#2020 French Open

[wannab3-writer]

Game, Set, Love

ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)

Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.

WC: 13.2 k

description

After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.

2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER

August 31st, 2020

Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone—Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.

"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.

The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.

"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.

"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."

That had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.

"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her.  — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.

As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.

Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.

"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.

Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."

Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised  brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.

THE MEETING

Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."

She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.

Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.

"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"

"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.

"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his

Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."

Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.

"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"

"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”

Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.

So Tashi

When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.

"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."

Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.

"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."

Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.

"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”

PRACTICE

Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.

The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.

"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"

Art nodded, his expression detached.

Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.

"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?

Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."

Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.

Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."

Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.

Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."

Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."

Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."

As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.

Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.

Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.

As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.

"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.

Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.

Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.

His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.

Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”

Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”

Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.

Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”

AFTER PRACTICE

Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.

As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.

Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.

"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.

"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"

Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."

Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"

Classic

Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience." 

Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.

Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.

“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.

“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”

“mmh.”

After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.

She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.

"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.

She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.

"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.

As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.

SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN

It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.

Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.

"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."

Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.

"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.

Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.

“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.

Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.

"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."

Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.

“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.

She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.

Right

Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.

Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."

Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?

Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.

“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.

He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.

Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.

"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."

Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."

Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.

"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."

Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.

"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."

She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.

"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."

Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.

The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.

THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO

This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.

"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.

Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."

Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."

"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."

Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."

Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."

Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.

"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight." 

“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”

Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”

Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.

“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.

"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table. 

“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.

Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."

Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."

Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,

Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.

AT THE HOTEL

After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.

Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner. 

Right?

Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"

"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.

"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."

Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?

When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen. 

Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."

Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."

The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.

As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."

Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."

Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."

Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."

Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.

Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.

As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."

Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"

Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"

Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."

“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.

Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.

As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."

Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.

The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.

"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.

Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."

The wine was definitely hitting.

Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.

"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."

Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."

"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.

Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.

Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic. 

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.

“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.

She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.

Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.

“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.

“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.

“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.

“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.

Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”

“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.

“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties.  Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.

“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”

“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”

"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.

“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.

“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.

He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.

"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.

She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.

“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach. 

There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.

After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.

Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.

"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."

Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."

Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.

Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."

Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.

Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

THE TOURNEMENT

Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.

She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.

Strange

Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.

She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.

Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.

After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"

Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.

Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."

Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."

Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.

"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."

Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."

Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."

Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"

Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."

Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.

The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.

FIRST MATCH

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.

Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.

The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.

Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.

Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.

Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.

Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.

This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.

Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.

A mistake

This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.

What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.

He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.

Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.

She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.

The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.

The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.

A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.

"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.

I didn’t mean it, Kat.

Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.

The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.

Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.

The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.

He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.

Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.

What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.

Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.

Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.

"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."

She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.

The umpire's call was clear: "In!"

Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.

Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.

The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.

The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.

Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.

The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.

Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.

Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.

Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.

The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.

Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.

The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.

Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.

Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.

Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.

Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.

Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"

Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."

“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.

“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.

"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."

Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"

Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."

She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."

"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"

Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."

Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"

"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."

Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"

Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.

Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"

Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."

Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.

"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."

Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.

The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.

“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.

She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.

[taylor-titmouse]

The Masson Circle Collection (18+)

OUT NOW!

Even killers can fall in love. Set against a backdrop of early 70s Europe, The Masson Circle is a collection of illustrated queer romance novellas between assassins, thieves, and the criminal mastermind at the middle of them all. Originally released between 2020 and 2021, these three stories have been remastered with revised text, 30 brand new illustrations, and an exclusive bonus story. This collection is roughly 69k words.

All three stories contain some violence, references to alcohol, and explicit sexual content and images. They are intended for adult audiences only. Comes in DRM-free PDF and EPUB formats, and includes an image gallery ZIP containing all book illustrations, plus all the sketchbook content included in the original releases.

Daffodils

Retired assassin Ezra Platt loves his wife, Tessa, more than anything else in the world. For the first time in six years, the two are both in town for their anniversary, which means it has to be made special. What do you get the woman who is your everything, especially when she's an assassin herself? Perhaps the answer lies in Ezra's memories of meeting her...

18.2k words. Features fem dom, face sitting, and pegging.

Carnations

The Duplessis is hosting its biannual masked bacchanal, and art forger and thief Leonard Lacroix has been hired to empty its safe. Infiltrating the classy gentlemen's club is easy, but when he runs into an old flame, getting out with all he wants is not. 

17.4k words. Features gay sex in a private office. Contains the use of a homophobic slur.

Laurels

French couturier Mathieu Masson is a man with one foot in the underworld, the one to call for anything from a killing to a Caravaggio. But when a new client demands what he can't give, he has only his bodyguard, Jean Martin, to lean on. 

16k words. Features a trans male lead and tender lovemaking. Contains some queerphobia, and references to child sex abuse in a character's past.

This collection also includes Narcissus, Dianthus, and Sweet Bay, each an extra short story connected to their corresponding book, from the perspective of the love interest. Narcissus explores Tessa's memory of her and Ezra's first night together. Dianthus recalls the time Lionel and Leonard fooled around in a professor's office in college. Sweet Bay takes place just before Laurels' epilogue, as Jean and Mathieu settle into their partnership and open up about themselves. Sweet Bay contains discussion of child sex abuse in a character's past.

Read it today!

[canmom]

Animation Night 189: Nonphotorealistic

There is a funny trend in animation-related terminology to define things by what they aren't. Animation is any technique for creating film that isn't live action. Limited animation is any style of 2D animation that doesn't follow the conventions of Disney's 'full animation' on 1s and 2s - a category that includes a wildly diverse range of approaches and techniques, as this wonderful history by Animation Obsessive describes.

In 3DCG circles, there is a similar term: nonphotorealistic. Which describes, naturally, anything that isn't trying to look like a photograph of a real scene. There has been a real boom in this of late, and just like the other terms, it really doesn't narrow it down very much. Other terms like 'hybrid animation' add a bit more hints.

Of course, if you've been anywhere near animation in the last few years, you'll probably know another term: 'Spiderverse style'.

There is no denying that Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (2018) by Sony Pictures Animation was an absolute landmark for animation. (I wrote about it way back on AN21, focusing more on the cultural angle.) The ludicrously stylish film pretty much set the direction for animation in the 2020s - making a bunch of money and awards and thus finally throwing open the door to 3DCG animation that doesn't look like the style set by Pixar/Dreamworks in the 2000s. Its sequel, Across the Spiderverse (2023), was even more ambitious and successful (despite a troubled production involving a lot of needless crunch). We'll be showing that soon in a Spiderverse double bill so look forward to it!

So perhaps not surprising that when people see the use of graphical styles, 2D elements, limited framerates and the like in 3DCG these days, Spiderverse comes to mind. In its wake have come various films and series that apply these and related techniques: 3DCG animation is more varied than ever, and it's cool.

It isn't really a style, tho.

Here I'm indebted to youtuber Camwing who has made a nice video overview breaking down the animation of recent movies in this vaguely defined paradigm. Among them we have The Mitchells vs the Machines (2021, also Sony), Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022, Dreamworks), and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023, animated at the French/Canadian studio Mikros animation), and of course over on Netflix you got the wildly popular League of Legends spinoff series Arcane (2021, Fortiche Productions), and the romance film Entergalactic (2022, DNEG), tying in with an album of the same name.

None of these films has exactly the same style, but they all pull from a related bag of tricks. The core techniques are animating on reduced framerates for a 'snappy', high-clarity feeling, the combination of 2D and 3D elements in some fashion, and taking inspiration from traditional media such as paintings or comic books.

For example, Arcane and Entergalactic both use the trick of 2D backgrounds/projecting paintings onto 3D geometry, inhabited by 3D characters with a stylised shader. Arcane is dripping with 2D visual effects. Puss in Boots drops the framerate during its action scenes - the opposite of the old paradigm of full animation, where fast actions would get more frames. Spiderverse draws 2D expressions onto its 3D models to push them further, and is full of all kinds of colourful stylised rendering - screentone effects, kirby dots, outlines, the works.

It's tempting to link this to 2D-in-3D animation, and certainly many of these films apply this technique - this is the major niche where Blender has found its way into industry pipelines. But using 2D isn't mandatory to count here. For example, TMNT Mutant Mayhem has an incredibly striking storybook-painting style, accomplished largely by clever shader work and a strong sense of graphic design. Genndy Tartakovsky's canned 2014 Popeye project was planning to use a ton of 2D-style posing and squash-and-stretch, accomplished largely with rigged 3D models. There are many paths to take!

And mind you, I haven't even covered one of the biggest angles here. Search for nonphotorealistic 3DCG on Youtube and what you'll probably find most is information about cel-shading - aka 'anime style'. This has also advanced considerably in the last few years, with the techniques pioneered by Arc System Works in Guilty Gear such as editing the normals of characters for more precise control over shading, and minute adjustments to break up the mechanical feeling of 3D, becoming widely copied in both games and films. (And particularly, animated porn.)

Vtubers in particular have really run with this technique, generally speaking using cel-shaded models with edited normals, inverted eyes, etc. etc. to try and get the feeling of an anime character come to life. [You can see a lot of these state of the art techniques if you download Pixiv's free VRoid Studio software and import the model into Blender using the VRM plugin.]

Naturally this kind of cel-shaded approach has found a particular home in Japan. In anime, the biggest champions of it are certainly Studio Orange, whose hybrid approach involves planning out shots with 2D animation before matching them with the rigs. We've covered their adaptation of Houseki no Kuni in great detail on Animation Night 97; their Trigun reboot was perhaps even more popular. But cel-shaded techniques, 3D previs and the like have also made their way into big films like Eva 3.0+1.0 (AN66).

Although this type of rendering aims to recreate the look and feel of 2D animation as much as possible, it always ends up being something new: character models that would be too complex to draw, an ease to 3D movements and camerawork that would be challenging in 2D, and generally a new hybrid style. This is good! 2D animation is already very good at being 2D animation - it's fascinating to see what 3DCG becomes with that inspiration.

So with that brief overview, where does that take us tonight?

I'm not quite ready to do a Spiderverse double bill tonight, so instead the plan is to check out a couple of recent American franchise films that are taking on the new suite of techniques. I've mentioned them up above, but let me introduce them more fully here.

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is a sequel to a fairly unpopular spinoff about a side character of the Shrek franchise (AN75). Not, on its face, very promising - which is why it is all the more striking that I was told on all sorts of sides that I must watch this movie. I'm finally going to make good on that.

The title character is a kind of feline musketeer type, now facing the end of his swashbuckling career as he's lost 8 of his 9 lives. Not wanting to hang up his hat, he goes on a quest to restore them. What makes it stand out its the action scenes, which go all in on the anime-influenced, extreme perspective and lighting, limited framerate style that we're discussing above. Apparently it looks sick as shit.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is a fresh reboot of the venerable TMNT franchise, which pretty much describes itself in the title: four turtles (named after Renaissance painters, of course!) live in a sewer as ninjas, led by their aging master who is a rat. Starting as a comic book, it became one of the iconic toyline-driven TV shows of the 80s - but it's still going! Indeed, Turtles has been on a roll of late (at least going by animator scuttlebutt), with Australian studio Flying Bark Productions turning a lot of heads with their neo-Kanada School style (and for really stretching the definition of 'storyboard').

This new film takes a different approach to the bombastic action of Rise. It focuses on a new origin story for the turtles, telling a kind of coming of age story - but what makes it unique is the animation style and cinematography. Cinéma vérité is not a phrase you really expect to be associated with ninja turtles, but the film seems to really go all out in a way you wouldn't really expect from a franchise movie, shooting the young turtles in a handheld style and focus heavily on character. Marcel Reinhard's shader work, allowing the animators to isolate lights to specific objects and characters and introducing graphical elements of cross-hatching, stippling, etc. etc. to the lighting, gives it a uniquely painting-like feeling, augmented by a lot of 2D creativity in lighting and effects.

Turtles has never really been my thing, but this film looks unique enough that I really want to see it - and I hear it's a good film too.

So that's our bill for tonight! Puss and Turtles. Let's see what the big studios have been cooking of late...

Animation Night 189 will be starting around 10pm UK time (roughly three hours hence) and carrying on til about 2-3am same! We'll be on twitch.tv/canmom as usual. Hope to see you there!

[ikjun]

Carlos Alcaraz Garfia receives the Olympic silver medal in men's singles on Court Philippe-Chatrier at Stade Roland Garros, 4th August, 2024. This is the first silver medal for Spain in men's singles since 1996 as well as in this century after Rafael Nadal received gold in 2008 and Pablo Carreño Busta received bronze in 2020/21. It also marks Alcaraz's first Olympic medal at his first games after winning the Us Open in 2022 and then the French Open and Wimbledon in less than a year.

[meazalykov]

invisible string theory

lena oberdorf x uswnt!bayern!reader

part one - part two - part three

summary: you're with her now, but you've known of her for longer than that.

warnings: long chapter, suggestive content

back in the united states, you were heartbroken. 

due to the contract that gotham had with lyon, there wasn’t a possibility that lyon could permanently sign you. the french club tried to sign you for another loan year with a mandatory buy option, but gotham didn’t want that. 

so now you’re here, dressed in a gotham kit watching the team play the chicago red stars from the bench. 

its the 70th minute and you had your arms crossed sitting on the bench. your national teammate, mallory, and your other friend midge sat beside you after coming off minutes before. 

“my ankle is killing me, i might have to go to medic after this game ends.” mallory hissed as she held onto her ankle. sometime after halftime, a chicago red stars player kicked the back of mallory’s ankle on accident. 

“you should, its bruised!” you say as you observe her ankle from your seat, your hands still crossed together as midge decides to hold your right arm in comfort. 

midge turns her head and noticed the coach, yes the coach that's not happy with you, coming your way. 

“y/n.” midge tapped your shoulder. you looked to your right to see the coach looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“y/n, you should warm up, you’re going on in the 80th minute.” the coach says before going back to observe the game. 

your eyebrows knitted together before you quickly took off your windbreaker jacket. being a benchwarmer the last two games since coming back from france was something you were starting to get used to until another club put in their offers. 

the coach has received a bunch of hate in the media because of you. which kind of soccer coach wouldn’t start one of the best players in the world? well, a coach with an agenda– that's for sure. 

being subbed into the game five minutes later, you already had the ball at your feet. as you run across the pitch and dribble pass a few chicago players, you pass up to carli lloyd. 

the striker takes the shot but it deflects off of the post. luckily, the ball landed back on your blue cleat and you tapped the ball into the goal. opening up the score 1-0 for gotham before the 90th minute. 

knowing your situation at gotham, you didn’t celebrate as happily as you did back when you scored at lyon. all you did was put your hands up high as your teammates gathered around to hug you. 

“i’m pretty sure that this is a good moment after being back from winning the champions league in europe.” a commentator says as you go back into the starting position as an attacking midfielder. 

“that’s my girl!” you heard midge yell from the benches. you look over to see her and mallory with the brightest smiles as you nod your head at them. 

you loved your teammates, but you wanted to be at another club more than anything. 

after the game that afternoon, your agent called you. 

she said that many clubs in europe wanted to sign you– permanently. 

that's all you wanted, you didn’t want to take a loan deal and attach yourself to another club just to come back here again. you wanted a new permanent home. it's 2020 and the transfer window in europe will close soon.

she said that psg was the first to put in an offer for you, but you immediately declined. somehow, you felt loyal to lyon and didn’t want to join paris. 

the next clubs she mentioned were real madrid, manchester united, ajax, and aston villa. you declined on those as well, not really seeing yourself in those clubs. 

even though bayern munich wasn’t the last club on the list, you were interested in that offer once your agent mentioned it. 

your agent mentioned that the coach personally wanted you at the club, and the club offered a good amount of benefits.

so, after a few days of deciding, you were in germany signing a contract with the bavarian club until 2025. 

over the months, you adjusted to the club perfectly. you got along with the girls, made a promise that you’ll learn to speak german, and your new best friend sydney was there to guide you. 

in november 2020, you were in the starting lineup to play against wolfsburg. 

this is your first time going up against the green team since you were with the french club, so you were ready to face them again. 

as you were standing in the tunnel, you talked with lineth beerensteyn about what to expect. this is your first start with the club, since the coach wanted you to get familiar with the games first. this was fair and something you went through with lyon as well. 

“its nice to face them again.” you respond to lineth after she asked you how you felt about wolfsburg. she smirks at you before pinching your shoulder. 

“oh yeah– i forgot we have a champions league winner on our hands.” she laughed. you rolled your eyes playfully as you shook your head. 

“don’t forget about the world cup.” sydney lohmann joins in. your jaw dropped as you shook your head again. 

“okay let's not talk about me, lets talk about the upcoming match” you say. 

“you’re right you’re right,” lineth laughs at her teasing towards you, “games against wolfsburg get pretty intense when you’re with bayern. they’re the “rivals” or whatever you want to say.” she continued. 

“just make sure that you take advantage of any opportunity you see. some of the midfielders will go for your ankles so i’d watch out for that too. things can get heated” the dutch finished. 

you nodded your head as you observed the wolfsburg players around the tunnel. some, like svenja and dominique, patted your back since you’re happy to see you again but in the bundesliga. 

before you walked ahead to talk to sydney, you felt a hand on your left shoulder. 

“so– what brings you here?” you look over your shoulder to see lena. 

honestly, you forgot about her after the champions league final. you have her jersey in your apartment along with other players' jerseys you’ve traded with in the past, but things were stressful for you when you went back home. 

“beating you again.” you teased. lena placed her hand over her heart before giggling, 

“not that! i mean it's nice to see you in this league.” she says. 

“oh danke– sorry– the adjustment here was easy thankfully.” you smile. 

lena wraps her arm around your shoulder, causing you to feel warm on the inside, does she know what she is doing to you? 

“that’s good– it would’ve been nice to see you in our jersey though.” lena whispers. you look over at her, your voice caught into your throat. 

“um- no thanks. i would miss getting my ankles broken by you if we were on the same team.” you tease. she unwraps her arm from your body, and pats you on the shoulders with a smirk, before going back to where the wolfsburg substitutes are without saying anything else. 

“y/n.. how do you know lena?” sydney walks up to you with her eyebrows knitted together. she looked curious, smiling, as you crossed your arms together. 

“we met during some adidas event at the world cup. well- i met giulia actually but lena just happened to be there and-” 

“and you guys are dating? why didn’t you tell-”

“woah syd slow down! we aren’t dating?” you cut her off. 

sydney smirks at you before laughing, realizing what the conversation turned into. 

“i’m sorry. you guys looked very flirty and familiar with each other.” sydney said as she rested her arm on your shoulder. you shrugged the other shoulder. 

“I mean the last time I talked to her was at the champions league final last season. she's cute but i don’t know if she even sees me that way?” you whisper in sydneys ear. 

you’re comfortable talking about this with sydney. she’s become your best friend since arriving in germany, but it feels like you’ve known her for longer than that. 

“the way that she looked at you, i would say she does.” sydney comments. 

you were going to question that but everyone started to lineup in the tunnel to head out. so, all you could do is wonder with your thoughts as you walked out to start the game. 

a year later, you were waiting at the airport in wolfsburg after a last minute decision. 

after that game in november 2020, lena and you started following each other on instagram. the both of you got each other's phone numbers and have been in touch everyday since. 

due to not being on the same club team, or national team, you didn’t see lena much– if not at all. 

randomly, as you were in your kitchen hours before– lena texted you. 

obi

we should go to this new restaurant that opened up downtown wolfsburg 

y/n 

how? i’m in munich.. 

obi 

check your email. 

when you checked your email, you saw that she sent you a confirmation and a plane ticket for wolfsburg. you jaw dropped in the middle of your kitchen as you were finishing making a few pastries for the bayern girls. 

y/n 

did you really buy me a plane ticket to see you? 

y/n 

you’re insane

y/n 

the flight is in three hours? you’re eager

y/n 

where am i supposed to stay at? 

obi

yes i did

obi

just for you 

obi

you can stay with me. i have a spare room 

you stood outside of the wolfsburg airport with a carry on bag waiting for lena’s car. luckily, there is no training or games scheduled since its thanksgiving break– so you had a day or two to spend with lena. 

after talking for a year, you guys weren't official. its clear that you are in the “talking stage” with the wolfsburg midfielder, but you hoped that she will be your girlfriend soon– even with the distance. 

as you looked down at your phone, watching a tiktok video that popped up on your fyp, you heard a loud car beep their horn. 

ignoring that your heart nearly jumped out of your chest in fear, you looked up to see lena getting out of the drivers side of her car. 

“obi!” you say as you grab your carry on bag. the german smiles brightly as she held her arms out for you. 

when you hugged her taller body, the nerves in your stomach eased away. the warmth of her body and her coconut scent seemed to give you peace in those short seconds. 

“hi liebe! how was your flight?” she whispered in your ear, not breaking the hug just yet. 

her proximity to your ear made you feel something that you’ve never felt before. something you couldn’t say out loud. 

“my flight was smooth, i had a row to myself.” you smile as you looked at lena’s blushed face. 

you weren’t surprised about the small amount of people on the flight, it was an 6pm flight and plane rides from munich to wolfsburg weren’t long at all. 

“that’s perfect. here, give me that.” lena held her hands out. 

you were confused before you noticed that she was pointing at your bag. you gave her your carry on, which she gently put in the trunk of her car as you got into the passenger seat. 

when you guys arrived to her apartment, you were quick to pull your adidas slides off and sit on her couch. lena smiled, happy that you made yourself comfortable in her space. 

“it’s late, so i’m not sure if you want to do much.” lena says. 

pulling your phone out of your pocket, seeing that it just hit 21:00, you agree. 

“we could watch a movie.” you suggested. 

“we can, but can it not be those horror movies you love seeing?” lena asked. 

as much as you guys had in common, movies weren’t one of them. 

lena loved disney animated movies and comedies, you loved horror films along with star wars. 

“you know what we should watch!? we should watch the phantom menace! it's not horror!” you smirked. 

lena rolled her eyes playfully, remembering a phone conversation you guys had in the past. 

“I remember when you said that you wanted me to get you started on the star wars trilogies. it's a win-win for the both of us,” you stood up from the couch and held lena’s hands with your own. the close proximity made lena’s face turn a shade of pink. 

“i get to watch star wars, and you get to watch a disney movie– since star wars is owned by disney.” you came closer, just inches from her nose hitting yours. 

she's taller than you, so she looked down at you slightly with a questioning look. 

“sure.” she says, distracted. 

your boldness seemed to go away the same second that you stopped talking. your breathing slowed as you realized what you’ve done. 

lena’s eyes looked down to your lips as you did the same with her. 

the both of you are alone in her apartment, you realize that no-one would be there to distract you if she kisses you. 

you didn’t mind. 

the german moves her arms around your lower waist as you lean in to kiss her. as you made contact with her lips, your hands moved to the back of her neck. 

the kissing got heated quickly. lena was clearly the dominant one in the situation as she lifted you up and your legs were around her waist, walking you to her bedroom. 

and you know how things went afterwards!

before you left to go back to munich two days later, lena asked you to be her girlfriend.

you said yes, happy but sad to leave her so soon.

after another few months, it's july 2022. 

unfortunately for you, you were out on a three month injury. your hamstring teared while you were on international break with the uswnt– so you were free to return to germany. 

however, you didn’t go to germany. you wanted to support lena and the rest of your bayern girls at the euros in england. 

you’ve seen the prep that your girlfriend lena has put into this competition. due to the distance, you don’t see her everyday– but you guys have perfected the routine of seeing each other when off-days align. 

on the sidelines of the final with germany against england, you wore the green germany kit with some levi 90s jeans. of course, the kit had lena’s last name on the back. 

some people might be offended that you, an american player of their national team, is wearing another countries kit– but you know the majority wouldn’t care, and neither did you. 

lena deserved to be here at this moment you thought. there was no way that you weren’t going to support her beside her family, 

“so, how long are you supposed to be off the pitch?” you looked over to see lena’s father speak to you, his german accent stronger than lena’s. the first half of the final ended and it's nil-nil and it could be anyone’s game. 

you wore a black brace around your leg where the injury occurred, so you figured that he was talking about that. 

“oh, i won’t be playing until the start of next season. so a couple of months– i have a grade 2 tear in my hamstring.” you respond, smiling as lena’s father nodded his head in understanding. 

“you’ll be back out there soon!” lena’s mother spoke with encouragement. you smiled, happy that your girlfriend had sweet parents that treat you as if you were their own. 

after talking to her family for longer, the start of the second half comes along. you’re anxious as both teams are keeping possession with the ball. 

watching other teams in person is making you miss being out on the pitch playing. 

all thoughts aside, your jaw drops as you watch ella toone from england put the ball in at the 62nd minute. 

lena got a yellow card moments before for a tackle on your friend, georgia, who is coming to bayern soon. so, lena was already in a disappointed mood before this moment. 

as the substitutes for germany and england were starting to come on, you started to feel anxious. you hated this feeling for teams that aren’t your own, but this happens everytime you invest a couple of hours into watching others– especially your girlfriend who you want to see with the euro trophy. 

when lina magul scored the equalizer for germany, you put your hands up and clapped as you witnessed the german girls huddle around in a big group hug. 

“come on obi!” you whisper to yourself, hoping that this was a fairytale where lena would score the winner for her country.  

unfortunately for you, germany’s team, and the fans– chloe kelly taps the ball into the net in the 110th minute– giving england the lead in extra time. 

deep down, you knew that was it. you looked ahead at lena with sadness in your eyes. however, you wanted to keep hope. 

after the game, seeing lena accept the young player award with tears in her eyes broke your heart. this is something that you’ve never gone through before from the outside, since usually you are the player that needs the comfort of a non-player after a loss.

after thirty minutes of the award process– with the hard watch of england lifting the trophy you wanted lena to lift– lena pushed herself to walk towards her family and you. 

at first, you thought she was going to go to her parents for a hug. you stepped back as you made sure that her parents were slightly in front of you. 

lena, with dried tears on her face, looked at you and held her hands out. being at the front row before the field, you accepted her embrace– holding her with as much as possible. 

she picks you up and pulls you over the barcade, making sure that your leg would be okay, so you’re standing on the pitch now. 

“i know you might not want to hear this right now– but you did amazing throughout the tournament. i am so proud of you.” you whisper into her ear. 

her strong arms squeeze your waist, a silent thank you that you’ll take it as. she holds you for another minute, knowing that what she needs is your love and reassurance. 

as you lift her head up from your shoulder to look at you, she frowns as she closes her eyes. another tear flows down her cheeks but you’re quick to wipe it away– 

“hey! don’t beat yourself up. you were the best player of the tournament, and i’m not just saying that because i’m your girlfriend.” you reassure. 

you know what lena is thinking– what did i do wrong? was there anything else i could’ve done? did the yellow card send the team into failure? those thoughts were not unfamiliar to you when you lost games, but you’ve never played in a euros final.

“danke.” she smiles slightly. 

part three here

<3

[aworldofpattern]

Team Haiti's opening ceremony uniforms for the 2024 Olympics, designed by Haitian-Italian designer Stella Jean.

The trousers and skirts are printed with 'Passage', an artwork by Haitian artist Philipe Dodard.

'...Stella Jean says she created uniforms on a humble budget for Team Haiti, one of the smallest delegations in the Olympics with just seven athletes...

...The look takes its white, red, and blue hues from the Haitian flag, with the men’s uniform consisting of a light blue jacket, an adaptation of the guayabera shirt worn by men in the Caribbean, vibrant trousers channeling Naïve folk art, and a Fular scarf. The women’s look features a skirt in the same material, paired with a light blue shirt and structured jacket with a cinched waist. Philippe Dodard, an acclaimed Haitian painter, designed the fabric for the trousers and skirt. 

Wearing these uniforms at the Paris Olympics takes on an even deeper meaning for Haiti, once known as Saint-Domingue, a French colony that fought for its independence during the Haitian Revolution, the first successful resistance movement led by enslaved people against the French colonial regime from 1971 to 1804. “It’s hugely symbolic,” says Jean, who is Haitian-Italian, adding that she merged Haitian fabrics and motifs with Western silhouettes as “a tool of counter colonization.”

Jean ran into some issues as she worked to create her designs. Export embargoes in Haiti made sourcing chambray, a cotton-like material, for the women’s shirt difficult. “I used one of my dresses that my grandmother gave to me, because we were not able to source it otherwise. I hope she will forgive me because she's not here anymore,” Jean says, joking that her design unintentionally became more sustainable.

Throughout the process, she recognized the rare opportunity to present the world with a positive news story about Haiti, as the country struggles with a recent history of political violence, coups, and the deadly 2020 earthquake. Ongoing violence at the hands of armed gangs has displaced approximately 580,000 people, per U.N. figures.  

“Haiti has no materials now. We have nothing to sell to the world. Our strength right now is this intangible richness [from] our deep culture,” Jean says. “We are here, we are joyful, and we will be back on our own two feet again.”...' Time Magazine

[hrrtshape]

INTRO TO MY 𝓓ESIRED 𝓡EALITIES.

hi, hi!! i'm emma—your resident russian-lithuanian shifter. basically a little cheerleader, motivational whisperer, your tumblr oracle and your pinterest board come to life (hopefully??).

i’m (just) a girl who loves anything brushing the sofia coppola spectrum (pastel daydreams and melancholic nights), formula 1 (speed is chic), and, of course, shifting realities. i have borderline personality disorder—i’m normal. pinky promise.

an all kind of girl. i love frothy tulle dresses and dried roses just as much as i love vintage antiques and poetry scribbled in the margins of old textbooks. give me anything rococo-inspired, and i’m weak (marie antoinette vibes forever).

some of my absolute favourites? let me name-drop. the bell jar (I AM indeed sylvia plath—she is me, i am her). french films from the 60s. fiona apple, lana del rey, mitski, frank sinatra, ariana grande, angel olsen, cocteau twins, kafka ('n' his letters to felice), and david lynch (his whole brain, really).

my letterboxd top four is the virgin suicides, pride and prejudice (the keira knightley one. OBVIOUSLY), twin peaks: fire walk with me and umbrellas of cherbourg. bonus::::::: wild at heart.

i also love, love, LOVE coffee and matcha. fully obsessed. fun fact: i’m also a certified yapper and honourably discharged yearner and have read 120 books this year (yes, I’m flexing) as well as watched 413 movies (also flexing. especially because most of 'em were b&w!!! that's a flex !!!!! in my head !!!)

shifting-wise, i started my journey back in 2020 during quarantine (cue hogwarts script era), and WOW, i’m relieved some of those early drs stayed in imagination. over the years, i’ve fallen in and out of love with shifting—life and people can be discouraging, and i took some much-needed breaks. i’m back, more with an entirely new perspective on it.

──────────────────────────────

✶ SHIFTING CENTRAL.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting AKA diving into the concept of souls.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting AKA reaffirming your mindset.

⋆  reintroducing shifting.

⋆  things i script into every dr...

⋆  busting myths wide open.

⋆  stop putting your dr on a pedestal.

⋆  let's talk shifting doubts.

⋆  things in my cr that reminds me of my dr.

⋆  the lighthouse doesn't require that overthinking.

──────────────────────────────

✶ FAME DR — this is my reality of being the ultimate it-girl, a globally adored, award-winning musician, actress, and model, and also nepo royalty from my director-actor father and model-actress mother. my home is a parisian apartment near the opera, where every morning feels like an editorial spread. sundays mean café hopping near the seine, flea market browsing, and smiling for fans who spot me. gliding through nyc, paris, l.a and london. oscar speeches, sold-out miu-miu-clad performances, and paparazzi-worthy airport looks. basically? life, but in cinematic slow motion <3

⋆  moments in which i knew i made it.

⋆  little, weird problems.

⋆  anti-chill day edition.

⋆  chill day edition.

⋆  introduction.

⋆  things i'm doing.

⋆ things i catch myself doing.

⋆  stuff i'm always losin' !

⋆  scandals.

⋆  what's in my bag.

⋆  imperfections in my fame dr.

⋆  things i always have on set.

⋆  day in the life... on set !

⋆  trends i started.

⋆  things i love in my little dr.

⋆  day nr one in my fame dr.

⋆  things to script for your s/o (fame dr vers).

⋆  cr activities....in my fame dr.

──────────────────────────────

✶ SPY DR — a ballerina turned assassin, working for an underground corporation. our secret base is beneath the paris opera house—a labyrinth of rehearsal studios hiding weapon vaults and strategy rooms. by day, i perfect my pliés; by night, carry out covert missions with elegance and deadly precision. and then i proceed to fall in love with a kingsman agent (definitely not tom blyth).

──────────────────────────────

✶ F1 DR — the youngest driver to ever win a world drivers' championship, racing for scuderria ferrari and making history. the talk of the paddock, celebrated for both my skills on track and my glamorous lifestyle off it. from monaco parties to italian brunches to dangerous race tracks and cussing out the cunts of the paddock.

──────────────────────────────

✶ 50's DR — a golden-era hollywood actress, a starlet who oozes both sex appeal and undeniable talent. the big break came with a lead role in gloria, a sultry, critically acclaimed drama that put yours truly on the map. soon after, i captivated audiences (and stole the spotlight) in all about eve, a performance so electrifying it became the talk of the town—and every awards show.

────────────────────────

✶ SEX AND THE CITY (SATC) DR — the modern-day carrie bradshaw, writing my “sex and the city” blog about the love lives of my fabulous NYC crew (and my own). my days are filled with cosmopolitans, late-night talks, and walk-in closets full of vintage designer treasures. and shoes. especially shoes. picture rooftop brunches, "i wonder"s, and sassy one-liners.

──────────────────────────────

✶ COWBOY DR — born into aristocracy and traded gowns for cowboy boots and joined the wild west. yeehaw, pals. now i ride alongside billy the kid, sharing in his outlaw adventures while navigating life as a renegade. it’s dusty trails, stolen kisses under starlit skies, and dangerous escapes.

──────────────────────────────

✶ BETTER LIFE (and if you squint, succession ish) DR — rich-girl fantasy. living in a sprawling NYC penthouse, a socialite balancing high society drama and the 'cutthroat' world of dog eat dog. oh ! and dating a modern version of coriolanus snow, a descendant of a family with far too much money. expect to see me in paris, monaco and the rooftops of the upper west side !

──────────────────────────────

✶ SLIGHT VAMPIRE DIARIES DR — turned in 14th-century paris by an ancient 3000 year old vampire, i became the first heretic—half witch, half vampire. eternally powerful and tragically romantic, i fell for the very being who turned me (definitely not coriolanus snow but vampire). cue centuries of passion, blood, and supernatural politics, all with a gothic flair as we walked through life unscathed.

──────────────────────────────

✶ EVER AFTER HIGH DR — as the daughter of sleeping beauty, my destiny is to sleep for 100 years. but plot twist: i’m also the secret child of willy wonka (don’t ask, just observe the red-ish curl locks). bringing an almost whimsical sweetness to my legacy, torn between embracing my fate or rewriting my story entirely. expect enchanted desserts, dreamscapes, and lots of pastel magic.

✶ PRINCESS DR — a princess in 18th-century versailles, my life is opulence incarnate. betrothed to the prince of great britain (NOT tom blyth.....definitely...), navigating courtly intrigue and forbidden love stories while draped in silks and diamonds. every moment feels like a scene out of marie antoinette, with champagne fountains and masked balls galore.

✶ MARVEL COMICS DR — the daughter of agatha harkness, a force to be reckoned with in the multiverse. with powers that are unparalleled, thanks to a curse from the one-above-all.

✶ MARAUDERS DR — circa 1976, a pureblood gryffindor at hogwarts, cousin to james potter. a fox animagus and a seeker for the gryffindor quidditch team. also, most definitely, nr 1 apologist for history of magic.

⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　*　　⠀.

　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*

.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

[olderthannetfic]

I'm IWTV-wank-avoidance-asking Anon and it kinda missed me that it would be a wanky topic lol I was trying to see if the show is worth watching. A lot of my mutuals are posting IWTV gifs so I assume it's good, but I was curious if anyone who read the novel would think "Better read the novel". I don't realize an asking-for-rec ask would be wanky, but now that I think about who the writer is, it kinda makes sense. My bad lol

--

Ahahahaha.

Around here, I don't think anyone is precious enough about Anne Rice to start the genuine version of this wank, but Rice fandom can be... uh... very intense even on top of Rice herself having been the queen of drama.

You know about Red Beans Anne Rice, right?

Many years ago, Anne got all butthurt about a tacky-ass restaurant taking over an abandoned building that she'd had Lestat being emo in in one of the books. Instead of gothic atmosphere, it was now very PINK and LOUD. So she wasted money taking out ads in the local paper as Lestat trying to shame the restaurant owner... at which point a bunch of other restaurant owners also wasted money to respond in newspaper ads saying that they welcomed fellow businesspeople. It all ended in the restaurant's grand opening and people with plates of "Red beans Anne Rice" (i.e. red beans and rice).

--

Anyway, I read the first book back in the 90s when I was like 15. It's decent from what I remember. The thing that made it iconic when it came out in 1976 was that it was pretty heavily pushing the vampire=drug addict metaphor. This is everywhere in sexy goth sadboi vampire media now, but it wasn't as much of a thing at the time.

It was also very, very gay but in that way where (at least in the first book), nobody really says the word. That meant something in the 70s. Even by the 90s, it wasn't such a big deal, and it's a big nothingburger in the 2020s.

Book 1 is Rice dealing with the death of her child. It's all about suicidal feelings and Catholic weirdness. The main character is Louis, a.k.a. Rice's self-insert (which she confirmed herself).

Books 2 onward are about Lestat's dick.

He becomes a rockstar, vampire-bones the ur vampire, which causes him to mega level up, thus enabling him to thwart her plot to kill all men on earth aside form a few for breeding purposes, bodyswaps so he has a working penis again, fucks a nun, swaps back, gets Louis back by trying to commit suicide and accidentally getting a tan, etc... Much, much later books are about the other bonkers vampires, most of them more in the horny rockstar mold than the sad mommy of dead baby one.

In book 1, Louis is a depressed plantation owner who eats a bunch of his slaves among other fucked up shit. Claudia, their vampire daughter, is a small child who is upset about being stuck as a kid forever. One of the more disturbing parts is when Louis finds out she's fucking adult men. Lestat turns out to be a French nobleman with mommy issues despite Louis thinking he was only pretending to be upper class.

-- The TV series moved the entire plot much later in history, made Louis black, and gave him a spine. Some racists cried about this and some of tumblr cried about how it was offensive to take the plantation owner and make him black instead of doing that with the other one.

The show also made it more overt that Lestat is an abusive jackass boyfriend. This apparently came as a surprise to people with poor reading comprehension. Others have wanked about fans still liking Louis/Lestat instead of Louis/less terrible boyfriends. But... like... It's IWTV. What did they expect?

(So yes, some book fans will be immensely wanky about the show. Ignore them.)

Also, I hear they fuck on the show? Rice's vampires don't have working junk, which we know because Lestat stands in front of an entire wall of mirrors in the most bougie bathroom ever in Akasha's evil lair and discusses how his penis—I mean "The Organ"—no longer does anything.

Also, Armand in the books is the 14-year-old kept boy of a Renaissance painter with a harem of boys or something like that. (It's been a very long time since I read these.) Shit like this never makes it into the adaptations.

--

If you're curious about the history of vampire media or about a certain kind of Southern gothic shit, sure, read the books, particularly the first one with its radically different tone and much greater historical importance.

The old movie is a decent adaptation of book 1, though it makes it less gay (or at least removes Louis' weird boner for his dead brother) and messes with the ending in a way that would have made sequels veer off from the books. I haven't seen that other old movie with Aaliyah, but it looks like a campy time capsule of baaaad movies of that era.

Anyway, no, you don't need to read the book before watching the show. They changed a massive amount of stuff.

I'm in more of a Chinese media phase right now, but a bunch of friends have watched and said the show is genuinely good.

[someone-will-remember-us]

One of dozens of men who deny raping an unconscious French woman at the invitation of her husband said he had sex with her despite thinking she “looked dead”.

Husamettin Dogan, 43, angrily denied rape when he gave evidence in the trial of Dominique Pelicot, 71, and 49 other men. Pelicot admits inviting them to have sex with his wife Gisèle after he sedated her at their home near Avignon over a period of ten years up until 2020.

Dogan, who moved to France from Turkey as a young man and has never held a steady job, grew angry with the judges during questioning over his encounter with the near-comatose Mrs Pelicot, which was recorded by her husband. He claimed he had been publicly vilified and badly treated by police.

Like all the other accused, he said he believed he was taking part in a sex game organised by the couple after corresponding with Pelicot on a swingers’ website.

“When I started the foreplay, I saw that she didn’t have any reaction,” he told the court in Avignon. “I said, ‘Your wife’s dead?’ He told me, ‘No, you’re imagining things.’” He went on to say that Pelicot started to have sex with his wife as if to show him what to do.

“She raised her head a little,” according to Dogan. Nevertheless, he said that he had sex with her for about half an hour until her snoring became loud and he decided to leave.

During questioning, he said he could never have imagined that a husband would drug his wife and subject her to such acts. “They call me a rapist. I am not a rapist,” he said.

Pelicot told the court that he had informed Dogan his wife was drugged, as he had done with all the other accused. In addition he is charged with helping a 50th man, who is also on trial, to sedate his own wife.

Mrs Pelicot, who has divorced her husband, was in the courtroom as she has been every day since the trial opened on September 2. She has eschewed the right to anonymity and a trial in camera to publicise the evils of domestic rape.

The issue of consent has dominated the hearings, with the accused insisting that they were unaware they were raping Mrs Pelicot, although some have said they accept now that they committed the offence.

That was the case of Mathieu Dartus, a 53-year-old father of two who also testified on Wednesday. He was asked if he had understood that Mrs Pelicot was not in a state to be able to give her consent when he was presented to her at the couple’s home in Mazan, a small town near Avignon.

“Now, afterwards, I understand that — but that night, everything was crazy,” he said. A report by court experts said Dartus, afrequent visitor to partner-swapping clubs, was known to his family and friends as “affable, pleasant, always ready to help”.

The trial, which is forcing France to examine its attitude to rape and women’s consent, is due to end just before Christmas.

[fatehbaz]

Hmm. Alarming trend in mass incarceration in Central America.

Also: Very disingenuous wordplay here.

Where do we begin?

-- Very disingenuous for multiple outlets to run with "the West”. Though this initial AP article does specify that this refers to the Western Hemisphere, the choice to run headlines with “West” kinda implies that there are no other island prisons in “The West” (as in the European Union, the United States, Australia, etc.).

-- One of the most infamous incarceration schemes on the planet is Australia’s “Pacific Solution,” a “solution” to refugee migration centered on the imprisonment of asylum seekers on island prisons, including the infamous prisons at Nauru and Manus, both opened initially in 2001, and re-fortified after 2012. (Nauru is extremely isolated, in the South Pacific, 3000 kilometers away from the Australian coast; the Manus detention centre is far away off the northeast coast of Papua.) Since 2012, over 3,125 people have been sent to Nauru while over 4,180 people have been sent to Manus. (The “last refugee held on the Pacific island of Nauru under Australia’s offshore detention policy” was “evacuated” to mainland Australia only on 24 June 2023, not even a month prior to this headline.)

-- Obviously the EU incarcerates refugees on Mediterranean islands, notoriously at Moria on Lesbos, whose international reputation as the home of Sappho has been supplanted by its reputation as a de facto prison for asylum seekers. In October 2015, over 10,000 people landed on Lesbos in just one day. In 2017, the island averaged 2,500 arrivals per month. By 2019, humanitarian investigations showed that over 10,000 people were being held in a facility with a maximum capacity of 3,000. In 2020, fires left over 12,000 refugees on the island without shelter. By December 2021, Doctors Without Borders raised alarm that over 2,200 refugees were living in “dire” conditions on the island. As of early 2023, Lesbos (along with Kos, Leros, Chios, and Samos) is hosting over 4,500 people who are stuck in “reception and identification centers.”

-- And in the Western Hemisphere? The US prison at Guantanomo, also on the coast of an island in this same sea.

-- One of the most notorious island prisons was the early twentieth century French penal colony on the periphery of the Caribbean region at Guiana (run by a France, a “Western” power, in the Western Hemisphere), known internationally as “Devil’s Island.”

-- The federal government says the prison will be built “in harmony with nature.”

-- A prison ... in harmony with nature.

-- An island prison in the Caribbean, a region fundamentally and intimately connected to centuries of imprisonment, plantations, Indigenous genocide, antiBlackness, racial castes, and chattel slavery, all achieved and enforced through the bounded, isolated geographic containment structure allowed by islands.

-- And this is extra-worrying, because it seems it’s a regional trend, evidently for Honduras, El Salvador, and Colombia.

-- Merely a few days before this headline about Honduras, international outlets were profiling Honduras’s direct neighbor, El Salvador, with headlines like “Inside El Salvador’s new ‘mega prison’” (Al Jazeera) and, within the past couple months, headlines like “Prisoners are being tortured to death in El Salvador’s prisons” (VICE News).

-- From less than a week before this AP headline, we have BBC: “El Salvador’s secretive mega-jail.”

-- Don’t forget nearby Tapachula’s detention of asylum seekers.

Still discussing implementation of literal island prisons despite our collective familiarity with carceral archipelagoes.

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

MASTERLIST

Hey y’all! It’s been a minute since I’ve made one of these and I wanted to wait until I had a good amount of content to really fill one of these up. So here’s all the writing I’ve done since I started this blog back in 2020.

This will be updated as often as I can, so no promises new/recent writing will be on here immediately. Also if a link doesn’t work please let me know!!

Hope y’all enjoy!

GUIDE:

Angst - 🕷

Fluff - 𓆩♡𓆪

Smut/NSFW - ☓

Neutral - ✸

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀

Kingdom AU ✸

School AU ✸

School AU pt.2 ✸

High At School - School AU

Cheerleader S/O - School AU

Songs that remind me of the creeps ✸

Tim + Brian poly headcannons ☓ 𓆩♡𓆪

Scene S/O headcannons 𓆩♡𓆪 ✸

Finding you dead 🕷

Threatening suicide 🕷

Coming home to you singing/dancing 𓆩♡𓆪 ✸

Breaking up 🕷

Age regressing S/O ✸

S/O Who Loves Hello Kitty 𓆩♡𓆪 ✸

With A French S/O ✸

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐩𝐬:

Matchup 1 ✸

Matchup 2 ✸

Matchup 3 ✸

Matchup 4 ✸

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐬:

Proxies Receiving Nudes ☓

Poly Proxies ☓

Poly Proxies pt.2 ☓

Hunted by the proxies ☓

Jealous proxies ☓🕷

Proxies x Final Girl 🕷

Sitting on the proxies lap 𓆩♡𓆪☓

𝐭𝐢𝐦/𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐲:

Father figure Tim ✸ 𓆩♡𓆪

Father figure Tim pt.2 ✸ 𓆩♡𓆪

Father figure Tim pt.3 ✸ 𓆩♡𓆪

Cowboy father figure Tim ✸ 𓆩♡𓆪

Cowboy Tim ✸

NSFW alphabet ☓

Werewolf Tim ✸

Kinktober Day 10: Praise ☓

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧/𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞:

NSFW alphabet ☓

Woods ☓

"𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢" 𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐲:

Dark Headcannons ☓✸

Blood ☓

Subby Dom Toby ☓

Dating Toby ✸

Don't leave! 🕷

S/O With BPD ✸

Kinktober Day 7: Virginity ☓

𝐱-𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐮𝐬:

General Headcannons ✸

NSFW Headcannons ☓

𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝:

Historical dressed S/O ✸

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤:

Somnophilia ☓

First Meal ☓

Two Faced S/O ✸

Make it Better ☓ 🕷

Soft Dom ☓

Underwear fetish ☓

Fluff 𓆩♡𓆪

Father EJ 𓆩♡𓆪

Kinktober Day 8: Breeding ☓

𝐣𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫:

Kinktober Day 6: Dubcon ☓

Kinktober Day 6: Dubcon pt.2 ☓

𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤:

NSFW Headcannons ☓

NSFW Alphabet ☓

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑':

Day 6: Dubcon - Jeff The Killer ☓

Day 7: Virginity - "Ticci" Toby ☓

Day 8: Breeding - Eyeless Jack ☓

Day 10: Praise - Tim/Masky ☓

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

Dating MIW ✸

𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫:

Drive Thru 🕷 𓆩♡𓆪

Oh Shit- ✸

Photoshoot 𓆩♡𓆪

Firsts 𓆩♡𓆪 ☓

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬:

In the End 🕷🕷🕷

Slip and Fall ✸

Sick 𓆩♡𓆪

First Snow 𓆩♡𓆪

Punishment 𓆩♡𓆪

Boring Right? 𓆩♡𓆪 ✸

𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐨:

Sinner in Church ☓

Skating 𓆩♡𓆪 ☓

Birthday Surprise 🕷

Not you too... 🕷

Easy Mornings 𓆩♡𓆪

Beg ☓

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰:

Hold on Tight 🕷

Decorations 𓆩♡𓆪

𝐫𝐲𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐤𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐢:

Strawberries and sundresses 𓆩♡𓆪

Santa's workshop 𓆩♡𓆪

Go home... 🕷

Enlistment 🕷

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Dinner Table - Oli Sykes 🕷

Just Drive! - Oli Sykes ✸

Dating Oli Sykes ✸

About me

About me pt.2

ASKS ARE ALWAYS OPEN!!

wattpad | AO3

BLOG INTRO!!

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝙰𝙲𝙴

description: in which Deyna Castellanos is spotted at readers first tennis match back from injury while Alex Greenwood is there to support her best friend, and there seems to be something more than friendship in mind

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deyna castellanos x female reader

this is fiction - i am not saying Deyna’s sexuality is part of the LGBTQ+ this is all fiction! x

COVID NEVER EXISTED IN THIS AU

warnings: flufffffff and mentions of previous injuries

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y/n just posted

liked by alexgreenwood5, cocogauff and 1, 210, 398 others

y/n see you soon? #USopen22 🎾

view 13, 092 comments

username1: QUEEN OF THE COURT IS BACK ❤️❤️

cocogauff: babe wake up - y/n's just announced her return to tennis

^

y/n: xoxo

alexgreenwood5: SO PROUD of you ! 🩷

^

y/n: couldn't have done it without ya chicky! 🩷

keirawalsh: so excited for you!! 🤍🤍

^

y/n: Thank you Kei! 🤍🤍

username2: Why is the man city women's team here?

^

username3: Alex and y/n have been best friends since childhood - so the team must see her a lot!

^

username2: thank you!

alexgreenwood5: @deynacastellanos ...

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deynacastellanos: shhhhhh

^

username4: omg ?? Does Deyna have a crush on her???

^

username5: HAHAHAHAHAH Alex

anydmurray: knock em dead kiddo!

^

y/n: 🥺😘

^

username6: their relationship !

see more comments...

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twitter/X

username1: ALEX, DEYNA AND LAUREN ARE ALL AT THE US OPEN! AWWWWW

^

username2: UPDATE CHLOE KELLY, KEIRA WALSH and LUCY BRONZE HAVE ALL ARRIVED TOO 🥹🥹

^

username3: have they got time off or something????

^

username4: yeah they have some time off before going back to clubs in September!

username5: IF ANYONE IS WATCHING THE US OPEN - they just showed a video of all the players warming up and y/n waved at Alex and her friends and DEYNA FUCKIN BLUSHED

username6: y/n is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT Deyna's celeb crush! 🤭🤭

see more comments...

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y/n breathed in deeply, her hand gripping her racket tightly as she watched Caroline Garcia move slightly, one more point. One more point was all that was needed to end this three and a half hour match.

y/n hadn't been playing to her full ability her mind still slightly on her recently healed Achilles. It had been spotted by the commentators, and when she inevitably re-watched her matched later, she would cringe at their pity of her recent injury.

She had never watched the video of her going down, she couldn't. At the peak of her career, 2020 Tokyo, one last hurdle for her Gold medal.

She'd won Wimbledon this year, she'd conquered the singles and doubles in the US and French opens and she and Andy had finally taken the doubles in Australia.

Then it happened, she stretched and she could feel the snap of her Achilles tendon, her body crashing to the floor as the crowd all shouted in fear.

The cry of pain she let out, caused her best friend Alex to jump from the crowd, still in her GB uniform from playing and bounce onto court, ignoring the shouts of the guards.

Belinda Bencic was with her too, having rushed to her competitor the second she went down, y/n's body shaking with pain-filled sobs as the medics tried to decipher the source of her pain, finally realising she was holding her ankle.

It took two months for her operation, the rupture being so bad, yet the back up in the hospitals caused a wait time.

It took another twelve months for her body to heal, and then another six to get her fitness back up, at every stretch, ever jump, y/n expected to feel it again, the pain, the snap.

But it never came, and now here she was, one final serve and she would be through, back to the final of the US Open like she deserved to be, needed to be.

y/n breathed in, looking left slightly, her eyes meeting the kind ones of Deyna Castellanos, Alex's teammate and friend, and she smiled, before throwing the ball in the air and bringing her racket down harshly.

"Ace."

She heard the call before she acknowledged it's meaning, standing their confused as to why Caroline wasn't moving, then the woman who she had battled many times now grinned.

She leapt over the net and wrapped the still paused girl in a tight hug, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause.

"Oh my god!" y/n let out, finally realising what the call meant, and Caroline laughed again as she clung to her.

"You deserve this, petit combattant. You deserve this." Caroline promised as they pulled away.

y/n let out a tearful thank you as Caroline walked toward her coach, the man hugging her in sympathy, y/n turned to Alex and the crowd which were screaming for her.

She let out a cry of joy, tears slipping down her red cheeks as she fell to her knees in relief, the photo becoming one that would be used for weeks to come, showing the joy and love of tennis.

A body collided with hers, long nails scratching at her shoulders as Alex pulled her best friend tighter.

"Ace!" Alex grinned into her.

"Ace indeed!" y/n laughed as she stood up, keeping a tight grip on the closest woman in her life. The press loving the inter-sport friendship began snapping pictures, as y/n's coach Mark wrapped an arm around both of them and guided them inside.

"y/n!" A voice called and soon enough a familiar strawberry blonde was wrapped around her, the player laughing as she hugged Keira back.

Keira, Lucy, Georgia and y/n had bonded best of the group Alex had introduced her to, and even though y/n was aware of Keira's impending move, it didn't dampen their close friendship.

Georgia was unable to join today, but the brunette had promised her friend she would be there for the final, stating she had no doubt she would make it.

"I'm so proud." Keira murmured into her friend's shoulder. y/n smiled as they pulled away, pressing a kiss to the hair of Keira's head.

"Thanks Kei." y/n smiled, Lucy moving over to hug the girl, the two having become like sisters very quickly.

"Well done, kiddo." Lucy hummed, a tight hug reassuring y/n that this was real, she really had done it.

"Thanks Luce." y/n chimed as they pulled away, Lauren and Chloe wrapping her in a double hug quickly. Alex was grinning madly as she pulled y/n over to the newcomer by her hand.

"This y/n/n, is Deyna, she's the only one you haven't met yet." Alex explains. "She's a big fan, ain't ya lovie?" Alex then asks Deyna whose cheeks flush.

"Alex." The girl whined, a thick Venezuelan accent ingrained in her voice which nearly made y/n's knees weak.

She turned to y/n, a small smile on her face as she tried to remain calm at the girl in front of her. y/n suddenly felt self conscious of her looks.

Her hair greasy with sweat, face sticky with it too, her eyes were probably slightly red from the tears and she had some many fly-aways she could guess she looked like a manic scientist.

"Hola un placer conocerte, eres una delantera, ¿sí?" y/n asks softly.

hello, lovely to meet you, you're a striker, yes?

"¿tú hablas español?" Deyna asks, eyebrows furrowed.

you speak Spanish?

Sí, pero sé que la versión venezolana también tiene un ligero dialecto, así que disculpas si todo esto es muy básico." y/n smiles.

yes, but I know the Venzuelan version has a slight dialect too it, so apologies if this is all very basic.

"No no eres fantástica!" Deyna exclaimed happily.

No, no, you are fantastic!

y/n smiled, her cheeks heating as Chloe gawked at her friend, confused that she didn't know the girl could speak Spanish.

"You speak Spanish?" Chloe asks confused.

"Chloe, I learnt to play tennis in Spain?" y/n questioned back confused.

"Yeah, but I just assumed they all spoke English." The blonde shrugged.

"Maybe that's why you didn't react when they called Ace, too used to it being in Spanish." Lucy teased and y/n laughs mockingly before shoving her.

This action causes the two to begin to fight playfully, acting like siblings as the rest just huff and roll their eyes, used to the twos childish ways.

"Alright, alright stop!" Keira chides, her voice stern as the two part and sheepishly look down.

"Sorry Keira." y/n chuckles as footsteps move to them.

"Well, well, well." A voice says and y/n turns and grins at the player.

"Andy!" She squeaks, running at the man she saw as a father, he'd done more for her than either of her parents had anyway.

"Told ya you would be fine." The man chuckles as he hugs the girl tightly. "21 and the best in the world." He adds kindly and y/n smiles as the pull away.

"Think that's cause I have a pretty awesome mentor." She denies and Andy chuckles, kissing her head before letting her continue with her friends.

"So, tomorrow?" Alex asks and y/n lets out a small breath.

"Tomorrow, one day to show them all I'm back." She nods. The girls all nods supportively as they begin their walk back toward the recording room, where y/n would have to sit through some classic interviews.

"Un día." Deyna hums.

one day

"Un día." y/n agrees.

one day

"Un día para demostrarte que has vuelto. Ellos ya saben que lo eres." Deyna tells her.

one day to show yourself that you're back. They already know you are.

y/n smiles softly at Deyna's words, realising that maybe she was right and she nudges her shoulder slightly in thanks.

"Ya estoy de vuelta." y/n nods. "Ya estoy de vuelta." She repeats stronger.

I'm back.

Deyna nods, believing her as Alex looks back, smiling sneakily at the pair she had hoped would get along well, Lucy sees her look and rolls her eyes, but as she hears y/n laugh at something Deyna had said she shares a knowing look with Keira.

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y/n just posted

liked by deynacastellanos, lucybronze and 1, 239, 776 others

y/n Thank you Caroline, you are an amazing woman and were a fierce competition. Thank you for all the love. I will see you tomorrow.

View all 80, 362 comments...

username1: the raw emotion from you made me SOB 😭

username2: The way she didn't even hear the 'ace' call! 😂

^

username3: Looked like she got stuck buffering for a sec!!

^

username4: 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ - 'Please reconnect battries.'

alexgreenwood5: Couldn't be prouder!! 😘

^

y/n: i love you so much xxx ❤️

keirawalsh: The photo of your shout of joy will now be my phone background 🥹

^

y/n: don't cause I'm still crying all the time...🥹

lucybronze: So proud little fighter!!

^

y/n: ly!! 🩷

lauren_hemp: Do I understand tennis? No. Do I love watching you win? Yes.

^

y/n: love you hempo!

stanwaygeorgia: Gowan girl!

^

y/n: see you soon!!! xx

username5: I have never been so glued to my screen ! 😶😶

username6: Caroline's reaction was so kind, so beautiful! 🥺

username7: she deserves this so much omg

username8: I'm going be a mess if she wins!

see more comments...

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This was the longest match of her life. Even during her Wimbledon win, y/n had never been on the court for over four hours, and now they were running over their fifth, nearly at their sixth.

Iga Świątek was younger, fitter, and was not recovering from an injury. She was clever, a fantastic player, but she was not the world number 1.

Neither was y/n, in fact, she had dropped. She was slower, older that Iga, and recovering still, even now, her mentality taking a bigger hit than her ankle.

But today, she needed this win, she had to have it. Iga was younger, fitter, but she wasn't one point from victory. y/n was.

Her chest moved slowly as y/n inhaled deeply, her head tilting up slightly as the crowd waited, holding their breath. y/n's eyes met the soft ones of Deyna once more and a small smile was sent at her.

That soft smile at the lips of the Venezuelan sent small waves of belief down y/n, and she threw the ball in the air. She brought her racket down, watching as the ball flew.

"Ace!"

y/n's hands flew to her head, she heard it this time, she recognised it this time and she sunk to her knees in tears as Iga sunk to her own in sadness.

y/n took a moment, breathing in as the crowd erupted in cheers, she had done something almost impossible. She had beaten an injury everyone thought would be the end of her.

Rising to her feet, y/n moved over to Iga, helping her to her feet as she cupped her face.

"Jesteś tak młoda. Tak utalentowany. Nie pozwól, żeby to miało na ciebie wpływ." y/n spoke softly.

You are so young. So talented. Don't let this affect you.

Iga seemed shocked that the English player spoke Polish, but she smiled thankfully as she wiped her eyes, and hugged the woman in thanks.

"dziękuję, mistrzu." Iga said kindly.

thank you, champion

y/n chuckled, shaking her hand as she walked away, fling her body against Andy who caught her, her body finally letting out the tears she was desperately trying to hold in.

"I did it." She breathed.

"You did it." Andy promises.

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y/n just posted

liked by alexgreenwood5, andymurray, and 1, 598, 333 others

tagged alexgreenwood5

y/n Two little girls, who knew they would be a European Champion and US open winner.

To those little ones.

We did it guys.

Thank you x

view 400, 638 comments

username1: this is so cute 😭😭

username2: I NEED A FRIENDSHIP LIKE THIS

username3: her reaction made me cry so much 😭

^

username4: HER RUNNING TO ANDY 😭😭

^

username5: AND THEN IN THE POST INTERVIEW SAYING HE’S MORE OF A FATHER THAN HER PARENTS EVER WERE AND HIM WIPING HIS EYES IN TBE BACKGROUND 😭😭

alexgreenwood5: I cannot express how proud I am - you have been through so much, you deserve every second of this win ❤️❤️

^

y/n: Cannot ever say how grateful I am to have you in my life Lex, I love you ❤️

deynacastellanos: 🩷🩷

^

y/n: 🩷🩷

keirawalsh: SO PROUD 🩷🥺

^

y/n: 🩷🩷🩷

lucybronze: Georgia was screaming so loud, and THEN WE JOINED IT YOU DID IT 🖤🖤

^

stanwaygeorgia: I’D DO IT AGAIN 🖤

^

y/n: 🥹🖤🖤🖤

username6: Her comforting Iga was so lovely and the fact Iga said she spoke Polish and when asked about it, y/n said she learnt a bunch of things the night before so she could communicate in her language 🥹🥹🥹🥹

lauren_hemp: GO ON!!!

^

y/n: LOVE YOU!!!!

chloekelly: Go on babe !! So proud <3

^

y/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMING <3

andymurray: Couldn’t be prouder, you are so fantastic!

^

y/n: Thank you Andy, for all you’ve done xo

cocogauff: AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

^

y/n: AKDJCIAHWNFKCOSN

username7: 🥺🥺🎾

username8: I am so sad Iga lost :(((((

^

username9: then why are you here??

username10: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

see more comments...

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alexgreenwood5 just posted on her story

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deynacastellanos just posted on her story

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y/n just posted on her story

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y/n just posted on her story

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deynacastellanos just posted on her story

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y/n just posted

liked by, chloekelly, alexgreenwood5, and 989, 230 others

tagged deynacastellanos

y/n maybe stick to the day job lovie xo

view all 50, 382 comments

username1: OMG they are hanging out again AHHHHHH 🥹🥹

username2: this is so cute omg 🤭🤭

username3: do you think they're 'getting to know' each other???

chloekelly: ace! 🎾

^

y/n: ace! 🎾

deyancastellanos: I blame my teacher for me not being very good...

^

alexgreenwood5: well, if you spend all lesson staring at the teacher you probably won't learn anything 😘

^

username4: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

^

y/n: @deynacastellanos - how gd dare you, I'm a great teacher 😠

^

deynacastellanos: great looking teacher... 😶

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comment deleted

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username5: I SAW THAT DEYNA 😭😭

^

username6: you ain't slick Deyna 😭😂

see more comments...

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y/n smiled as the comments continued to flood in, her eyes watching the people call out Deyna for her now deleted comment, the said comment having been seen by the blushing y/n.

"They're going crazy." Deyna hums, a small smile on her face.

"Hmm, well they still think you're useless at flirting." y/n chuckles, leaning back to catch the last bit of sun on her face.

"Luckily you know better." Deyna says and y/n hums.

"Well..." She teases, but she begins to laugh as Deyna's hands begin to poke and squeeze at her sides, tickling her into a breathy apology.

In her squirming, neither have seemed to notice y/n has wriggled herself sideways across Deyna's lap and the tanned woman sighs softly, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to y/n's reddening cheek.

"I'm very glad you made that bet with Alex." Deyna hums as she pulls y/n into her chest, switching her to face forward so the tennis player's back was against Deyna's chest.

The football player sunk further into the trunk of the tree she was resting on as y/n's head fell back against her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of Deyna's arms around her.

"Same." y/n laughed, the bet being made on the day of the final in her head.

"you win a set by an ace today, tonight you kiss Deyna." Alex offered her hand outstretched.

"Alex I met her yesterday?" y/n answered confused.

"And? She's been your crush for years, and you're hers!" Alex fights back, a smirk on her face.

"Ace?" y/n asks, as her hand comes up to shake her best friend's.

"Ace." Alex confirms and the two shake hands.

"Yeah, I'm really glad I made that bet." y/n repeats and Deyna laughs as she cranes her head down, her lips pressing into y/n's.

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END

I really got into this one … is it obvious ?? 😂😂

apologies if the Spanish and Polish was off it was ALL google translate xoxoxoxox

requests are open and I am super grateful to all the love for these xo

-

Queenie xx

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[cognitivejustice]

Paris plants its first "urban forest" on a busy roundabout as part of a plan to turn the French capital into a garden city

The city will plant 478 trees on the Place de Catalogne near the Gare Montparnasse train station as a flagship project in Socialist Mayor Anne Hidalgo's drive to cut noise, pollution and tackle global warming.

The Place de Catalogne roundabout - designed by the late Spanish architect Ricardo Bofill in the 1980s - had for decades been a busy thoroughfare for cars. In recent years it has been transformed into a Dutch-style, bicycle-friendly junction that is also the start of a "voie verte" or greenway bike lane to the southern suburbs.

Paris City Hall aims to have planted 170,000 more trees between 2020 and 2026, and more than 63,000 trees have already been planted, opens new tab since November 2020.

Hidalgo's leftist-green coalition has also reduced the space for cars in the city, increased parking fees and is phasing out diesel cars from the city centre.

The city's latest plan is to drive large sports utility vehicles (SUVs) from its centre

[37sommz]

000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: soul's anthem [6.9k, angst]. ✼. view: masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis: michaela has a decision to make. ✼. notes: back to our regularly scheduled programming following the daniel news. angst bc i'm incapable of writing anything else <333 been on my writing grind recently and i'm starting to get attached to my babygirl mick <3 ✼. warnings: mattia binotto, general language, beginning of a breakup?, zak brown jump scare, free fred from breaking his favorite drivers' hearts </3

✼.⠀OCTOBER 30, 2020 — imola, italy    ›    practice day.

Michaela leaned against the garage wall in her race suit, water bottle in hand with her eyes fixed on the busy paddock of the Imola circuit. The candy-apple red of her Alfa Romeo car gleamed under the Italian sun, starkly contrasting the sea of Ferrari fans dressed in their iconic Rosso Corsa. The air was buzzing with the scent of burnt rubber and racing fuel, the sound of running engines echoing through the grandstands as the second Free Practice session drew to a close. As the buzz grew louder, she found herself lost in thought.

Fred Vasseur, her team principal at Alfa Romeo, approached with a stride that seemed more determined than usual. His eyes met hers, and she knew the conversation they were about to have would be pivotal for her career. "Michaela, I know you're tired, but we need to talk." His French accent was soothing despite the tension in his voice. She nodded, pushing herself off the wall and disposing of the plastic bottle with a tired sigh.

They walked to the quietest corner of the garage, where the smell of oil and the distant chatter of mechanics couldn't intrude. Fred leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Binotto wants to see you tonight after you've finished your press duties. It's about your future with Ferrari." The words hung in the air like a question she hadn't prepared for. She felt a mix of excitement and dread. This was the moment she had been waiting for, but she could not shake the nagging feeling that she was not truly ready for what the conversation would entail.

The rest of the day was a blur of interviews and autographs. Journalists whispered and focused on her movements as she passed, their eyes filled with curiosity. The tension grew with each step closer to Binotto's makeshift office on the Enzo e Dino Ferrari paddock. Her heart raced as she stepped into the sleek building, surrounded by the history and prestige of the Scuderia. The walls were adorned with trophies and photos of legendary drivers, their eyes seemingly watching her every move. The faces of Fangio, Lauda, Schumacher, and Raikkonen stared back at her as if taunting her with their tales of stories and successes for their adoring Tifosi.

Michaela took a deep breath, the air thick with anticipation as she waited for Mattia Binotto, Ferrari's Team Principal, to appear. The door swung open, revealing a man who looked more like a distant fan than a master of the motorsport world. His smile was warm, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. "Michaela, thank you for coming," He said in his flourished Italian, gesturing to a seat. She took it not before she wiped her sweaty palms against her blue jeans. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the faint tick of a clock that seemed to echo the beat of her heart.

Binotto sat across from her, leaning back in his chair with a confidence that made her nerves spark with anxiety. "We've noticed your progress this season," He began, his words measured. "Your podium in Tuscany was... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

There was a pause, a beat too long.

"But," He continued, "We're still not convinced you're ready for the pressure of a championship-contending seat." The room felt colder, the walls closing in around her.

Michaela's eyes widened in shock, her throat dry as she swallowed hard. "What do you mean?" She managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Binotto clasped his fingers, a gesture that seemed more suited to a boardroom than a Formula 1 garage. "You've shown potential, yes, but we need a driver who can handle the pressure of fighting for the title week in, week out." His eyes searched hers as if looking for something she was sure he wasn't going to find. "And frankly, we're considering other options."

Michaela felt the wind knocked out of her. Her mind raced with thoughts of the countless hours she had spent on the track, pushing herself beyond limits she never knew existed. All the sacrifices, the early mornings, the late nights in the simulator, the physical pain she'd endured - it all felt useless. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of the chair. She took a moment to compose herself, the sting of his words lingering like the taste of blood in her mouth.

"What other options?" She asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Who could be your other options?" She pleaded, eyes still wide in disbelief. Her fingers formed air quotations around the word 'options'.

Mattia's smile never wavered, a mark of his seasoned experience in the business of breaking bad news to talented drivers. "It's not for me to say right now, but rest assured, we are exploring all avenues." He paused, letting his words sink in. "But, don't get me wrong, you are a valuable asset to the Ferrari family. We just need to make sure that when we make our decision, it's the right one at the right time."

Michaela felt the weight of his words like a bomb strapped to her chest. Despite her historic podium finish, she was still seen as an 'if' and not a 'when'. She took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This wasn't the conversation she had hoped for, but she knew she had to keep her emotions in check if she wanted to leave this meeting with her reputation intact. "I understand," She said, her voice surprisingly calm, catching herself off guard. "But I'm not going to settle for anything less than what I know I can achieve."

Binotto nodded, his expression indiscernible. "That's the spirit," He said, his smile never reaching his eyes. Michaela could feel her world spin as she tried to keep herself from throwing up her last meal. "But you must understand that Ferrari is more than just a team. It's a legacy. A responsibility. And we don't take our decisions lightly."

Michaela nodded, the uneasiness in her belly swirled and rose to the point of nausea. "I'm aware," She replied, her voice laced with a rueful determination she hadn't felt in a long time. "I've worked my entire life for this moment. And I won't let anyone, not even Ferrari, tell me that I'm not ready."

Binotto leaned in, his eyes searching hers once more. "Your passion is commendable, Michaela. But passion alone does not win championships." His tone was softer now, almost patronizing. "You've proven you can handle a car, but the question still stands, can you handle the weight of the Ferrari suit?"

Michaela felt a flash of anger, but she swallowed it down, reminding herself of the stakes involved in a room with one other witness. "I know what it means to drive for Ferrari," She replied, her voice firm. "And I'm ready to prove it."

Binotto leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanged. "Good," He said. "Because if you wish to be considered for a seat next season, you'll need to prove it not just to me, but to the entire team, from the mechanics to the sponsors."

Michaela nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I'll do whatever it takes." She said with a conviction that she hoped was as convincing as it sounded.

The silence grew heavier before Fred Vasseur coughed gently. "Michaela, I think it's important to remember that your contract with Alfa Romeo is also ending this year," He reminded her, his voice a stark contrast to Binotto's coolness. "We've had a good season, and I know you're looking for a new challenge."

Michaela nodded, her eyes flicking to Fred, then back to Binotto. "But I thought Ferrari was the next step for me," She said, her voice filled with an unspoken question.

Fred cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Ferrari is a tough nut to crack, but you're not without options," He offered, trying to ease the tension in the room. "We are interested in retaining your talent for next season. You need to weigh your options carefully. If you leave us, there's no guarantee you'll ever get in a Ferrari seat."

Michaela felt the sting of his words pierce at her resolve. Was he hinting that she was being too ambitious? She took a moment to process the information, her eyes darting between the two men. The Ferrari dream was slipping through her fingers, but she knew she would never give up without a fight.

"What's the deal?" She asked, her voice still firm despite the doubt creeping in.

Fred leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Alfa Romeo is willing to offer you a multi-year contract. We believe in you, and we'll support you as you continue to grow as a driver. But if you want to drive for Ferrari, you may need to wait. And waiting could mean sacrificing your career trajectory." His words were a stark reminder of the cutthroat nature of Formula 1 for any driver, much less a driver trying to dispel any doubt about the potential of female drivers.

Michaela felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on her. Her mind raced with scenarios, each more daunting than the last. Could she really wait another season or two, hoping Ferrari would give her a chance? Or should she take the security of a contract with Alfa Romeo and continue to try to prove herself in a car that was intentionally uncompetitive? Her thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of her phone in her pocket. Guido Marotta, her manager, flashed across her screen like a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil. After receiving a 'go ahead' from Binotto and Vasseur to pick up the call, she answered with a tentative greeting.

"Michaela," He said urgently when she picked up. "I've got a call from Zak Brown with McLaren. They're interested in you for 2021. It's a seat with potential, and they're willing to pay big."

Michaela's heart skipped a beat at the mention of McLaren. The British team was on the rise, with young talent in Lando Norris, the very same Brit she had beaten to the Formula 2 champion two years ago. Regardless of her friendly rivalry with Lando, McLaren was a team that could offer her a real shot at fighting for victories, if not immediately, then certainly in the near future.

"What are they saying?" She managed to ask despite the wave of shock that settled over her. Her voice a curious mix of excitement and hesitation.

Guido's response was quick and to the point, a mark of his personality that made him such an efficient manager. "They're impressed with your performance, especially the podium in Tuscany. They think you're ready to step up to the next level. And they're willing to offer you a multi-year deal that would put you in a car capable of fighting for podiums."

Michaela's eyes widened as she processed the information, her heart racing faster than the Formula 1 cars she drove at top speed. A seat at McLaren would mean leaving the Ferrari family, but it was an opportunity she couldn't ignore. She could feel the eyes of both Binotto and Vasseur on her, each waiting for her to make a mistake, to show her hand. She took a deep breath, her racing heart pounding in her chest. "I need to think about it," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor of excitement.

Bintto nodded, his expression unreadable. "Take all the time you need, but remember, the paddock is a small place, and opportunities like this don't come around often." Guido's words were a warning, a subtle reminder that she was playing a game with very high stakes.

Michaela ended the call, the silence in the room thick with the unspoken tension. She looked up at the two men in front of her, their faces a map of the politics she had so long tried to navigate to no avail. "Thank you for the offer, but I need to consider all my options before making a decision," She said, her voice steady despite the tumultuous storm in her mind.

Fred nodded solemnly. "We understand," He said, his eyes reflecting a hint of disappointment. Binotto remained expressionless, his gaze unwavering as he studied her as if taken off guard.

Michaela stepped out of the office, her legs shaking beneath slightly. The cool evening air of Imola hit her like a slap in the face, jolting her back to the unfair reality. The paddock was alive with activity, teams, and drivers preparing for the final practice session of the weekend tomorrow morning. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, the noise of the surrounding environment fading into the background as she weighed her options. The decision before her was impossible: stay with the Ferrari family and hope for a chance that might never come, or take a leap into the unknown with McLaren, a team on the rise but without the guarantee of any tangible success.

Her phone buzzed again in her back pocket. This time, it was her boyfriend, Olivier. She had hoped he would be there for her, to help navigate the stormy waters of her career. But his texts had been sparse and unenthusiastic. Work had taken him away from the track more often than not, leaving her to face the pressures of Formula 1 alone.

Michaela took a moment to compose herself before reading the message. It was a simple question about her plans for the night. The distance between them had grown over the past few weeks, and his new job as a race analyst kept him busy and detached from her personal little racing world. The lack of support was palpable, and she found herself resenting him for it.

With a heavy heart, she texted back that she had an important call and needed some space to think. Olivier responded with a curt 'Okay', and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of anger. The callousness of his reply only further reminded her of Jenson's words during that night they shared in his hotel in Tuscany.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a familiar engine roar, snapping her out of her brooding. The McLaren MCL35M, piloted by Lando Norris, was being looked at by a group of papaya-clad mechanics. The sight of the orange car brought a bitterness to her tongue, a taste of rivalry from their time in Formula 2. But now, the prospect of racing alongside him in the same team had an allure she hadn't anticipated.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the paddock as she made her way back to her own garage. Her mind was a tornado of thoughts and emotions. The podium finish in Tuscany had brought her career to a new level, but it had also exposed the cracks in her relationship with Olivier. The fight for the top was becoming as much about proving herself to the sport as it was about proving herself to him.

Michaela stepped into the Alfa Romeo garage, the starkness of the white walls contrasting sharply with the Ferrari red that had surrounded her just minutes before. Her team greeted her with nods of respect and understanding; they knew the stakes of her meeting with Binotto and Vasseur. She took a moment to appreciate their kindness before retreating to her personal space to call Travis.

She held her uncle's opinion in the highest regard. As she explained the dilemma presented to her by Binotto, Vasseur, and Brown, she could already feel Travis' incoming response.

"Michaela, I know you're going through a tough time," He said, his Australian twang cutting through the line. "But remember, you're worth more than any contract they throw at you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." His words echoed in her mind as she sat on the cold, metal floor, her back against the wall of her small driver's home.

Michaela nodded to herself, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She knew he was right. Her entire career had been about proving herself, about fighting against the odds. But this was different. This was Ferrari. The pinnacle of motorsport. The dream she had chased since she was a little girl watching her heroes race in the very same series. "I know," She murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. "But it feels like no matter what I do, I'm never going to be enough for them."

Travis' voice grew stern. "You're more than enough, Mitch." The use of the childhood alias she would use to enter karting races when she was much younger drew a soft laugh from her. "You've got talent that could outshine anyone on that grid. Don't you dare let them tell you any bullshit otherwise." His crass words were a balm to her bruised ego, a reminder of the fire that had driven her to this point.

Michaela took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. "What should I do?" She asked, her voice shaky.

"You need to trust yourself," Travis said firmly. "You've come too far to let someone else dictate your future. If Ferrari doesn't see what you're capable of, then maybe it's time to show them what they're missing out on."

Michaela's eyes drifted to her reflection in the shiny Alfa Romeo emblem on the wall. She saw the little girl with her first go-kart, the teenager fighting tooth and nail in every race, the woman who had just earned her place on the podium. A sense of determination swelled within her. "You're right," she murmured, wiping a rogue tear from her cheek. "I can't wait around for them to decide my worth."

Her resolve strengthened with every beat of her heart. The decision was clear: she had to take the risk with McLaren. They were offering her a chance to prove herself in a competitive car, and she knew she could step up to the plate. The thrill of the challenge coursed through her veins like adrenaline. The very same adrenaline that filled her with anticipation every time she stepped into her car and onto the track.

With a newfound sense of decisiveness, she called Guido back, her voice clear and direct. "Set up the meeting with McLaren," she said. "I'm ready to explore my options."

Guido's response was swift and business-like. "Good call, Michaela. I'll get it sorted."

Michaela ended the call with a sense of relief as if she had just taken the first step in reclaiming control over her destiny. She took a moment to appreciate the quiet of the garage, the rhythmic buzz of tools, and the murmur of engineers discussing setup changes a comforting backdrop. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic storm of emotions playing out in her mind.

✼.⠀NOVEMBER 01, 2020 — imola, italy    ›    race day.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, with a flurry of meetings and phone calls that left her little time to reflect on her personal life. The final practice session and qualifying passed in a blur, her focus solely on the job at hand: securing the best possible grid position for the upcoming race.

Michaela found solace in the roar of the engine, the vibration of the car beneath her, and the way the tires whispered secrets of grip and speed to her. It was the sweet hum of mechanical perfection that drowned out the rushes of doubt and anxiety. She pushed her Alfa Romeo to the limit, setting a time that was surprisingly close to the Ferrari of Sebastian Vettel.

The qualifying session was intense, with drivers jostling for the top position, but she remained focused. Her mind was a cage, shutting out everything but the track ahead. When she climbed out of the car, her heart was racing, not just from the exertion but from the thrill of the chase. The team congratulated her on outqualifying both her teammate Kimi, and Sebastian, their smiles genuine, but her thoughts were already racing to the next battle: the race itself.

The night before the Grand Prix, she lay in her hotel room, the TV playing the highlights of her podium finish in Tuscany as they discussed the future she wasn't any more sure about than they were. The commentators' voices grew distant as she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of Ferrari's elusive offer and the tantalizing prospect of McLaren. She picked up her phone, the screen lighting up the dark room. Olivier's face popped up on the screen, his expression one of forced cheerfulness. Michaela scoffed to herself as she remembered their one-year anniversary was approaching in less than three months without as much as an acknowledgment from the Frenchman.

Their relationship had been strained at best since her podium finish, his lack of support stinging more than any of the criticisms from the media or the whispers in the paddock. The distance between them was palpable, and the thought of their upcoming trip to Monaco, which was supposed to be romantic, now felt like a chore she couldn't escape.

Michaela's mind was a tumult of emotions as she stared at the screen. The text from Olivier was innocent, asking about her day and her preparations for the race. But it was his detachment that was eating away at her. Her historic podium finish in Tuscany should have been a celebration, a moment they shared together. Instead, he had been glued to his phone as he picked her up from the airport, congratulating her with a peck on the cheek before retreating to answer his emails.

Her thoughts drifted to Jenson, his words of support and understanding after the race resonated in her ears. The night they had shared was a brief escape from the pressure, a spark of comfort that had quickly turned into a fire of guilt and confusion. But as she sat in the quiet hotel room, she couldn't deny that his words had planted a seed of doubt in her heart. Was Olivier really the one for her? Or was she just clinging to the familiarity of their relationship out of fear of being alone in this high-stakes world?

Michaela threw her phone onto the bed, frustration building within her. She needed to focus on the race tomorrow, not the tangled mess of her love life. The pressure was immense, but she had faced worse. The race was her sanctuary, the one place where she could truly be herself, free from the scrutiny and expectations of others.

The next day, the grandstands were a sea of Ferrari red, the air thick with anticipation. As she stood out on the track in her Alfa Romeo racing suit, the Italian national anthem playing out, she felt a pang of regret for the dream that seemed to be slipping away. But she pushed it aside, reminding herself of her uncle's words. This race was about more than just points or positions; it was about making a statement.

The lights went out, and the engines roared to life. She dropped the clutch and the car leaped forward, her eyes fixed on the first corner. The opening laps were a dance of strategy and skill, pushing for position without making contact. As the race unfolded, she felt the car come alive beneath her, responding to her every input with a ferocity that matched her own.

Michaela's mind was singularly focused on the task at hand, the tire strategies, the car's setup, and the ever-changing track conditions. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles tightened with the intensity of her focus. She knew every inch of this circuit like the back of her hand, every bump, every nuance that could be taken advantage of to shave off a tenth of a second.

The race was a battleground of pace, a silent war of speed and precision. The scream of engines, the smell of burning rubber, the taste of adrenaline—it was all familiar to her now, a chorus of sensations that played out in her mind like a well-rehearsed choir. She pushed her Alfa Romeo to the limits, every turn a declaration of her intentions to the Ferrari team watching from the pits.

As the race approached its final stages, the tension grew. The lead drivers were locked in a fierce battle, but it was the midfield fight that had the crowd on the edge of their seats. The McLaren of Lando Norris in 10th and the AlphaTauri of Daniil Kvyat in 8th were dueling, with her car sandwiched in between. The podium was still a distant hope, but a solid points finish was within her grasp.

Her heart raced as she saw the gap to Kvyat shrinking, her eyes flickering between the track ahead and the mirrors. The Russian was known for his aggressive driving, and she knew she had to be ready for anything. The moment came on the 58th lap, as Kvyat made a daring move around the outside of a tight corner. She braced herself, her muscles tense as she waited for the inevitable contact that never came. He'd gone too wide, opening the door for her to act quickly.

Michaela didn't hesitate, seizing the opportunity with the finesse of a seasoned veteran. She shot down the inside, the roar of the Alfa Romeo's engine echoing through the narrow corridor of the track. The move was clean and decisive, and it earned her a well-deserved spot in 8th place. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, the excitement palpable even through the thick barriers. Though she was much too far to challenge the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc in 7th, Michaela knew with that move she had made her statement.

The final laps were a blur of concentration, her eyes never straying from the road ahead. She crossed the line, her heart pounding in her chest as the cheers grew louder. The podium may have eluded her this time, but she had shown Ferrari that she was no mere junior driver to be overlooked.

The podium ceremony went ahead without her, the Mercedes duo of Valtteri and Lewis accompanied by the Red Bull of Max, took to spraying champagne and soaking in the applause. Meanwhile, in the pits, the Alfa Romeo mechanics were already debriefing, their heads bowed over data screens, their expressions a mix of pride and determination. The team knew she had given it everything she had.

Michaela climbed out of her car, the adrenaline wearing off to reveal the exhaustion that had been waiting in the metaphorical wings. She took off her helmet, her sweat-dampened hair sticking to her forehead and curling up from the heat. The TV cameras and journalists swarmed around her, eager to capture her reaction to the race. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile, and faced the barrage of questions on her trek back to the garage with the poise of a woman who had, in fact, spent her life in the spotlight.

"How does it feel to be back in the points?" One journalist shouted over the others.

Michaela paused, her smile wavering slightly. "It feels amazing," She said, her voice carrying over the business of the paddock. "But I'm not just here to collect points. I'm here to win." The words were a declaration of war, a challenge thrown down to Ferrari and everyone else who had ever doubted her. As she fielded more questions, her eyes caught sight of Olivier who stood tall amongst the unfamiliar faces.

Their gazes met briefly, his expression one of surprise, perhaps even a hint of admiration. But it was the way his eyes searched hers that had her stomach flipping. He had watched the race with the same intensity as everyone else, but she knew he had felt her struggle, her determination, her triumph. She knew he understood the weight of her words.

Michaela pushed through the media scramble, her heart racing faster than the car she had just stepped out of. She needed to talk to him, to explain everything, but she wasn't sure she had the words to bridge the growing gap between them. The garage was alive with noise and activity, but she found him amidst the chaos, his eyes still glued to the screens that replayed her daring move.

Olivier's face was a mask of professionalism, but she saw the flicker of pride in his gaze. He knew the significance of her performance today, not just for her but for the future of their relationship. She approached him, the noise of the paddock fading away as they stood face to face. "I didn't know you were coming," She said, trying to keep her voice steady. Instead of answering her right away, he drew her sweaty body into his.

The embrace was tight and warm, a welcome contrast to the coolness that had settled between them. "I had to see you," He murmured into her ear, his breath tickling the baby hairs on her neck. "You were incredible out there."

Michaela leaned into his arms, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "Thank you," She whispered, her voice cracking. "I needed to hear that."

Olivier pulled back, his expression honest. His Sky Sports windbreaker adorned his broad shoulders. "I know things have been tough for us, but you can't doubt yourself. You're one of the best drivers out there."

Michaela nodded, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. "But it's not just about being the best," she said. "It's about being in the right car, with the right team, and having the right support."

Olivier's grip on her tightened. "And you have that," he said firmly. "You've got me, you've got Travis, your family, and you've got a whole team behind you. That's what matters."

Michaela searched his eyes, looking for the truth in his words. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe she did have everything she needed. But the doubt remained, a stubborn shadow in the corner of her mind. "I don't know if that's enough," she confessed. "The McLaren offer is real, Olivier. And I can't ignore it."

He sighed, his grip loosening slightly. "I know," he said, his voice shallow with defeat. Michaela was aware he was biased, like most former drivers, to the allure of the Ferrari name. "But you have to do what's best for your career."

"And what about us?" She asked the question hanging in the air like the scent of burnt rubber from the track. Olivier looked away, his eyes darting around the garage before returning to hers.

"We'll figure it out," He said, but his voice lacked conviction. The words stung, but she knew she couldn't let her personal life sway her career choice. The Ferrari contract remained out of reach, and the McLaren offer grew more inviting with each passing moment.

Michaela turned away from Olivier, her mind racing. She knew she had to sit down with Guido and discuss the future. The decision was hers, and she couldn't let anyone else make it for her.

"Michaela, congratulations on a fantastic race," Guido's voice boomed over the background noise of the paddock as he approached her. His eyes were sharp, assessing the tension between her and Olivier. A perceptive man, he was more than aware of the tension between Michaela and her distant boyfriend. "Your performance today was exceptional."

Michaela nodded, her eyes never leaving Olivier's. "Thank you, Guido." Her voice was laced with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Can we talk about the McLaren offer now?"

Guido looked from her to Olivier and back, sensing the unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, his expression shifting to one of professionalism. "Of course," he said, gesturing towards a quieter corner of the garage. "Let's get you out of the suit first."

Michaela nodded the weight of her decision momentarily forgotten as she allowed herself to be led away. She knew that she had to prioritize her career above all else, but the thought of leaving Ferrari, the team she had been groomed for, was like running away from the safety of the known.

Once in the relative quiet of the team's hospitality area, she peeled off her racing suit, revealing the sports bra and fireproofs beneath. The smell of the track clung to her, a mix of burning rubber, fuel, and victory. She took a deep breath and accepted the sports drink Guido offered to her while trying to steady her racing heart. Guido waited patiently, his eyes never leaving hers.

"McLaren is a serious offer," he began, his voice low and measured. "They're not just looking for a driver; they're looking for a star. You've got the potential to be that star, and they know it."

Michaela took a sip of the sports drink, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. "But Ferrari is my dream," She said softly. "I've worked my entire life for this."

Guido's expression grew serious. "I know it's tough," He said. "But Ferrari's indecision is not a reflection of your talent. You've earned your place in this sport, and you can't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Michaela nodded, the gravity of his words resonating within her. "What happens next?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Guido leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "We play hardball," He decided. "We tell Ferrari that you're exploring all options, and we let McLaren know that you're serious about the offer. It's time to make them realize that you're not just waiting around for a seat; you're actively pursuing your future."

Michaela nodded a newfound resolve setting in her features. "Alright," She responded, "Let's do it."

Guido set to work immediately, his fingers flying across his phone as he called in favors and set up meetings. Meanwhile, Olivier hovered in the background, his usual confidence replaced by a palpable uncertainty. The tension between them was as thick as the smoke that sometimes hung over the track.

Michaela took a moment to breathe, her thoughts racing as fast as the cars she'd just competed against. The idea of leaving Ferrari, the team she had grown up dreaming of, was heart-wrenching. But the opportunity to race for McLaren, a team on the rise with a proven track record of nurturing talent, was too good to pass up without serious consideration.

Her conversation with Guido was cut short by a sudden commotion in the garage. The team manager looked up from his phone, a flicker of concern crossing his features before they smoothed out into a mask of neutrality. "I'll handle this," he said, leaving her with a nod.

Michaela took a moment to collect herself, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of the Alfa Romeo livery. The thought of leaving Ferrari felt like a betrayal of her childhood dreams, but she knew that sometimes dreams had to evolve. She turned to find Olivier hovering awkwardly by the door. His eyes met hers, a silent question hanging in the air.

"We're going to play the field," she said, her voice firm. "Guido's going to talk to Ferrari and McLaren. We'll see who values me the most."

Olivier nodded, his eyes lingering on her. "But you know what you want, right?"

Michaela's gaze was unwavering. "I want to win," she replied. "And if Ferrari doesn't see that in me, then maybe it's time to move on."

Olivier nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of her words. He knew the Ferrari dream was a powerful one, but he also knew that she deserved to be in a car that could truly showcase her talents. The silence stretched between them, the echo of the race engines still resonating in the garage.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been more supportive," he finally said, his voice cracking slightly. "I know you're going through a lot right now, and I haven't been the best."

Michaela felt a pang of guilt for the fight earlier. She knew that Olivier was caught in the crossfire of her ambition and her need for validation. "It's okay," She replied, her own voice filled with a tired emotion. "It's just been a tough season."

Olivier stepped closer, his hand brushing hers briefly. "I'm here for you," he assured her. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you."

Michaela felt a wave of warmth at his words, but it was tempered by the doubt that still lingered. "Thank you," She said, her voice small. "But I can't promise that my decision will be easy for either of us."

Olivier nodded, the unspoken understanding hanging heavily in the air. They both knew that their relationship was on the line, that the glamour of F1 had a way of making the personal feel small and insignificant.

Michaela watched as Guido walked back towards her, his expression unreadable. The tension in the garage was palpable, and each team member was aware of the gravity of the situation. "Ferrari wants you to stay," he said, his voice low. "But they're not willing to make any promises for next season."

Her heart sank. "And McLaren?"

Guido's eyes held a flicker of excitement. "They're eager. They're willing to give you a multi-year contract, and they're confident that with the right support, you can lead them to a victory."

The prospect of being a team leader, of being valued and believed in, was honorable. But she couldn't ignore the pull of Ferrari, the team she had practically dedicated her life to. "What about my relationship with Ferrari?" She asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Guido's expression was a mix of empathy and business insight. "Ferrari is a legendary team," he acknowledged. "But they're also a business. Sometimes, you have to make decisions that are best for your career, even if it means leaving your dreams behind."

Michaela nodded the weight of his words sinking in. She knew that he was right, that she couldn't put her entire future in the hands of a team that wasn't ready to commit to her. But the thought of leaving the Ferrari family was like a knife to her heart.

Guido's phone buzzed, interrupting the tense silence. He checked the screen and his eyes lit up. "It's Zak Brown," He said, holding up the device. "He's ready to discuss the terms."

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing. This was it, the moment she had been working towards her entire career. The decision was hers to make, and it was a heavy burden to bear. She nodded at Guido, giving him the go-ahead.

Olivier stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the conflict in them, the love and the fear of losing her to the sport that had consumed her life. He knew the gravity of the situation, that her career was at a pivotal point, and that she couldn't afford to wait for Ferrari's indecision.

Michaela's mind raced as she took the phone from Guido. Her hand was slightly trembling as she answered the call. "Zak," She greeted, trying to keep her voice even. "Thank you for the offer."

Zak Brown's voice was enthusiastic on the other end. "Michaela, we've been watching you all season, and we're impressed. We believe you're the missing piece to our championship puzzle. How do you feel about joining us at McLaren?"

Michaela paused, her heart racing as the words sank in. The offer was everything she had ever wanted: a competitive car, a team that believed in her, and the chance to prove herself on the world stage. But it also meant leaving the familiarity of Alfa Romeo and the tantalizing closeness of Ferrari.

Olivier stepped aside, giving her space, but his eyes remained on her, a silent plea for her to choose what made her happy. He knew that her heart was torn between the safety net of Ferrari and the thrilling unknown of McLaren.

Michaela took a deep breath and spoke into the phone, her voice clear and determined. "Zak, I would be more than honored to join the team."

The call didn't last long after that, with Guido taking over to discuss the finer points of the contract. Meanwhile, Olivier remained a silent presence, his eyes never leaving hers. As she hung up, she could see the mix of emotions playing across his face: pride, fear, and a hint of sadness. As Guido discussed options for their next meeting, Michaela stepped closer to Olivier. She reached up to hold his face in her hands, their eyes exchanging words they weren't quite comfortable enough to say out loud in the middle of the garage.

"Look," She began, her voice tender. "I need to do this. For me."

Olivier nodded, his eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt. "I know," He said, his voice gruff with emotion. "But I'm afraid of losing you to this sport." His lips pressed into an uncertain line as they stood in silence for another beat more.

Michaela leaned in and kissed him gently, the smell of the track still on her skin. "You won't," She promised, hoping it was true. "I'll make it work."

Olivier's arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. "I believe in you," He murmured against her hair. "But I can't help but worry."

Michaela leaned into him, absorbing his warmth. "I know," She whispered. "But we'll find a way."

Guido cleared his throat, bringing them back to reality. "Michaela, we need to finalize the contract with McLaren," He reminded her, his voice firm but not unkind.

Michaela nodded, taking a step back from Olivier. "I know," she said, her voice steady. "Let's get it done."

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[toasttt11]

playoff bubble

July 28, 2020

Hayden had been quarantining for the past week alone in her hotel room in Vancouver. She would play her first playoff game in two days and today she was allowed to meet with her team for an off the ice practice and then an on the ice practice.

It was pretty boring being alone for a week but she spent plenty of her time facetiming all of her friends and family especially Quinn as he is quarantining too.

She threw on a pair of athletic shorts, a hoodie that she stole from Quinn and a pair of orange converse and decided her messy french braid was enough.

She grabbed her phone and headed out of her hotel room and down to the conference room she was gonna meet her team for the first time in months.

She walked into the conference room and smiled softly seeing Connor and Leon. She knew they were allowed to be close to each other today as they are all quarantined in the same bubble so she walked right over to Leon and Connor.

Leon and Connor looked over hearing someone walking to them and they both paused seeing Hayden. She was tanner and was glowing, she looked happy and healthy but also her eyes, they were bright and blue not dim and barely blue.

Hayden flashed a smile at the two and Leon and Connor both released a sigh of relief seeing her truly happy, Connor pulled Hayden into a tight hug closing his eyes as he has not seen so much life in her eyes since he saw pictures of her when she was younger.

Of course Hayden talked to Lauren, Connor, Leon and Celeste through out the time she was back home in Michigan and they knew she was doing better as she laughed more on the phone calls but to see her in person and to see how happy she looks it was amazing.

Connor and Leon both knew Celeste and Lauren will be so happy to hear how happy Hayden is and they both know how much they miss her like crazy.

“Hey rookie.” Connor fondly smiled as they pulled away and he clasped his hand on her shoulder like he always does.

“Technically am i still a rookie?” Hayden cheekily asked being completely herself for the first time since she met than and the two couldn’t help but adore her even more.

“You’ll always be our rookie Mäuschen.” Leon told her with a soft smile, a smile not many can get from him.

Hayden fondly rolled her eyes but smiled as she had missed both of them, she stepped closer to Leon and looked at him slightly hesitant as she has never hugged him off the ice before.

Leon smiled gently and pulled her into a firm but gentle hug and Hayden easily hugged him back.

Connor smiled softly remembering how Leon grumbled when he found out Connor got a hug from Hayden before he could.

Hayden pulled back from the hug and started talking with Connor and Leon.

Kailer Yamamoto and Ryan Nugent-Hopkins walked over and Ryan gently ruffled Hayden’s hair as he walked up behind her, “Hey Blake.” Ryan flashed a smile at his younger teammate.

Kailer and Ryan both knew Hayden wasn’t in a good place when she came to Edmonton and was very closed off so they kindly backed off from her but still was always kind to her.

“Hi Nuge, Hi Yamo.” Hayden kindly greeted her teammates smiling at them. She knew it was weird for her teammates to have a girl on their team for the first time and someone who is a lot younger than any one else and she wasn’t the most open to anyone when she arrived so she was grateful they treated her so kindly despite all of that.

Kailer and Ryan shared a surprised look at how easily Hayden smiled at them and both of them noticed how happy she looked in general, They were glad that Hayden seemed to have done well over the quarantine and it seemed like they are going to get know Hayden better now.

August 1, 2020

Hayden finished tying her orange high top converses as she finished getting ready for her first game. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants and a simple white and back stripped sweater.

Hayden paused as her phone rung and she looked down at the screen seeing Lauren facetiming her, “Hi Laur.” Hayden greeted as she set her phone up on the desk in the hotel room as she brushed out her hair.

“Hayden darling!” Lauren beamed as she spoke to Hayden, “I have a surprise for you!” Lauren told her a bit sad she couldn’t be there in person for the playoffs for Connor and Hayden but especially for Hayden’s first playoffs.

Hayden hummed looking curious as Lauren stood up and showed Hayden the jacket she was wearing. It was the WAG jackets the team got this year but on Lauren’s arm there was a patch with Hayden’s name and number.

“You-“ Hayden spluttered out completely speechless. Her eyes filled with tears and for once they weren’t sad tears but happy tears.

Lauren became alarmed when she noticed the gears, “I’m sorry did i overstep, i can take it off.” Lauren quickly spoke.

“Lauren.” Hayden spoke up shaking her head to stop Lauren from apologizing anymore, “Thank you.” Hayden told her extremely sincerely.

Lauren’s eyes widen in shock and she still looked worried she overstepped.

“It’s been a long time since anyone had worn my name.” Hayden softly told Lauren. Ellen and Jim haven’t worn a jersey in a few years as they have only been at games where she has played against one of the boys and they don’t want to pick favorites. Quinn, Luke and Jack don’t ever really wear her jersey like she doesn’t wear theirs. The last time someone wore her name were her parents.

“Thank you so much.” Hayden smiled tearfully, the patch meant more to Hayden than she could ever express.

Lauren’s face softened realizing she didn’t over steppe and Hayden just looked happy, “Of course. Anytime.” Lauren firmly reassured and she knew she was always going to wear Hayden’s name and number on her WAG jackets now and knew Celeste definitely would too.

Hayden thanked Lauren again before they did their goodbyes and Hayden put her headphones in and called her brothers.

Jack, Luke, Quinn and Hayden had all made a new rule that before any one of their games they had to FaceTime their group chat so they could talk to each other more.

Hayden smiled as Jack answered and Luke was sitting next to him and Luke was wearing her Oilers hoodie and Jack was in her old US Hockey shirt. Quinn joined the call from his hotel room wearing an Oiler’s hat for Hayden.

Hayden beamed at her brothers as they all were wearing something for her and smiled contently as she talked to all of them as she walked to the bus.

Hayden was going to play her first playoff game and she felt happy for that and didn’t feel sad because her parents would miss it.

[shedontlovehuhself]

Yeah, it sucks that Bobo and Misha were not given the space to talk about the confession scene in the same way Oliver and the 911 peeps are doing with Buckley right now. Cas' coming out and his "I love you" to Dean should have gotten a bigger celebration than just Misha speaking about it on his own. Hell, Ruthie and other cast members tried to show support online and got shut down by haters and antis. Misha should not have been the only one out there in 2020 and 2021 talking about it. But he was. And yes, prior to 15x18 he went from safely playfully supporting Destiel to full on doing so right after the confession scene. Even without backup from his costar. Just like he was the only one to actively advocate for HIS character's canon queerness. Where was EW for Misha back in 2020? They definitely spoke to Jensen about it. And no, chaos machine had nothing to do with Misha talking about queer Castiel. The way certain Jensen fans try to give credit where it isn't earned and using Misha to do so should be studied.

And I'll add that yes, Jensen has grown over the years. He's more accepting of fans canon of bi Dean and has always happily signed and praised destiel fan art. He's proud of what Misha did with Cas and has said that Dean and Cas should have a conversation about what happened. But he still hasn't said the words Cas is queer. He still can't say destiel. He also has said in so many ways he doesn't see Dean as queer and even has stated Cas' confession can be open for interpretation. So while I'm proud of his obvious growth, y'all not bout to give him credit for what Misha was out here doing on his own.

I remember when everyone was saying Jensen has no power at CE cons. So now that the narrative calls for it, y'all are now saying he has power at CE. Suggesting that he made changes with said power that coincides with Misha talking more openly about queer at CE is truly a reach.

- Momento con in 2021(non CE con) where Misha happily talked about queer castiel and cas and Dean wanting to bang each other.

- German con in 2021 when Misha again talked about queer Castiel, Destiel, and had a positive reaction to a fan's "Dean is bi" t-shirt that had the audience cheering, meanwhile Jensen stans were crying on twitter that Jensen should be doing more euro cons (this was during Jensen's silent era, mind you).

- Misha's cameos where he had destiel trending and also talked about queer Castiel. He also talked about when Cas fell in love with Dean. Also the Cameo where he jokingly said "Cas, you can do better" about being in love with Dean.

- his virtual interviews in late 2020. And his pride posts each June. his interview when at a French con where he talked about Cas being a queer icon(y'all got mad at him for that one, too).