A/N: You do not need to read The Selection and the Spy to understand this! It takes places in the same world with most of the same characters, but I will fill you in on everything necessary to be able to enjoy. That said, this story will obviously contain spoilers for tsats, such as who won, who lived, the fate of some characters etc., so if you don't want spoilers, click away now.

Enjoy!

The puck skitters close to out of bounds.

"Score, please, I'm begging you!" I scream, throwing myself forward to clutch the TV in a desperate attempt to imbue some of my desperation and rage into the match.

The Ottaro Otters cannot lose this second period. They. Can. Not.

"Gail! Move your butt! I can't see!"

Zelda yanks me back and I roll into the sofa. There's screams and cheers and I scramble to a position where I can see, which is leaning on my side. Hockey sticks clash, ice churns, and Ridley tanks through three players before slamming the puck to shoot – it misses the goal by inches.

A piece of popcorn clocks the TV. "Useless!" Zelda screeches, withdrawing her arm and shoving it back into the bucket. "Should've gone for it earlier when the goalkeeper was recovering from that last shot!"

I clasp my hands together. There's ten seconds before the bell. Ten. If they don't score, they'll never recover by the third period, and god knows how terrible Kudrow is at stamina—

"Gail?"

My eyes flutter left. My younger brother, Taeyang – Tay – picks up the pieces of popcorn catapulted by Zelda and sets them into a pile in front of him.

"I thought it was bad to litter."

"It is. Don't take example from Zelda—"

"She's doing it! She's gonna' score!"

I launch forwards the same time as Zelda. "Scoooooooore!" We scream in unison. The puck zips and darts between toes, Ridley pans it to Wilson, Barking goes to intercept but misses, Wilson shoots—

The puck sinks into the net.

Popcorn flies.

"Yeeeeeeeees! Wahoooooo!" I leap up and dance as the bell goes for the end of the second period. The Ottaro Otters are still in it to win it. Zelda jigs besides me, screaming out war cries and, "The Calgary Canaries suck!" in her oh-so eloquent way.

Tay stands too, but less enthusiastically. For a nine-year-old he's tall, nearly four foot five. Still, he tugs at my dress and stares warily at the popcorn havoc around us.

"But Gail, why are you littering?"

"It's all right," I say, kneeling down to scoop a few into the tipped bucket. "We'll clean up."

He smiles, nods, and kneels to diligently start helping. It's ridiculously cute – one of those, I want to take a photo moments, but as per the rules of watching ice hockey, all phones are either on silent or off until breaks. Mine sits in the fluffy pink cushion, charging.

Zelda takes a huge breath and flops down beside me. "Phew, that was close. Too close." She wipes her brow beneath a flop of dyed black hair that spikes just down passed her ears. Self-cut, a la Zelda. "There's work to be done, but we can still win. God, if Kudrow hadn't made that early blunder—"

"It was an accident. Her arm happened to be in that position before Smith made it look like elbowing—"

"Which she should've seen coming!" Zelda scoffs. "It was a predictable move to deliberately engineer a foul. That's practically the Canaries' only tactic." She raises her hands. "Now, they just need to focus— especially Nelson. She needs to get her head in the game or sit on the bench."

The TV flashes replays of the best parts. Epic goals, great passes, brilliant dribbles and outplays. Then the camera finally pans to the studio above the rink, and the commentator's couch.

"Eee!" Zelda squeals, and I'm right next to her in excitement.

Because it's only the legendary Bellona Strike that's gone all the way to Calgary to commentate. She was the only decent player to come out of the Angeles All-Stars, and oh boy does she makes it work. She flicks back her long brown hair, laughs heartily, and talks through the plays of both teams.

"That early foul definitely counted," she says to her co-hosts. "Watching the replay makes me question the validity of the elbowing claim, but nonetheless it was a smart play by the Calgary Canaries."

"You see?" Zelda nudges me. "She's thinking what I'm thinking, and she's awesome, so therefore I am awesome."

We're glued to the action, every word that Bellona speaks, as Tay silently picks up each pieces of popcorn to replace in the bucket. As the commentary halts for commercial break, I finally look around.

Crumbs are everywhere. We're watching on the big screen TV on the glass stand, but somehow, pieces have strayed under the dusk pink sofa at my back, the matching armchair, even the brick fireplace on the other side of the parlour. The drawn curtains cut off the sun from outside, but the multiple shades of pink, white and cream are enough to keep it light.

"Aaaand now this place a mess." I wipe crumbs off my lap. "We'd better get this cleaned up before—"

A knock interrupts me dead. Zelda's face goes pale as the moon at night, and she dives behind the armchair, pretending to zip her mouth shut. A signal for me to pretend she's not here.

I turn down the volume. "Erm, who is it?"

"It's Rudy, Your Highness."

My older brother's valet and best friend, and someone I've known for practically my whole life. Nice person, and funny… when he's not being Zelda's father.

Zelda shrinks even more at his sharp tone. Oh boy.

"Can I help you, Mister Rudy?" I ask.

"I know Zelda is in there."

I wince. "N-No, she's not. She just left."

"Really now. Where to, may I ask?"

"Er… the ladies room?"

"Mmm, that's funny. I heard her screaming about hockey not mere moments ago… a wing away." He pauses. "I believe she said, The Calgary Canaries suck?"

Zelda shakes her head desperately at me, but I know refusing him entry will only make it worse now.

"All right, she's… here."

The door opens. Rudy is tall, lanky, pale and lightly freckled, but well-groomed – befitting his bespoke valet's liveries and white gloves. Not a hair of his dark red ponytail is out of place.

Spectacles hang low on his nose, and he regards first me with a stern expression… then the armchair.

"Come out from behind there, Zelda."

Zelda jumps up. "Gail, you snitch!"

"Don't blame Her Highness," Rudy snaps. "You're supposed to be in class!"

"I've been studying all day," she protests. "The latest game was on— with the Ottaro Otters— Bellona Strike is on, I can't miss it—"

"You can watch the rest of the game," Rudy says, opening the door wider, "after you study."

"What about June?"

Rudy rubs his temple. "Funny you should mention your sister, who is actually with her tutor. She is also six. You are seventeen, and you need to finish school—"

"Gail doesn't have to go to school."

I want to shrink and disappear. Not this again. Never this.

Sensing another impending argument, Tay comes to my side and warily clutches my arm. Oh boy, it must be really bad when you make a nine-year-old feel awkward.

Rudy blows out of his nostrils in a tired, frustrated sort of way.

"We have discussed this before." His voice is dangerously even. "You are not Her Highness, and you will not be treated in the same way. Go to your tutor."

"But—"

"Now, Zelda."

Zelda's face scrunches up, but she huffs, passes an apologetic looks my way, and storms out. When she disappears, Rudy lets out a sigh.

"I'm sorry about that, Your Highness. Would it be all right if you paused the game until she finishes her daily studies?"

I nod mutely and pause Bellona's speech midway.

"Thank you." He says no more, shaking his head and shutting the door to me, Tay, and the quiet hum of the TV.

Tay plonks down and purses his lips. "Awkward."

I can't help but bark a laugh. "Oh yeah."

"Mister Rudy is scary."

"He's not so bad." Though I'm glad it's not me in Zelda's position. "Come on. Let's clean up."

We sweep the popcorn into the bucket, and I call my lady's maid, Aderyn, to vacuum. As Tay curls up on the sofa and fiddles with his hands, I grab our phones. Zelda's background is of us, pouting into the camera in a ridiculous selfie, but nothing important has come through.

Then I check mine.

On the front is a text. From Chocolate Ninja.

We need to talk.

My stomach drops. Capitals, full punctuation. Received over thirty minutes ago with no elaboration.

That's nothing good.

"Aderyn?" I call over the hoover. She turns it off. "Can you watch Tay? I have… something to deal with."

I'm out before she can argue, running as fast as my slippers will take me. It's early afternoon in August. Not too hot, but hot enough when I'm pelting down the hallways of Angeles palace and to the gardens. The guards let me pass.

"Princess Gail?"

Oh, I completely forgot my bodyguard. Officer Naomi Astrauskas towers above me, not even out of breath from what she'd probably call a light jog, and comes to stop by me, cocking her head.

"Where are you going in a hurry?"

"I, er, need air!" I squeal. "Please can you leave me be?"

"You know the rules. Bodyguards at all times on outdoor palace grounds—"

"I know, I know, but please." I always have to spin this excuse with her. It's hard keeping secrets from your bodyguard. "The hockey game has made me overexcited and I need to be alone for a few moments." She doesn't look convinced, and I scramble for something. "If it helps, I'll be at the stables?"

Naomi has one of those faces where everything is written as openly as a book. Her manicured eyebrows rise on her brown skin. Her lips roll.

"I'll escort you there, and then I'll leave you."

"Fine. Okay." Compromise.

Summer air embraces me like a hug, but all I can think about is that stupid text. We need to talk. Why does that sound so ominous, so contrast to the sun in the sky, the gentle breeze that tickles my bare legs and whips my long, brown hair out of place?

We arrive at the stables to a familiar scene. An outhouse a few yards away from the Amendment Wing exit, dark green wood hangs over several horse pens and huge bales of hay. My old girl, Unicorn, a dark Arabian, whinnies at my presence, and I reach for her, comforted that at least I know there's one creature who will always be straight with me. Even if I can't understand a word (or neigh) she says.

A large man comes around the corner with a huge pitchfork, and drops it immediately to doff his straw hat when he sees me. "Ah, Your Highness! I wasn't expecting you here!"

I smile. "Hello, Senior Mah. How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you! Unicorn's been keeping well, too." He grins, in that moment striking a close resemblances to a fat, happy kumquat. If kumquats were fat and happy. He hoists his overalls. "Sheng and I've been taking good care of her as always, as your lovely family takes care of us."

Sheng. The name spills shivers down my back.

"You should've brought a jacket," snorts Naomi.

"I'm fine," I insist. "Can you leave me now?"

Naomi steps back. Her uniform boots are still pristine, unlike my slippers, which are now ruined.

"All right. Stay in sight of the stables. Yell if you need anything."

She takes a few steps back into the bushes. Out of sight, out of mind, but I know she's not too far away if trouble occurs.

I'm at that point where I have to think that this is trouble.

"I'm sorry about the mess," says Senior Mah. There are bits of hay strewn here, there, everywhere. "I was hoping to leave early today. To go to the hospital."

Ah. His mother. The senior Mah. Sheng told me she's been ill for the last few months with cancer.

"Please don't worry about it. I'll keep my visit short so you can be on your way." It's a struggle to keep smiling. "So, er, where is Sheng today? I wanted to talk to him about Unicorn."

Just as I ask, he appears around the corner. Sweat coats his brow, his neck, his bare chest, sculpted like a freakin' god. Cool black eyes land on me but don't light up and instead avert to the ground, and he rakes a gloved hand through his cropped black hair like he's unintentionally modelling for a shoot.

Senior Mah first chides something in Chinese. "Cover yourself in front of the princess, Sheng!"

He goes a little red, but turns and searches for a T-shirt amongst the tools and instruments by the shed. The fabric is so thin I can still see everything beneath.

"My apologies, Your Highness." Senior Mah starts to bow. "Sheng was working to muck the stables today, and the weather—"

"That's fine, Senior Mah," I say, probably too quickly. "I understand work must be so difficult. It must make being clear quite difficult, too."

Sheng stiffens. "My diction is fine."

"Your Highness!" Senior Mah squawks.

"My apologies, Your Highness," Sheng adds quickly.

"See? Only four words both times." I stare down Sheng with questions in my eyes, but he refuses to look at me. "Funny how there are so many combinations of four-word sentences that can be totally vague and ominous."

Senior Mah raises an eyebrow. "Well, absolutely, Your Highness—"

"Bah, can you give us a minute?" Sheng looks ultra composed as he speaks. "I'd like to give a rundown of Unicorn's latest exercise schedule to Her Highness."

Senior Mah nods his head and ducks away, retreating towards the shed. I don't miss the jolly grin that spreads on his face, and it drives guilt into me like a punch to the gut. By Sheng's face, he feels it, too.

Then his father is gone, and Sheng and I are alone.

All of me wants to run into his arms, squeeze and hug and plant a few kisses, but Sheng today is wooden, stiff like the trees that clasp the walls of the palace garden. This isn't normal, not since we started secretly seeing each other.

Sheng clears his throat. "You didn't come immediately."

"I was watching the game."

"I… should've known that." He sighs, then comes closer to Unicorn, but really to me. "We… need to talk."

"Yes, I saw. I don't know what's going on, but it sounded really serious, and—"

"It is." Finally, he meets my gaze. "Gail, I think… I think we should break up."

The world teeters beneath me, and it's a fight not to yell.

"W-What? Why?"

"Because of… this." He gestures between us.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean… because of… because of the secrecy. That we have to keep our relationship discreet."

My eyebrows dip on my head. Where the heck is this coming from?

"Erm, as I recall, Sheng, I was happy to announce that I was publically taken but you wanted to keep it secret."

"I… know." His jaw works, a sign that he's hiding something and trying to cobble an excuse over it. "But… I didn't realise how much I would have to sacrifice for it."

"So… seeing me isn't worth the secrecy?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, that's exactly what you said."

His lips roll. "Gail, come on. You know that's not it."

"Isn't it?" I protest. "Because this is coming out of nowhere. You wanted to keep our dates a secret, not me, and now I'm being punished for it?"

"I didn't want to disappoint you."

"I'd rather be disappointed than led on for two months!" I withhold the growing scream in my throat, but instead it forms as tears on my eyelids. "If you knew you couldn't handle the spotlight then you shouldn't have asked me out in the first place. It would've saved us both the sacrifice."

"Please, I… it's not like that. Not like that at all." He goes to reach my hand, but recoils sharply like he's been hit. "I can't even touch you. Do you know how frustrating that is?"

"Yes!" I snap. "If you want to hold my hand publically, why can't we just announce our relationship? What's the problem?"

"The media—"

"Will give us space if I demand it. Press aren't allowed on palace grounds without say-so."

He makes a noise of frustration, rakes his hair, paces back and forth.

"You don't understand—"

"You're not giving me anything to understand!"

"Can't you see? You and me… we're from two different worlds, two different universes, Gail! You're a princess, and I—" He seethes. "I'm just a lowly stable hand that will never be worthy of you."

It's a slap to the face. A slap that fills me both with pity and fury. This is why he wants to break up?

"Are you kidding? My family dates normal people all the time! The current queen is an architect. My mother was a jujitsu teacher! You're making no sense."

"Because of the Selection! They elevate to a higher status and become worthy of you."

"There are no castes anymore, Sheng—"

He scoffs. "There are no castes in name, but there will always be a class system. You will always be at the top, and I will always be at the bottom."

I'm so not here to argue about that.

"It doesn't matter. You are worthy. That's why I'm dating you now. I don't need to have a Selection to see that."

He throws up a hand. "You may think so, but what of the rest of the world? They will see me by your side and think you're dating down."

"Who cares about what anyone else thinks? All that should matter is me and you." My cheeks puff. "What do you even want me to do about it? Have a Selection so there's a chance you'll be chosen to elevate? It's one in a million odds!"

He's silent for a moment.

"Then there's still a chance." He sighs. "But… I am never going to earn my way to a title, and you will never hold a Selection…"

"I don't want to hold a Selection because I have you!"

"I can't keep dating you knowing I will never be good enough!" Finally, a note of desperation, but he buries it instantly. "I can't. I'm sorry."

My vision starts to blur. All this, because of… who I am?

"So… that's it? We're over?"

"We're over." He bows his head, disturbingly void of emotion, and says a little louder. "Unicorn will always be well-kept by me personally, Your Highness."

Then he turns, and he's away, leaving me to spill tears on my own.

It's a while before I let anyone into my bedroom.

Or, more appropriately, before anyone lets themselves in without knocking or announcing themselves and rudely plonks themselves on my bed like they own the place.

"Ugh. Stupid tutor went over ancient Illéan history like it's relevant to us anymore," Zelda grumbles. By the touch of milky pink light that floods behind her, it's early evening. "Did you know there was a cultural wave on social media of sharing captioned images of little yellow creatures in overalls? No? Me either, because I don't care! Now let's get back to watching the—" A finger pokes me through the comforter. "Gail? Are you napping?"

Curled in a ball under the covers, tears streak my pillow. I've already refused entry to Aderyn and Tay several times, the latter causing guilt to gnaw at me, but I didn't want to see anyone, and I definitely didn't want anyone to see me.

Sheng broke my heart because he didn't feel worthy of it. Despair – it clenches me in a tight fist, refusing to let go, but the coherent parts of me war with pity and acute rage, and it only makes me feel worse. I can't even decide how to feel about it, and yet it all melds together into one huge lump in my throat that threatens more sobs.

Zelda unfurls a corner of the cover and pokes her head in. "Are you crying?"

I turn away, but Zelda pulls off the cover and exposes me to cold air.

"You're not even changed? What happened—?" She gasps. "Wait. Was it… Chocolate Ninja?"

I make the barest of nods.

Zelda launches to her feet and rolls up her sleeve. "I don't know what the hell went down, but I'mma' beat that boy so hard he'll throw back in time to when he came out fresh from his mother's—"

"I don't need that right now. Please." I snatch the covers back. "I just… want to sulk."

She settles next to me, missing my implied alone.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

And yet, I can't stop babbling until every last drop of the story is out. Zelda looks about a thousand times more ready to pummel Sheng by the end of it, but she largely channels it into cracking her knuckles instead.

"So he won't date you because he's, what, a peasant?" She holds up air quotes. "What a stupid reason. That's like saying I can't be best friends with you because Rudy's in the palace's service and used to be a Six."

I know that, but it doesn't change what Sheng did. Doesn't change that it hurts, hollows me out like a cavern collapsing on itself. We haven't been dating very long, but knowing that we danced and cuddled and kissed for it to end in nothing… it hurts.

Real bad.

I sit up and wipe my eyes. "It is stupid. I don't care about his background."

"Humph! You sure you don't want me to dispense of his idiot ass? Fling him into the sun? 'Cause I totally can, if that'll make you feel better."

The mental image of Zelda taking Sheng by the arm and launching him into space is funny, but not even that can dice my gloomy mood. The clouds seem to hang on my shoulders like a heavy cloak.

"He would rather I hold a freakin' Selection and chance it to win the public's affection over date me publically now! Why? It just makes no sense!"

"Because Chocolate Ninja is a big moron, with capitals, trademarked. It's the name of his autobiography."

"It's just— just ridiculous!" I pound my fists against the pillow. "I almost want to have a Selection just to shove it back in his big, mean face—"

My back straightens.

Wait.

Isn't that… the perfect way to get over him?

The Selection is a tradition throughout my family. For generations, the Schreaves have held Selections to find significant others amongst the general population, inviting thirty-five participants to win the heir's hand.

Thirty-five.

My brother has already had his Selection, and though it wasn't… perfect, he did find his future wife amongst them. If I hold my Selection… I can get over Sheng and then rub it in his face when he inevitably doesn't get Selected.

And by then, I'll be so over him.

The comforter flies off, and I throw on some proper clothes over my dress as I speak. "I'm going to have a Selection."

Zelda startles. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah!" I turn, suddenly giddy. "This is the perfect opportunity to rub his stupid idea back in his face. Show him what he's missing and what he could have got if he hadn't played me like a fool. I give him his chance to be Selected, which he'll get never in a million years, and when he doesn't, I'll have thirty-five hot guys to help me get over him. Think of the eye candy!"

"Gail, slow down." Zelda intercepts me by the door. "You're… hurting, I get it. But… throwing yourself into a Selection—"

"I always wanted to have a Selection anyway. To have my chance at a fairy tale romance. I started a countdown when I was nine. How many days is that? So many!"

"About three thousand. But Gail—"

"See? It's been three thousand days since—"

"Just listen." Zelda silences me by waving her hands. "You can't seriously be all-for a Selection at the clap of your hands. All this trouble just to make one measly boy jealous? One who doesn't deserve another ounce of your time or attention?"

My cheeks puff. "What's the best way to get over a break-up? A rebound, of course."

"So you want to hold an entire Selection just so you have a massive, long rebound?" She scoffs. "That is the stupidest idea you've ever had."

I glare at her.

"Okay, okay." Then she grins. "That time you played a prank on the queen by pretending to be a pizza man was definitely worse."

"Hey, that was a great April Fool's. She never saw it coming."

"You walked in and the first thing she said was, Gail, why are you dressed as a pizza man?"

"… Touché." I wave her away. "Look, if Chocolate Ninja thinks I should have a Selection, then I will. He will never be Selected and I will have thirty-five boys to help me completely forget he ever existed."

Zelda wavers by the door, narrows her eyes with cold calculation. For a moment, I don't think she'll move, but then she steps aside and pats my shoulders.

"Fine. Then I'm with you." She points at me. "But, girl, you better make his ass so jealous he literally turns green."

It's good to have her on my side. Not that she ever hasn't been, even during April Fool's.

"Thanks, Zel."

I give her a sidelong hug, and she snorts, but returns a pat. When I pull back, she's frowning.

"I'll support your cause, but…" She winces. "I'm not the one you have to convince."

There's someone who won't be easily swayed.

And she's right, because there's no way on earth my brother the king, Roy, will let me hold a Selection.

Not after the calamity that was his.

I've already made up my mind. Roy might not have said yes yet, but whether he gives his approval or not, this Selection is going to happen.

So by the end of it all, Sheng will see what a huge mistake he's made.

And I won't even remember his name.

A/N: A recent census has confirmed that a gentleman between the ages of eighteen and twenty lives within your household. He is cordially invited to submit his name to the Selection of Her Royal Highness, Gail Su-Jin Schreave, Princess of Illéa and second in line to the throne.

SUBMISSION RULES:

1. No flawless characters. I will ask either that you change your character extensively or resubmit a new character. I was lenient with this last time, but no longer. I cannot emphasise enough how extremely boring perfect characters are to write for me, so please, please, please give your gents imperfections in their personalities!

2. DIVERSITY. I encourage you to send some diverse characters! Illéa is hugely varied and wonderful like our real world, and I feel it is a disservice if my story does not reflect that. I am also advocating for diverse personalities: give me some Eans as well as Eriks! (If I don't get an Ean, y'all, I'll have to make my own douchecanoe who will steal spotlight from your characters…)

3. New OCs only, please. Please don't submit your character if he has already been submitted to another, active story. If the story is inactive and didn't introduce your character in depth, that's fine. I'd like to keep these characters unique!

4. Do not name your character after an existing fictional character if the name brings connotation to that specific character. No Percys, no Mavens, no Dorians (names like Harry or Charlie are fine). Please also avoid names of characters who were featured in The Selection and the Spy. As this takes place in the same world, I don't want to cause confusion. (I know, I know, I'm very sorry to say that the name Rudolf is off the table.) If you're not sure, no worries, send the form and I'll let you know if there's a problem.

5. Make sure your character's face claim is relatively close in age. Between sixteen and twenty-five is fine. Just no thirty-plus-year-olds posing as twenty-year-olds, please. I will only accept face claims of older actors on a case-by-case basis, so please ask.

6. Your character's age should reflect their professional skill level. These boys are only twenty at maximum. No way will they be the CEO of McDonalds or a top-ranking lawyer at their fancy New York firm. Many of them will be in school or university – that's fine! They could also be apprentices at their work – that's also fine. Just keep their skill level relatively even to their age and how long they've been doing it. I am flexible with this, so you're welcome to shoot your character by me first.

7. Please review frequently. Don't submit your character and then never appear again. I would love to know what you think about the portrayal of your character, and your opinion of the other characters, too. Root for someone! It's more fun! I am obliged to let the submitters of characters who review more often advance further through the competition.

8. Please fill the form out as much as possible. The more detail you provide, the better I can write your character, the more likely they are to advance further through the competition.

9. I will be operating on both a "first come, first serve" and "quality over quantity" basis. That means, the quicker you get your character in the better, but also that I may reject your character if they're not a good fit for the story. I have a duty as the writer to create the best story possible, and with limited spots, I need to make sure I do this with the best resources possible. That includes characters. If I happen to reject your character, I will allow you to rework him or submit another for consideration.

10. As of the posting this chapter, you cannot reserve spots or provinces. I have known people to keep their reservations for so long it delays the writing, which I would like to avoid. If you have already reserved your province and cleared it with me, you're fine. Please also write 'coco pops and milk make a bowl full of fun' in your form somewhere so I know you've read the rules. Having done an SYOC before, it's incredibly frustrating when people don't take the time to do so, so it will be an auto-reject if this is not included.

11. Please PM me the form, and use this format in the subject line: Forename and Surname, Age (in numbers), Province, Profession. For example, "Henri Jaakoppi, 18, Sota, Baker." No other submission methods will be accepted. Do not post your forms in the reviews; I will auto-reject your character if you do!

Please note: I am following the style of The Heir and will be writing solely from the POV of Gail.

I'm flexible with the number of characters, but at minimum, ten characters are being accepted, and I definitely won't go above twenty. I may close submissions any time after I've received and accepted ten characters (so as always, the earlier you submit, the better). The others will be throwaways. Updates to submission status can be read on the summary or in my profile, and the form is on my profile as well.

On to the true A/N: I never anticipated I'd write this any time soon, but due to my extreme lack of willpower, here we are. I'm so excited to dig into Gail's story in The Rebound and the Rink! For reference, this takes place nine years after the bulk of tsats, and six after the epilogue. Our little, innocent nine-year-old Gail is now an eighteen-year-old lady with some devious plans up her sleeve…

I'm aiming for this to be waaaaay more light-hearted and fun (less death? Maybe?), but that said, I'm open to seeing how the story unfolds. Hopefully it won't be nearly as long either because I can't do 440k again y'all (please fling me into the sun if I do).

Big shoutout to the Discord who coerced me— er, I mean, lovingly encouraged me to write this! As always, the Discord is open to all members of our community, so if you want to get the inside scoop on some of the wonderful fanfics here, get some sneak-peaks, chat and have shenanigans, PM me for the link! :D

Any questions? Shoot me a message.

And as always, many thanks for reading, and I sincerely hope you'll come along for the fun!

~ GreenWithAwesome

EDIT 22nd FEB 2019: As a wise Canadian pointed out, there is no such thing as hockey halftime. And I need to read hockey rules more carefully lol. This has been fixed.