s plates and cups were expertly decorated in a mismatched way, and he saw that she was able to come up with something that resembled beer mousse. Damn, she was quickly becoming his biggest competition (and his biggest ally). Bucky schooled his face back to neutral as he exited, the sun feeling just a little too warm. He grabbed the edge of the rubber glove with his teeth and peeled it off, his hand disgustingly sweaty underneath it. He was just stuffing it into his pocket when Mika came up, grabbing his wrist.

“How is it?” she asked, looking at his hand as if she could see through the bandaids.

“Just stings a little.” he said. It was the truth, but he’d admit he was putting on a little more bravado than necessary. “Not the worst I’ve ever been through.”

Mika gave him a dark look, clearly not amused. “Well, good thing is, your bake looked amazing.”

“Not as good as yours.” he said with a raised eyebrow. This time it was her turn to shrug.

“I’ll admit, it turned out better than I thought it would.”

“I sense a star baker in your future.”

“Oh absolutely not. I just need to make it through.”

“I think I’m the one living on a prayer at this point.”

“You’ll be fine.” she said, waving him off. But uncertainty was their constant companion in the tent, and even Mika couldn’t completely hide the doubt of possibility in her voice. She was saved from overexplaining anything by the producers calling them in, sending them back to the now-clean benches. Bucky eyed his set up, letting out a breath of relief just at the fact that it was still standing. The judges followed soon after, their eyes drifting over each and every showstopper before the male judge clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get started.” he said. He called the first person up and immediately ripped them to shreds, harshly judging their design, their execution, and how overworked the biscuits were. Bucky took a deep breath and reminded himself that no matter what, he’d been through worse. He glanced over to Mika, how seemed a little pale after the first display, and when he finally caught her eye he gave her a smile. Hers really did look good, and he had no doubt that she would get at least a little praise for it.

“James, let’s see yours.” the judge said a few times later, gesturing for him to come front and center. One of the hosts came to his bench, holding one end as Bucky carried the other. He could have managed if he needed to, but he’d learned approximately three months into his recovery that it was not deadly to ask for help. They placed the setting in front of the judges and he stepped back, slipping his hand into his pocket.

“American biscuits, hm?” the female judge said, looking at him over her bright blue glasses. He couldn’t help but giver her a grin.

“Cheeky, I know.” he said.

The judge laughed appreciatively, then gestured to the sculptures. “And the rest is graham, yes?” he asked, gesturing to the sculptures.

“Yes.” he said with a nod. They slid the edges of a fork along the chocolate, and Bucky was supremely happy to see that it held.

“Excellent chocolate work.” the female judge said as the male judge broke pieces off for them to try. They took delicate bites of the various biscuits, the silence thick as they tasted it.

“That’s good, that.” the male judge finally relented. They took their forks and tried the buttermilk biscuit, the female judge laughing as she did.

“It’s rather like a cake, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve had them before, but this is different. The layers and the butter...I might think they’re pretty good.”

“This was a good execution. Well done.” the male judge said, nodding towards him. Bucky gave them another smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” he said, glad to finally hear something good this weekend. The host, before grabbing his end of the tray, made sure to take the rest of the buttermilk biscuit and shove it into his mouth.

“I like that.” he said, mouth full. The room tittered with laughs, and Bucky just gave him one of his flirtier smiles.

“They’re even better when you’re hungover.” he murmured, keeping his voice low enough that the cameras couldn’t pick it up. The host made an intrigued sound.

“Do you often cook for your guests the morning after?” he asked, and Bucky did not miss the insinuation - or Mika looking at them with a quizzical look as they walked by.

“Every time.” he said, not minding if she heard him. He definitely hadn’t performed as well as he wanted to this weekend, but he was hoping that he’d done well enough to stay. Mika gave him a brilliant smile once he was settled on his stool - one that quickly dropped whenever they called her name. She brought her set up to the table, holding her hands behind her and chipping at her already very chipped nail polish.

“Tell us about this setting, Mika.” the female judge asked.

“It’s from my favorite pub back in Romania. They have the best drinks and atmosphere and is where I had my last birthday party before moving here.” she explained. They nodded, asking her questions about the biscuit flavors and construction. He was impressed that she’d managed to recreate the shape of a Guinness glass out of biscuit, and based on the reactions after their first bites, the judges were impressed with her flavors.

“This is good. You’ve definitely stepped up from last week.” the male judge said, acting as if the compliment pained him a little. Mika rose up on her toes a little, then rocked back on her heels.

“Thank you.” she said. She picked up her display and brought it back to her bench, giving Bucky an exaggerated face as she sat down. He waved off her dramatics; she was very clearly going to make it through. The rest of the contestants went with varying degrees of success, and in a blink they were back outside as the judges deliberated.

“I don’t know.” Bucky said, shaking his head and stuffing his hand in his pocket. Mika looped her arm through his, gently guiding him on a little stroll around the perimeter of their waiting area.

“You’re going to be fine. They gave you excellent feedback on your bake.” she said, rubbing his arm.

“But the first two were...subpar.” he said. “Not like yours. You’re in the clear.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx me.” she said, pinching his elbow. “Trust me, it’s going to be fine. I matched your payment from last week so that they’d put you through.”

“I didn’t pay them anything last week.” he reminded her.

“Exactly.” she said, as if that solved the problem. It didn’t increase his chances of advancing, but it did make him laugh, which was almost better at that moment. “You’re not going home. I need to see your patisserie!”

“I better not, I still haven’t tasted your bread.” he said. She shrugged.

“You can try that any time. I’ve always got some.” she said. “I’ll give you coffee and breakfast after your run next time. Unrelated, I’m very impressed that you’ve managed to keep up your exercise routine.”

“Come with me in the morning.” he said, making the offer before he realized he was doing it.

“You still have to be there for that.” she pointed out. “So sure, I will. I’m slow, but I’ll go.”

“Slow is fine.” he said. The producers called from the door of the tent, but Mika didn’t let go of his arm. She kept them linked all the way to the line of stools, even holding his arm as they announced star baker. He couldn’t help but clench his fist when they paused to announce the person going home, and even Mika grew still as the host paused dramatically.

Bucky was a little surprised not to hear his own name. The only way he knew for sure it wasn’t him was because the other bakers were saying goodbye to the person who’d been cut. Mika collapsed against his shoulder for a moment before giving his hand a hearty pat, shaking her head.

“Dammit. Now I have to go running in the morning.”

#gbbo au #week 2 #biscuit week

10 notes · View notes