forgave-me-not - Tumblr blog

forgave-me-not · 10 hours

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vetted fundraisers from today. please keep sharing and donating as you're able, it really does so much; even if your individual action feels small, you are helping to save lives.

june 29th:

14-year-old Hala El-Hissi, her two siblings (the younger of whom needs hepatitis treatment), and their mother (€8,459/€16,000) - @halaelhissi, @nadasaftawi, verified by @/ibtisams

Muhammad Al-Azayza and his family, including two children, one with Down syndrome (kr6,738 SEK/kr200,000 SEK) - @hamouda-az, verified by @/sayruq

Ahmed Ziad, his siblings, and their sick parents (£2,733/£30,000) - @ahmed-ziad, verified by @/nabulsi

Basel Ayyad and his family of eight, including his daughter who needs urgent treatment to preserve her eyesight (CHF1,506/CHF60,000) - @basel-1995, verified by @/sayruq

Safaa Abd, her husband, and their two young children (€952/€50,000) - @safaabed, verified by @/90-ghost

Wafaa Alnhal's family of 15, including four children and a newborn (€20,277/€50,000) - @wafs-posts, verified by @/nabulsi

Alaa Al Khateeb's family of six, including her mother who needs medical treatment (£25,391/£56,000) - @alaaalkhateeb, #99 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Haneen Atya's family of ten, including several young children, a newborn, and her mother who needs urgent treatment for a stroke and bleeding ($38,011 AUD/$70,000 AUD) - @haneenatya34, verified by @/el-shab-hussein

Mohammed Okal's evacuation and education (kr3,228 NOK/kr90,000 NOK) - @mohammedokal-2, verified by @/90-ghost

Mohammed Adly Haboub and his family of four (he turns 20 today) (kr14,191 SEK/kr300,000 SEK) - @mohammedhaboub, verified by @/90-ghost

Siraj Abudayeh, his wife, and their three young children who've lost their treasured home ($1,398 CAD/$82,000 CAD) - @siraj2024, verified by @/nabulsi

Hadeel Adnan Abu Nasser and her family of 12 (they lost her father in a bombing and her brother to malnutrition; Hadeel is responsible for all her family) (€1,126/€20,000) - @hadeelgaza, verified by @/90-ghost

not yet vetted:

Reem Mohamed, her husband, and their two young children (€1,925/€20,000) - @rem096

i know you likely see posts like this every day, but please don't tune them out. every one of these families and individuals deserves to live safely and pursue their dreams. any contribution you make keeps someone's bright future alive

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forgave-me-not · 12 days

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ROUTINE ANALYSIS ☆ J.S.

In his short life, Jannik has learned the subtleties that all great observers have. And somehow, he'll always manage to use those skills on you. word count: 1.9k words - genuinely so glad someone asked for another part. had a lot of fun with this 🙏🏾 warnings: mentions of prayer/spirituality, kissing, sickeningly sweet domesticity

The day before a big match is always the most nervewracking. Excitement, combined with the everpresent fear of failure, finally settles into the pit of an athlete's stomach and waits to be cracked open like an oyster or left to fester as the pearls within those creatures do. And for you, it's no different.

So, to alleviate your very obvious unease, Jannik decided to take it upon himself, on his day off, to practice with you. Having already secured his place in the semi-final, he had decided one less day of rest would be worth it if he could help out the woman he loved.

Practice went well, by all definitions of the word. In fact, it went really well. However, Jannik's praises and your temporary feeling of contentment could not negate the fact you just might buckle underneath the pressure of the match.

The emotions showed at the end of practice when you crouched down with your forehead on the handle of your racket and prayed - aloud - out of Jannik's earshot, of course. You'd never been super big on outward displays of faith like that; you preferred a more reserved, intimate relationship with spirituality. But desperate times call for desperate measures and you had squeezed your eyes tight and prayed as hard as you could. And once you were done, you dusted yourself off, packed your racket bag, and trotted out of the facilities with your boyfriend. You tried to think nothing of it, so Jannik wouldn't notice. But he does. He always does.

Turning the shower off, you wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and opened the door exiting the bathroom. Steam and hot air billowed out around you, casting the light every which way. You looked down, hugging your torso; water drips from your elbows, and you let out a quiet sigh.

"From where I am, you look like an angelo dal cielo, dearest," Jannik says, leaning against an adjacent doorway. You turn away and smile. An angle from heaven. How classy. The Italian's charms will never cease to make you blush, no matter how long you've been together. "Why thank you, Jannik," you say, walking over to your bags. You quickly found your nightclothes - one of Jannik's old t-shirts and a pair of spanx - and promptly threw them on.

"You played so well today, amore," Jannik said from behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You smile down at your bag. "Really now? Well, I guess I did have an amazing practice partner," you say with a smirk.

"You guess?!?" Jannik pulls away, and you turn around to see the Italian dramatically gaping at you. He faints onto your shared hotel bed with a hand on his forehead. Straight out of the opera. You roll your eyes. "Get up, you bum. We need to brush our teeth." The two of you make your way to the bathroom sink and go through the motions of a usual night. Bumping hips while brushing. Moisturizing each other's faces. Making gargling mouthwash a competition. You don't realize it, not yet, that Jannik is distracting you from the whirlwind of thoughts he knows is in your mind. And future you is already thankful.

You pad your way around the room, turning out the lights and straightening things. Jannik sits in bed rereading David Foster Wallace's String Theory for the hundredth time. He leans closer to the lamp on the nightstand. "You already wear glasses, baby. Don't hurt your eyes anymore," you call out from across the room. Jannik huffs and puts the book down. He knows I'm right, and he can't admit it. Such a man. While making your rounds, you glimpse tomorrow's outfit in the closet, and you almost forget yourself and shudder. Instead, you just close the doors and slip into bed.

Jannik notices you're not as chatty as usual. On a typical night, you'd be talking to him about your day, the funny things you saw on social media, weird texts from your siblings. But it's not a typical night, and Jannik understands.

"You are thinking about tomorrow's match, aren't you," Jannik says, looking at the ceiling. He still hasn't turned off the lamp, so the warm lighting casts half his face in shadow. You reach over and run your hand through his curls. "What makes you say that, Jan?"

"Oh, I don't know. How quiet you were at dinner—the constant sighing and staring into the distance, the praying." He says the last phrase with a sidelong glance, and you close your eyes and breathe. The jig is up. You sink into the bed and look away from him.

"Jan, do you ever get that feeling of 'I'm going to screw everything up once I get out there' before a big match? Because I sure as hell do," you whisper to him. The covers are pulled up to your chin. You're hiding. You're actually ashamed of a feeling so natural. And you aren't sure what upsets you more; the shame or the feeling itself.

Jannik mulls over your question. "No," he says flatly. You sit up straight. Jannik rises to lean on his elbow so he can look you in the eye. "For me, it's always the thought of 'the worst I can do is embarrass myself in front of millions of people.' And honestly, I think that might be worse."

You smile at him. "I think it might be the same," you whisper back at him. You huff, thinking of what to say.

"It's just... I've played countless finals and hope to play countless more, and you've invested so much time, energy, love into me and-"

"You know you can do it, but you still feel like, um, how do I put this, merda?" You've thrown your hands over your face. "Yes. Merda's the word."

Jannik smiles and pulls you into him.

"Well, I can't get rid of the feeling for you, but I can tell you one thing; you are one hell of a tennis player, and that other girl, your opponent, has nothing on you. Not your passion, not your personality, not even your attitude. None of it." He squeezes you with every compliment. A few tears prick your eyes. "So, I want you to throw away all of your doubts and worries. Win or lose, there is nothing you can do to get rid of me now. But you are not going to lose. I can feel it." His hands are on your face, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. You place your hands on his wrists and nod your head. "Okay, Jannik."

"Good," Jannik says with a small smile. And with that, he seals his words into your mind, body, and soul with a kiss on your forehead.

Jannik finally turns off the lamp, and the two of you settle into bed. There's a beat where you both just listen to the sounds of the night. The other's breathing. Cars still rushing by. The ticking of the clock on the wall.

"What did you pray about," Jannik says, breaking the silence. There was never much of it in your relationship, and Jannik knew he should probably revel in the quiet, but he needed to know one last thing before he went to sleep.

"None of your business, dork," you say, snuggling into your pillow.

"Ouch," Jannik says, putting his hand on his heart. You snort a laugh and close your eyes.

"I prayed that all your training wouldn't go to waste and that I'd win tomorrow so I can prove to myself that I am indeed that confident woman I thought...think I am. I'm usually pretty "go with the flow" but I guess someone finally got to me, you know? But overall, it was for guidance and strength."

Something in Jannik's chest tightened. Your tone and the way you described what you were feeling reminded him of himself. He leaned over and kissed your neck.

"You know what Italians call people like you?" You shake your head.

"il preoccupata. Pensatore eccessivo. The worrier. The overthinker. But to be completely honest, I think you are more of il filiosofa - the philosopher. You carefully study everything around you and try to put a name to it. And this time, you couldn't. Your, erm, what's it called when you test something over and over to see if it works?"

"Routine analysis?"

"Yes, that. Your routine analysis," Jan emphasized the phrase you just taught him. "You couldn't check the boxes, and that upset you. But dearest, you are not a robot. Feel as you feel, and don't try to explain it away. It's what makes you human; what makes you, you."

Your bottom lip began to quiver. "Oh, dispiace amore mio. I didn't mean to make you cry. Forget everything I just said.

"No, I-I'm not sad, Jan. It's quite the opposite. You're just s-so right," you blubber into his chest. "And I'm so lucky to have you."

Jannik dips down to kiss you. "Get some sleep, amore. You have a big day ahead of you." You're not sure if it was Jannik's words or all the stress leaving your body (probably both, to be frank), but you had the best night's sleep you've had in weeks.

You beamed up at the cheering crowd. It was next to impossible for you to contain your joy as you walked to the next to shake hands with your opponent. The look on her face was...kind. It was filled with a certain security that is hard to describe.

The two of you shook hands and gave each other a quick hug. "You deserve it," she says as both of you walk to the umpire. Another smile spread across your face. "Oh, stop it."

"No, really. You fought like hell," she says with a laugh. You follow suit, finally feeling the pit in your stomach be filled like a pothole in a parking lot. After hands were shaken and you waved your racket at every person in the stadium, you decided it was time to find Jannik.

You zipped your racket bag shut and weaved in and out of the people setting up cameras and ramps for the trophy presentation. Your trophy. Finally making it to the court entrance, you bounded up flights of stairs and traversed the corridors to your team box, where Jannik awaited you.

He spots you first. He always does. Jannik makes a few quick strides, scoops you up in his arms, and spins you around. You laugh into the air and place your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself.

"I knew you could do it tesoro," Jannik whispers in your ear, bringing you back down to earth. "I know, I know. Should've listened to you earlier," you say looking down at your feet, a bit embarrassed at all your worrying just for everything to turn out okay. He laughs and wraps a long arm around your shoulders.

"You'll be here for the award ceremony, right?" The answer is quite obvious, but you ask the question anyway.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world amore," he said, smiling down at you.

"Front row," you ask sarcastically as you shuffle towards the exit.

"Where else would I be, honey," Jannik smirks. You grin back at him. "Well, I'll see you down there then." And you turn to walk down the stairs.

"Oh, wait," Jannik calls after you.

"Yes, dear?"

"Ti amo bambina," Jannik says, leaning down the stairs to look you in the eye. Your heart tightens a bit.

"Anch'io ti amo, Jannik," you answer softly, closing the gap between the two of you and laying a light kiss on Jannik's lips.

author's note: as an athlete, those unshakeable feelings of imposter syndrome sneak up on you lol. even for the most laid back of us, me included. I remember this one time I got knocked out of high jump and really beat myself about it (I shouldn't have, I'd just run the 400m five minutes before and my legs were mush) but I cried for like three minutes and moved on to my next event. c'est la vie.

#jannik sinner imagine #jannik sinner x reader #fluff #atp tour #jannik sinner #tennis #there's an unintentional parallel in this one guys #ficlet #my writing #txt post

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