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p0orbaby · 3 months ago

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Stress Reliever

summary: important matches call for unorthodox methods

warnings: SMUT 18+, fingering, sex in a random room in a stadium? i have no clue, don’t judge

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one, so kudos to whoever requested it !

word count: 2.7k

You’re in the stands, sipping a warm Coke that tastes like pennies, watching as eager fans filter into the stadium. It’s an hour until kickoff, and you’re trying not to panic because you have the seat of death. The one directly behind the pole. And not just any pole—oh no, you get the thick, structural support beam that’s been placed there by some sadist with a vendetta against sports fans. You can already feel the crick forming in your neck as you angle to see the pitch, bobbing and weaving like you’re on the world’s worst first date.

“Are you—?” A voice interrupts your internal monologue, startling you so much you nearly throw your Coke onto the unlucky person next to you. You look up, expecting to see a security guard, someone here to accuse you of something you definitely did do (sneak in a flask) but absolutely won’t admit to.

Instead, it’s a woman with a headset, wearing an expression of mild impatience—like she’s had to ask someone the same question three times. Which, judging by the size of this place, she probably has.

“Yeah?” you ask, because that’s the only word your brain can offer in the moment. Well, that and hotdog but you keep that one to yourself.

“Are you—” she checks her clipboard, which you find oddly official, like you’re about to be quizzed on the periodic table or something, “—the girlfriend?”

There’s a beat where you consider denying it because the word girlfriend still sounds weird in your ears. Like you’re not old enough for it or something. Like someone’s going to come along and snatch the title away from you because you got it out of a vending machine or a cereal box.

But then the woman’s staring at you, one eyebrow slightly arched, and you realise you haven’t answered, which is definitely making this more awkward.

“Uh…yes?”

“Great.” She doesn’t even wait for you to elaborate (which is good, because you definitely wouldn’t have). “Alexia needs you”

She says it like Alexia needs you is a normal sentence. Like you’re supposed to understand what that entails, as if you’ve been through this before.

“Oh.” You blink. “Now?”

“Yeah.” Another short answer. She’s probably fun at parties.

Your brain’s processing speed is at dial-up levels right now, but you eventually nod, clambering over knees and feet, mumbling apologies as you spill half your Coke in your lap. It’s warm, wet, and uncomfortable. The perfect metaphor for your life at this moment.

The woman with the headset leads you through a labyrinth of corridors, down staircases that don’t look like they’ve been used since the stadium was built, past signs that say things like “AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY” and “NO ENTRY,” which really do wonders for your anxiety. It’s as if you’re being led to the dungeons, or possibly to a secret basement where you’ll be quietly murdered before kickoff.

“Is everything…okay?” you ask, partly because you’re nervous, partly because you’re still in shock that Alexia asked for you. The Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, Spanish football’s golden child. The one who should be doing pre-game rituals or eating her eighth banana by now, not…whatever this is.

“Yup,” says Headset Lady, who clearly graduated from the one-syllable academy of small talk.

You’re about to ask a follow-up question (something like are you a hostage negotiator on the side?) when she stops abruptly in front of a nondescript door that looks like it’s seen better days. There’s a small sign taped to it that reads “MEETING ROOM.” Creative.

“She’s in there,” Headset Lady says, handing you the clipboard like it’s a ticket to a secret club. You take it because refusing might lead to her finally using the taser you’re convinced she’s got hidden somewhere.

“Uh, thanks,” you say, because manners.

She gives you a curt nod, spins on her heels, and walks away without a backward glance, leaving you alone with the door, the clipboard, and a creeping sense of dread.

You’re about to knock when the door swings open and you’re pulled inside by a very strong hand. You barely manage to keep your balance, though your dignity is less fortunate.

“Jesus Christ, Alexia, a little warning?” you gasp, clutching your chest like someone’s ancient grandmother.

But Alexia isn’t listening. She’s pacing, her boots tapping out a nervous rhythm on the floor, her expression a fusion of frustration and something you can’t quite place—like she’s trying to solve a really tough maths problem but someone keeps changing all the numbers.

“Babe?” you try again, this time a little softer, hoping to break through whatever spell she’s under.

She finally stops, turning to face you, and that’s when you notice it. The way her eyes are slightly glazed, her hands twitching at her sides. She looks like she’s about to combust from the inside out, like she’s been plugged into the world’s worst electrical socket.

You know that look. You’ve seen it before, but not like this. Not with this intensity, this…desperation.

“What’s going on?” you ask, though you think you already know. You’re just not sure you’re ready for the answer.

“I’m fucking freaking out,” she says, her voice low and tight, like it’s taking everything in her to hold it together. “I can’t—I can’t focus, I can’t think—I just—fuck!” She runs a hand through her hair, tugging at the ends like it’s their fault.

You step closer, cautious, like you’re approaching a wild animal. “Is there anything I can do?”

And that’s when she looks at you. Really looks at you. Her eyes narrow slightly, and you can practically see the lightbulb go off above her head. It’s not the comforting moment you were hoping for. It’s more like the moment in a horror movie when the killer realises the protagonist is hiding in the wardrobe.

“Actually…yeah.” Her voice drops an octave, and you swear the room temperature does too. “There is”

Oh no. You know where this is going. You’ve been here before. This isn’t the first time Alexia has decided that the best way to deal with her pre-game jitters is to channel them into something else. Something physical. Something that, once upon a time, you thought was a great idea.

You were wrong.

But it’s too late to back out now. You’re trapped, like a mouse caught in a particularly horny mousetrap.

“Here?” you squeak, glancing around the dimly lit meeting room, which is as unsexy as a room can get. The walls are beige, the carpet is a hideous shade of grey, and there’s a whiteboard in the corner with some sad-looking, lidless pens. It’s as if the universe decided to create the least erotic environment possible.

“Here,” she confirms, and you can’t help but notice the way her voice drips with something dark and dangerous. Something that makes your pulse quicken and your palms sweat.

“But what if—”

“No one’s coming in,” she interrupts, and there’s a note of finality in her voice that tells you this is happening whether you like it or not. “It’s locked”

“How did you even get a key?”

“Does it matter?”

It doesn’t, but you feel like you’re owed an explanation anyway. Because what if someone does come in? What if they see you—two responsible, adult women—going at it in a meeting room like hormonal teenagers? You can already see the headlines: “Football Star and Girlfriend Caught in Bizarre Pre-Game Ritual”

“Alexia, I—”

She’s on you before you can finish the sentence, her hands gripping your waist, pulling you against her. Her lips crash into yours, and suddenly the room isn’t so cold anymore. It’s like being hit by a freight train made of pure sexual frustration, and for a moment, all you can do is hang on for dear life.

But then the reality of the situation hits you. You’re about to have sex in a room that smells faintly of wet dog and failed business deals. This is not how you pictured today to go. You imagined something more…romantic. A win celebrated in a plush hotel room, or at the very least a place with a bed.

But Alexia doesn’t seem to care. She’s already pawing at your clothes with a speed that’s both impressive and alarming, like she’s done this a thousand times before. Which, now that you think about it, she probably has. Just…not here. Or so you hope.

“Wait, wait,” you pant, pulling back slightly. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope,” she says, but she doesn’t stop, and neither do you, because you’re weak and she’s hot, and who are you kidding? You’re definitely going to do this.

It’s not graceful. It’s not even sexy, really. It’s more like a frantic scramble to get clothes off while trying not to knock over a stack of chairs. You’re pretty sure you elbow her in the ribs at one point, and she steps on your foot twice, but neither of you cares because there’s a bigger issue at hand.

You think about saying something witty, something to break the tension, but then she’s on you again, and words are suddenly the last thing on your mind. All you can do is hold on and hope the table doesn’t collapse under the weight of your combined bad decisions.

She pushes you back onto the table, her hands firm on your shoulders, and suddenly the wood beneath you feels a lot harder than it looked a second ago. It’s all happening too fast, but not fast enough, and when her mouth finds yours again, it’s all teeth and urgency. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask permission because it knows it’ll get what it wants anyway.

Her hands are everywhere, pulling at your shirt, fumbling with the buttons like they’re some kind of cruel joke. You help her out, batting her hands away, only to struggle just as much. It’s like your fingers have forgotten how to work, each movement clumsy and desperate. When you finally manage to yank your shirt over your head, you feel a brief, victorious rush, like you’ve conquered a small but significant mountain.

She barely gives you time to breathe before she’s back on you, her mouth hot and demanding against your neck, her hands sliding up your sides. You gasp as her fingers slip under your bra, her thumbs brushing over your nipples with just enough pressure to make you arch against her.

“Fuck,” you whisper, because it’s the only word that makes sense right now.

She grins against your skin, clearly pleased with herself, and you know you’re in trouble. Alexia knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s doing it well. Too well, actually. The kind of well that makes you forget where you are, why you’re here, and who you are as a person.

Her hand trails down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, and you suck in a breath, half expecting her to stop, to clock on how ridiculous this all is. But she doesn’t. She just keeps going, popping the button on your jeans with a quick flick of her fingers, pulling the zipper down in one smooth motion. You lift your hips to help her slide them down, and suddenly the cold air hits your bare legs, making you shiver. But it’s not the temperature that’s getting to you—it’s the anticipation.

She’s back on you in an instant, her fingers finding their way inside your underwear, brushing against you in a way that makes your breath catch. Her touch is light at first, almost teasing, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. She’s not in the mood for games, and neither are you.

“Please,” you murmur, not entirely sure what you’re asking for, but knowing you need it.

She doesn’t make you wait. Her fingers slide inside you with a confidence that comes from knowing exactly what you like, how you like it, and how quickly she can drive you insane. And she’s doing it now, the slow, steady rhythm making you forget all about the uncomfortable table beneath you, the smell of stale coffee in the room, the fact that someone could walk in at any moment. None of it matters. All that matters is her, and the way she’s making you feel like you might come undone right there in that drab, fluorescent-lit room.

You cling to her like she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, your hands digging into her back, your nails leaving marks that you know take back to the changing room with pride. The table creaks beneath you, protesting with every thrust of her hand, but you don’t care. You can barely think, let alone worry about the state of some cheap office furniture.

When she curls her fingers inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. The last thing you need is for someone to hear you, but fuck, it’s hard. Especially when she starts moving faster, her thumb brushing over your clit with just the right amount of pressure to push you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re so close now, teetering on the brink, and she knows it. You can see it in the way she’s watching you, her eyes dark and intense, like she’s savoring every moment, every gasp and moan she pulls from your lips. It’s almost too much, the way she’s looking at you, like she’s claiming you, owning you in a way that goes beyond this moment, this room.

And then you’re falling, your body tensing as the wave crashes over you, pulling you under. You bite down on her shoulder, muffling the sound of your release, and she groans at the feeling of your teeth sinking into her skin. It’s raw and primal, and at this point in time, you don’t care about anything else but the way she’s making you feel.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, working you through your orgasm until you’re trembling beneath her, your breath coming in ragged gasps. When she does finally pull her hand away, you feel the loss of her touch like a physical ache, but you’re too spent to do anything about it.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the only sound in the room your heavy breathing and the distant roar of the crowd outside. The game is about to start, but for once, it’s the last thing on your mind.

When she finally pulls back, you expect her to say something, but she just looks at you, her expression softening in a way that makes your chest warm. There’s something unspoken in her eyes, something you’re not sure you’re ready to acknowledge, but it’s there all the same.

“Better?” you ask, your voice shaky, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

She smirks, that familiar, cocky grin returning as she reaches down to adjust her shorts. “Much”

You laugh, weak and breathless, but it’s genuine. Because despite the absurdity of it all—the meeting room, the table, the fact that you’re still half-naked in the most unromantic setting imaginable—it was exactly what you both needed.

You sit up, wincing as your muscles protest, and begin the awkward process of getting dressed again. Alexia helps, her hands lingering a little longer than necessary, and you swat at her playfully, even though you’re secretly glad she’s not ready to let go just yet.

“We can’t make this a thing,” you say, though you know it’s a lie the second it leaves your mouth.

“Sure we can,” Alexia replies, already pulling on her shorts like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just defile a piece of office furniture.

“You owe me,” you grumble, trying to smooth down your hair, which now looks like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket.

“Add it to the list,” she says with a wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Because yeah, it was reckless and stupid and definitely not sanitary, but damn if it wasn’t one hell of a way to start a match.

“Good luck,” you say, and you mean it.

She gives you a look that says I don’t need luck, and you believe her. Because if she can handle you, she can handle anything.

As you walk out of the meeting room, legs still a little shaky, you can’t help but wonder if this will become a regular thing. You hope not.

Then again…maybe you don’t.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

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Prodigy

Olympique Lyonnais x Teen!Reader

Summary: A slow morning at baggage claim

Two international youngsters are produced out of the Chelsea academy.

One goes to Spain and Barcelona. She plays striker.

The other goes to France and Lyon. You play centreback.

It seemed like fate that everyone would consider you rivals but you don't really care about that. You don't put much effort into looking through media articles.

You have better things to do.

"Hey, y/n! Come back here please!"

You huff, peeling off from Damaris and Ellie to head back to Ada and Wendie. You'd been sitting next to them for the whole flight from France to America.

"I don't want you to get lost. Hand, please."

"Come on!" You complain," I'm not as bad as-" You trail off. You don't say her name.

You think she must be a sore spot for the team after the three goals she scored past them in the Champion's League final. You were meant to be on the pitch that day too but during your last training session, you'd hurt your ankle and had to stay in France.

You give Ada your hand.

You live with her most of the time, although frequent sleepovers at Ellie and Daan's were a must. When Ada is stressed about things, you leave her to decompress by hanging out with Wendie, though you have to prepare yourself every time.

Your Papa is French and you've yet to decide what international team you want to play for. Wendie keeps trying to convince you to pick France.

It's kind of funny to see her try to sneak it into every conversation she can when you sleep over at hers.

Either way, Ada walks you through customs before setting you free in baggage collection.

You're off like a shot, eager to stretch your legs as Damaris and Selma race the luggage carts. Vanessa is on Selma's so you clamber onto Damaris' as she gets a run up and pushes you.

Ellie's acting as the ref and she narrows her eyes as both carts come to a stop.

"She's cheating!" You insist as Vanessa drags the cart forward using her hands. "Cheater!"

Ellie closes her eyes. "I don't see anything."

"Oh, come on!"

It's very early in the morning so there's no one else in the luggage claim, just your team.

You kind of assumed with no one else around that the bags would arrive quicker but clearly not.

You get bored of the game rather quickly and return to your older teammates.

Wendie, Ada and now Lindsey too are sitting on the floor, up against the wall as they wait for the bag carousel to start moving. You don't know who brought out the football but they did.

They're not using it though, just rolling it between them as you approach.

"Ellie's not a very good ref," You tell them," She's helping Vanessa and Selma cheat."

"Do you want to play with the ball?" Lindsey asks and you puff out your cheeks.

"I'm not a baby." You plop down next to her and she ruffles your hair.

"No but you don't do well not doing stuff and I know your phone is dead. Do you want the ball or not?"

You mumble something.

She grins, cupping her ear. "What was that?"

You mumble something again.

Ada and Wendie are grinning now too.

"Sorry. I couldn't hear. You'll have to speak a bit louder."

You glare at her and Wendie snatches the ball. "Go stand over there. Volley is back to me."

Wendie is a centreback. You're a centreback too.

You arrived from Chelsea fresh-faced and worried and Wendie decided you were her little project. She'd told you once, a little tipsy during a team bonding session, that you had the most raw talent she'd seen in a while and that she wanted to see you get better and better.

She trained you every second she could.

"Weaker foot this time," She says to you as you volley the ball back to her.

It's still early. The flight was long but you've suddenly got energy again so you can keep up with her coaching even as she gets up. She changes from throwing the ball at you to kicking it so soon you've both got a good volley going as Ada and Lindsey talk to each other.

"I didn't know Barcelona were doing their preseason here," Ada notes," I thought they'd be in Mexico."

You let the ball drop, turning your head automatically to see the Barcelona girls coming into the baggage claim.

You spot her quickly, just like how you usually do. You could spot her in any crowd.

Wendie spots her too, as does Ada. Both of them lay their hands on your shoulders.

She's across the room with Alexia Putellas though, held back by her backpack when she nearly wanders into a pillar because she's focused on eating her snacks.

You go to move but the hands on your shoulder tighten.

"What?"

Ada purses her lips. "Why don't we sit back down?"

It dawns on you then that Ada and Wendie have seen all the articles, all the articles that insist on the 'bitter rivalry' between you and your daydreamer.

"No-" You say with a little laugh," It's not like that. It's-"

A body barrels into you and lips are on yours in an instant.

You kiss your girlfriend back.

"I missed you!" She says and you peak over her shoulder to see Alexia Putellas and Irene Paredes standing there with their mouths wide open.

You laugh, just knowing Ada and Wendie are the same. "I missed you too!"

"It's so cool we're in the same city again! I've been doing my research and there's this really well-reviewed snack place near her that we should go to!" She tugs on your hand and you dig in your heels.

"Slow down, dreamy," You say," We still need to get our bags!"

"But Ale and Irene said I could go if I took someone with me."

You can hear Alexia Putellas sigh and mutter," I meant someone from our team."

Your girlfriend ignores her.

"Ada? Wendie?" You ask tentatively.

Ada sighs. "Take Daan and Ellie with you. We'll get your bags."

"Thank you!"

Your girlfriend sorts out her own escorts in the form of Ingrid Engen and Mapi León and she pulls you out the door.

You can't resist the teasing words you throw over your shoulder at your girlfriend's captain.

"I'll have her home by midnight!"

#woso x reader #olympique lyonnais x reader #olympique lyonnais #lyon x reader #lyon #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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livin4woso · 2 months ago

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Lingering touches part 1-(alessia russo x reader)

Summary-your best friend alessia has always been touchy with you, but now they seem to be getting more frequent and are pushing along the boundary of whether or not you are just friends.

Growing up gay was a challenge for you as many people dont understand that there is a list of unspoken rules every gay must follow. One of the main rules is the line between are we just friends or are we more than that?. Its a line that ironically can be bent and you spend your time thinking where is it appropriate of where you can put your hands without giving the wrong idea.

This was something that you and alessia weren't very good at. The line is constantly being stepped on being pushed to its limits, but alessia is straight... right? It doesn't matter because she won't ever feel the way you do about her. The way that when her hand grazes your arm, it feels like it's on fire or when she compliments you, you can feel your cheeks heating up, leaving you flustered.

It was an obvious observation that to anyone around you that you were head of heels for the blonde, yet it was if she couldn't tell.

You and alessia had grown up together through the england youth academy teams. Your friendship blossomed over the years with one another. It was when you had reached the U19s when alessia had come back from america to play some international friendlies where you began to question if you just had plationic feelings for the blonde.

Alessia was a naturally cuddly person, or well, she has always been like that towards you her body was clung to yours in one way or another. Many joked that you were alessias personal pillow as even if there was a free seat, she would much rather be cuddled into your side or sat against your lap.

When alessia arrived back to the uk, you had already become a regular starter for the arsenal as a midfielder, and you had really been focusing on your football, so your feelings for alessia had naturally slipped your mind.

She had gone to play for Manchester United, where her other best friend ella was playing. However when yous had game against eachother you would be invited to stay round theres or they could stay at yours for the night to catch up with eachother and get the train back to london or Manchester in the morning.

This was a reoccurring routine, but one time ella couldn't stay in london, she had a media job the next day, so just alessia had decided to stay at your place. "Do you wanna pick the movie, and I'll call us a takeaway" you begin saying while opening your apartment door "also you can grab some clothes from my room rather than sitting in that disgusting gear" you say joking with her. "Yeah yeah whatever you love me, really.. no matter what shade of red im wearing, " she responded and playfully placed a kiss to your cheek, leaving you a melting pile in your kitchen.

The two of you had fell into a regular routine but without ella there alessia was abit more handsy than usual as the movie started she had curled into your side with her head on your chest and your legs entwined with eachother. Each time alessias hand would brush at the skin of where your hoodie had rode up was sending shivers down your spine, and you could hear your heartbeat racing at a million miles an hour.

By the time the movie had finished, alessia was quite content sleeping on top of you, yet you knew a night on the couch wouldn't do either of you any good. So you managed to untangle yourself and carry her to your bedroom, which normally this would be quite a simple task. However, sleeping alessia was like a dead weight. That night, you had realised how no matter how hard you try to push your feelings away for the blonde, they wouldn't go away, not when she was so perfect in your eyes.

But the imposed distance between you made your feelings much more bareable to deal with. Yet when the summer transfer window had opened, seeing the blonde wearing an arsenal kit was not what you had expected. Now you couldn't escape your feelings from the blonde, not when you had to see her every day.

The first day at preseason training was going to be hard for you as you cant ingore alessia but you also cant make it obvious to everyone under the sun that you would walk to the ends of the earth for the blonde if she asked you too.

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso blurbs #alessia russo #woso community #woso fanfics #alessia russo x reader

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sofs16 · 10 months ago

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let you break my heart again — 4

previous | series link

♫ i miss you i’m sorry - gracie abrams

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, lorenzotl, pierregasly, and 21,833 others

charles_leclerc Really happy to be part of the Ferrari Drivers Academy and be development driver for Scuderia Ferrari :) For you, (your initial).

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march 1, 2016

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 12,392 others charles_leclerc 🏆🏆YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!! GP3 CHAMPION !!!! A huge thanks to all ARTGP !!!!! WE DID IT !!! ❤️❤️ This one is for you Julio

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november 26, 2016

yn.yln.16 has gone public!

yn.yln.16

liked by kylie_yln, and 4,839 others

yn.yln.16 holy moly so proud of you big sister 🥹

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kylie_yln 🥹❤️

january 5, 2017

charles_leclerc

liked by 13,484 others

charles_leclerc Dreams come true 💫

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january 15, 2017

yn.yln.16

liked by pascale_leclerc, and 7,292 others

yn.yln.16 REAL VOGUE GIRL!!!

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kylie_yln best vogue intern 🤩

february 8, 2017

yn.yln.16

liked by bellahadid, lorenzotl, and 12,942 others

yn.yln.16 made a best friend at work ❤️‍🩹

p.s new article is up in my blog 🫧

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bellahadid youre something special 🦋

user92 what do you write about? :)

⤷ yn.yln.16 sports and fashion 😚🤍

february 20, 2017

yn.yln.16

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yn.yln.16 tonight’s football game article is up!!! view all 158 comments

march 4, 2017

charles_leclerc

liked by zhouguanyu24, and 18,295 others

charles_leclerc Prema today ! Working to get back on the top step as soon as possible 🙂🏆

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april 26, 2017

yn.yln.16 posted a story!

caption: “me and the boys when we aren’t writing a 10 page essay ”

viewed by pascale_leclerc, bawsixteen, and 521,102 others

replies:

kylie_yln anyone cute? 😚

⤷ yn.yln.16 looollll no 😖

pascale_leclerc Stay safe, chérie ❤️

⤷ yn.yln.16 ouiii maman!!! see you soon:)

gigihadid

monaco gp

liked by charles_leclerc, and 8,368,560 others

gigihadid Go HAM lewishamilton!

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Maman 💇‍♀️

Charles, before you find out from anyone else, I am having lunch with Yn today.

Charles🤦‍♂️

What? Where?

How long will she be there?

Is she with you now? Maman?

yln.updated

liked by yn.yln.16, and 7,292 others

yln.updated yn out having lunch with her childhood neighbors! via. chefsmonaco: “Met yn.yln.16 this afternoon! Kindest soul who had lunch at our restaurant!” view all 1,684 others

yn.yln.16 chefsmonaco Loved the food, will surely come back! 🤍🥹

may 28, 2017

kylie_yln just posted a story!

caption: “little sis & me work time 🤪 yn.yln.16”

viewed by charles_leclerc, and 32,910,842 others

yn.yln.16

liked by kylie_yln, bellahadid, bawsixteen and 1,017,605 others

yn.yln.16 so so thankful to have written my first vogue article about my beautiful sister !!!! kylie.yln 🥹🤍

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user82 notice how her first article is ab her sister.. talentless nepo babbyyy lol

⤷ yn.yln.16 yeah but hey, atleast im writing in vogue and not crying abt it in someone’s post 🤷🏻‍♀️

⤷ user1 GAGGEDDDD LOLL I LOVE HER ALR

lorenzotl So proud of both of you! ⤷ yn.yln.16 ❤️

may 11, 2017

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc POLEEE POSITIONNN 🏎️ 2 poles out of 2 Qualifyings. Thanks again prema_team for the great car. But tomorrow is the day that counts ! 👊🏻

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kkkwupdates what is kylie doin in his likes 😭

⤷ user27 theyre friends

may 12, 2017

BBC NEWS • SHORT STORIES

MEET YN YLN May 29, 2017

Yn Yln has been making her mark in the industry.

From detailed writing on fashion pieces to analyzing the newest models of F1 cars, Yn Yln is racing through the internet.

Yln told the BBC it was her bursting of emotions that first got her to write.

Her love of fashion was what started her journey. She put up her first blog up in 2010 titled “Layering”. Yln showcased several ways to style for the winter which skyrocketed her blog.

She then wrote about the racing sport. Yln mentioned a friend of hers raced and that is where her writing started to flourish.

“He just got me really interested in the sport that I couldn’t go a week without writing whether Hamilton got a win or modifications had been made to the sport.”

The writer got her first issue in Vogue out this May 11th. The issue was about her sister, Kylie Yln, and her entrepreneurship.

But while she has achieved much beyond her years, Yln has much more ahead of her. She continues to help the writing industry advance and flourish.

F1 2018: Charles Leclerc confirmed at Sauber

Kylie Yln launches new collection

yn.yln.16

liked by bellahadid, lewishamilton, voguemagazine, kylie.yln, pascale_leclerc, lorenzotl, bawsixteen, and 3,594,192 others

yn.yln.16 you're looking at the new f1 correspondent and presenter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 tears 😭😭😭😭😭 screaming

view all 310,282 comments

lewishamilton Welcome to the club!🖤

⤷ yn.yln.16 Thank you so much🥹🥹🏎️

kylie.yln Proudest of you

[liked by yn.yln.16]

lorenzotl ❤️❤️❤️

pascale_leclerc 😍❤️

user1 what will you do? ⤷ yn.yln.16 writer some articles and present with sky tv 🍓

november 28, 2017

charles_leclerc

liked by kylie_yln, and 1,812,292 others

charles_leclerc I remember watching Formula 1 being younger and dreaming of one day being part of it. I can't believe this day has arrived and that I will be racing with Alfa Romeo Sauber F1 Team for the 2018 Formula 1 World Championship. I am hugely thankful to all the people who have been involved in my path to Formula 1.

A special thought to my father that did absolutly everthing for me to get there and to Jules that also helped me massively, I wish you two were here to see that but l'm sure you will follow me from up there.

A special thank you to the Ferrari Drivers Academy/Scuderia Ferrari, my sponsors/partners, Nicolas Todt/All Road Management, my family, all the people close to me during all these years & obviously Alfa Romeo Sauber F1 Team for giving me this opportunity.

Also, a special thank you to (your initial). This is also for you and I’m proud of you.🤍

Still a long way to go to my second dream..! So back to work and see vou in Melbourne 🏎️

december 3, 2017

Charles Leclerc explains reasons behind #16 F1 number choice

december 13, 2017

Since he was young, Leclerc has been dreamt of his future in being an F1 driver, as well as his future number.

The 20 year old driver explains it has always been the number he was going to pick.

“There is too much emotional connection for me to not pick this number. I hold this number deep in my heart and the person who helped me achieve everything, is mainly the reason. I hope to do the number well and give it justice.”

He has yet to specify who he is talking about but fans would guess a close friend. READ MORE…

16spriv

liked by kyliexoxo, bells888 and 47 others

16spriv

view all 21 comments

bells888 the no caption is so real

⤷16spriv STOPPP ITS MY NUMBER. NOW I HAVE TO CHANGE MYUSERNAME. goodbye yn.yln.16.

kyliexoxo deeeep breaths sister

⤷ 16spriv 🧘‍♀️

yn.yln

liked by bellahadid, lorenzotl, and 4,217,282 others

yn.yln bffr. time to work

view all 1,282,955 comments

user2 why is she famous again?

⤷ yn.yln am i even famous

⤷user2 😂

⤷ user3 she’s a talented writer and her sister is $$$

ylnsbabe the 16 in her user is gone????

⤷ f1wags holymoly

february 13, 2018

MARCH 25, 2018

it was nerve shaking for both yn and charles to come into the paddock knowing the other would be there but they both walked in with confidence.

with charles in his rookie season, many interviewers were trying to get his input on it. he searched the faces for that one (y/h/c) but proceeded to answer questions while walking.

as he started to leave the group, he had the urge to turn around. and when he did, he was met with those (y/e/c) and nostalgia.

the interviewers started to disperse, getting in his line of vision for a moment before they were focues on her.

this was his second shot and he was not going to waste it.

TAGLIST @1655clean @uuzhanggggggg @cmleitora @annie115 @valntynebaby @mrosales16 @d3kstar @stopeatread @chimchimjiminie16 @viennakarma @peqch-pie @scaramou @daniellarogers

NOTE sorry it took so long to upload:( hope everyone has a good year!! this took me a while and a lot of things aren’t accurate, such as the job description, but its fictional!!

#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #formula 1 #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #social media au #charles leclerc 16 #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader

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halfwayunder · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞

Summary: Some old tweets come out and it puts you between a rock and a hard place.

Warning: Internalized Homophobia

Word Count: 2.6k

Arsenal Training Centre, St. Albans

///

You could sense the tension in the air before you'd even stepped through the doors.

...

The past few days had made you a bit of a nervous wreck. The result of some Sam Kerr fan account on Instagram posting a collection of old tweets you'd made nine years ago, back when you were 13.

Old, profoundly homophobic tweets.

And while some fans, mostly those already partial to you, had taken that substantial amount of time and your youth into account, many others had not. Instead, they hurled abuse alongside calls for the club to drop you at the earliest possible opportunity. You'd even tried disabling comments on your most recent social media posts before quickly realizing that the comments would simply move to older ones. Despite how bad some of them had become, you still found yourself not quite willing to disable the comments on every post you had ever made.

It was your own fault anyway. You had been signed by Arsenal a few months ago, having spent the years before that going from one mediocre team to the next until your international performance in Australia had seemingly caught the attention of several larger clubs, the Gunners included. You'd been positively over the moon when your management agency had called to give you the good news. It should have been your big break, and for a period of time, it was, but a position in such a prestigious club came with a level of increased publicity that you hadn't been fully prepared for.

You knew that you should have purged your Twitter before the contract had even been made public, but you'd long forgotten about those posts, those awful comments, and bigoted 'jokes' that your massively insecure thirteen-year-old self had felt the need to put out into the world to try and convince everyone that you were certifiably straight. To convince yourself in some deluded way that you did not frequently lose sleep over the increasingly intrusive and borderline distressing thoughts that plagued you every time you were around some of your friends at school and the teammates at your youth football academy.

Those thoughts just hadn't been you, of course. Because you were straight.

Or, at least that's what thirteen-year-old you had wanted to think at the time.

In the teenage years that followed those tweets, you had eventually been able to come to terms with your sexuality. It had been a slow, long, and painfully drawn-out process, but while the influence of your conservative family had worked to reinforce the close-minded worldview you had been raised with, being around so many openly gay women in your football career had ultimately proven to be a much stronger force in your life. To see that contrary to what you had been told, these supposedly evil and degenerate people were in fact perfectly ordinary and typically far kinder than the 'just' and 'moral' types you had been surrounded by in your childhood.

But, while you had gradually been deprogrammed from the more outwardly hostile and bigoted elements of how you'd been brought up, you had never quite gotten around to being proud of who you were, to being able to let yourself embrace what you felt and to let yourself be happy. Even today, all these years later, you still struggled to imagine yourself feeling the warmth of another woman, a woman you could love as more than just a friend, and a woman who you could feel comfortable telling the world about.

So, you had simply tried to ignore your feelings. Even as you went from teenager to adult and semi-professional to professional, you resigned yourself to a world in which love was an impossibility, where every teasing question from a friend about your romantic endeavors was expertly deflected with a non-committal answer and a change of topic.

You had learned to be happy for the women in your life who were openly gay and celebrated their relationships sincerely like a good friend would, but you could never deny yourself the reality that every time a close friend announced their new partner, you would feel a twinge of remorse, pain that was sourced from fleeting, quickly suppressed thoughts of a life not lived, an opportunity not taken, and a romance denied its potential. It was a sad way to live, but as sad as it was, the thought of telling the world that you were gay was even worse. It had always been worse.

...

And so now, as the sliding doors of the training centre's lobby parted, you found it a difficult task to keep your nerves from becoming overwhelming.

Management had already spoken to you about the tweets and the response on social media to them. Fortunately, no proper news outlet had put out an article on the 'situation' yet, but the club's PR people had seemed pretty nervous that eventually, one of them would. You'd told them that you hadchanged since you were thirteen and that you'd be more than willing to put out an apology. But, ultimately, their advice had been for you to simply stay quiet and hope it all went away on its own. Something that you had been less than thrilled to hear, as if you were ever confronted by a scenario in which it didn't just go away on its own, and eventually you were told to put out an apology, it would likely be too late by the time that you did.

"Morning, Y/N." you were taken away from your thoughts by the young woman at the front desk, Catherine. She was smiling, but you could tell it was a bit of a sympathetic smile, like the woman was trying to show that she was on your side. You appreciated the sentiment, of course, but being treated differently at all because of this was only making your nerves worse.

"Heya." you tried to greet back casually with a smile of your own, and despite your best efforts, it came across as an 'I know' type of smile, a visual confirmation that you acknowledged what had been happening on the Internet these past few days, and her small attempt to make you feel better.

You had almost passed her, ready to head deeper into the large facility when you abruptly stopped and asked, "Any of the other girls here before me?" To which the shorter woman behind the desk nodded, her demeanour steady in its sympathy towards you, knowing why you would be asking. After all, you were on a team with two gay relationships within it, let alone the number of players who just swung that way in general. And aside from the occasional joke or tease (the latter of which often hurt you to an extent that none of your new friends could possibly know), you were pretty certain that none of them actually thought you were a part of that category.

None of the girls had messaged you in the past twenty-four hours, which, while a little uncommon, wasn't an immediate tell that you had been made a pariah. The last message you'd gotten had been from Steph asking if you were available for a coffee date on Saturday, and that had been just over a day ago. Late enough to have been after that stupid account had posted those screenshots, but early enough to have been before many people knew about it.

Fuck, this was really getting to you.

You continued your way down the corridors of the training centre, each heartbeat feeling a little heavier than the last as you drew closer to the locker room. Knowing that at least a few of the girls would be there this early in the morning, getting changed or having a shower or just socializing as they waited for others to arrive. You wondered if they were talking about you, and if they were, what they were saying. You were wondering if they had already agreed to shun you, or even speak to Jonas about getting rid of you. Fuck, this was fucking getting to you.

You gripped the handle of the bag slung over your shoulder a little tighter as you approached the locker room and took a breath before opening the door, a hundred different scenarios having crossed your mind from the time you'd left the lobby to now.

Stepping into the locker room, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to what you had braced yourself for. It was business as usual—some of the girls were chatting casually, others were prepping their gear. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself the hope that perhaps they hadn't seen those tweets or had chosen to ignore them.

But as you made your way to your locker, you could feel eyes on you. Some were quick glances, laced with uncertainty or curiosity, while others held longer, more contemplative stares. No one said anything directly, but the air was thick with unspoken questions and possible conclusions. It was hard to tell.

You kept your head down, focusing on getting ready. The sound of your locker door clanging shut seemed to echo louder than usual, and as you changed into your training gear, you pondered over your next steps. Ignoring the issue didn't feel right, but neither did addressing it without a plan.

"Hey," just then, your attention was taken by the sound of a voice that you quickly recognized as Katie's, her Dublin twang thick as always. The defender's expression was hard to read as she approached, and she sat down next to you, continuing after you replied, "Morning." Your voice was small, and your throat tightened a little, Katie was one of the closer friends you'd made in your somewhat limited time at the club, and her opinion mattered to you.

"Listen, I heard about the tweets," she started, and while you braced yourself for what might come next, you couldn't help but notice her tone being somewhat gentler than you'd expected, but still straightforward. "And, I wanted to say..." she continued, and you felt your heart beat a little bit faster. But, then she stopped, if only for a few seconds, and frowned slightly, though seemingly more to herself than to you. She looked like she was thinking about something, something about you, perhaps.

"Well, I don't know what I wanted to say exactly... but I'm here if you want to talk, or if you need anything, really."

Wait.

What?

You must have had a look on your face because the Irishwoman spoke up again. "Like, if you have anything you wanna get off your chest. I'm here for you, all of the girls are." She remained gentle, but you could tell that heart-to-hearts weren't exactly Katie's style (not that this surprised you) from the way she looked a little awkward, but her sincerity remained all the same.

Breathing just the slightest bit faster, it took you another second or two before you replied, "A lot of the girls?" One of your brows lifting curiously. Was... she implying what you were beginning to think she was implying?

Did Katie know think you were gay?

"Yeah. We care about ya, dummy. And unless you really are some horrible bigot, nothing you say is gonna change that." Katie smiled at that remark and you couldn't help but reflect her, shaking your head lightly in response. "I'm not," you confirmed, your eyes connecting with Katie's. "I was just... different then... I was—" You went to continue, but cut yourself off, your breath almost hitching as you caught yourself at the last moment from finishing that sentence.

I was afraid.

You could virtually see the defender's gaze softening on you in real time and you couldn't bear the sight of it anymore, glancing away and turning your attention to your shoes. The locker room around the pair of you was beginning to fade into the backdrop, although you got the feeling that it hadn't just been Katie's eyes on you. Even as you observed the details of your trainers, you could practically feel the woman next to you's gaze wandering off every few moments to the others in the room, maybe looking for assistance, or trying to convey her unspoken suspicion.

"You were what?" You heard, and this time it wasn't Katie who spoke. It was Beth, who was standing a short distance away by her own cubby. Immediately proving that your heart-to-heart with Arsenal's number 15 hadn't been quite so exclusive, and the locker room's sudden silence ironically brought it right back to the forefront of your attention. Everyone was listening, and many of them staring as well. Was this what they had been talking about before you'd shown up? Had they been in here putting together dots you hadn't known existed? A longing gaze you hadn't suppressed or one too many comments about the eyes or legs of another woman that you'd thought would simply slip under the radar as casual observation? Were those tweets the final confirmation they needed?

Was this the supposed 'gaydar' you had heard about?

"Nothing." you retorted swiftly, shaking your head again as you reached into your locker to resume getting dressed. You hadn't really paid attention to the fact you'd stopped when Katie had come over to talk to you, but the girls didn't seem intent on letting this moment slip away, and you could see Beth approach from your peripheral vision even as you tried to focus on getting changed. You were beginning to almost feel trapped, though you were certain that the culprit behind that particular feeling was more likely to be yourself than your teammates.

"Y/N, we're your friends." Beth said, kneeling down to eye level, while Katie still sat beside you, staring into the side of your head with an expression that was unusually gentle and almost unnervingly so. You still couldn't look at her without feeling your throat close up.

"Trust me... none of us are going to react like how that silly little brain of yours thinks we might." she continued softly and with a warm smile, and now you knew. You knew that they knew.

Your head tilted slightly up to look at Beth, who was now squatted a small distance from you, hands clasped together and blue eyes looking right into your own. You could still sense the looks of the other girls on you too, only now you didn't feel that they were judging, far from it actually. Your leg bounced up and down nervously, and you didn't even have it in you to try to stop it. You felt like you wanted to cry. Why was this so hard? Even now, when it was clear that everyone in the room knew. You just couldn't say it.

Your eyes started to glisten as the first tears threatened to push their way out, and you gave Beth a small, sad smile. Your throat began to hurt in the way that only a sob—or an imminent one—could provoke.

"I think you know already." you finally managed to get out, your voice as small as your presence in that room, and Beth only nodded. You could see some of the other girls nod too, but you were distracted by the feeling of Katie's hand taking your own and clutching it safely. A breath escaped you and it was shaky, uncertain, afraid.

"Yeah, I think we do, pet." the forward replied, closing the gap between you and pulling you in for a hug, her arms finding themselves at home wrapped around your torso. It was as if she'd given you permission to cry, the tears finally beginning to flow, as you buried your head into the other woman's shoulder, quietly sobbing into the fabric of her Arsenal jacket. Katie's hand tightened around your own, and you heard the sound of cleats and shoes closing in around you. You weren't sure how you were going to deal with this new reality moving forward, this world in which people other than yourself knew of your sexuality, but at least you wouldn't be alone.

///

End Notes: Hope you liked this one, guys! I promise not all of my fics will be angsty! I'm also in the process of writing an OC for a self-contained multi-part storyline. But, with how busy I've been with uni, who knows whether I'll actually finish it or not. Thanks for reading!

#woso #awfc #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #katie mccabe #beth mead #arsenal wfc x reader

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meazalykov · 7 months ago

Text

Sight for sore eyes

Salma Paralluelo x BenficaPlayer!R

warnings: short chapter

Nycole Raysla dribbles the ball through Ona Batlle and Ingrid Engen outside of the box. Taking this as a golden opportunity, Y/n L/n moves through an open space to receive a possible pass. She didn’t go unnoticed by the Brazilian forward, who passed the ball to her with her backheel. Y/n taps the ball once with her right foot before taking a shot, with Ingrid Engen missing her shot by a second. Goal!

The Portuguese supporters erupt as Y/n runs to the corner with her hands out wide. She couldn’t believe it. This is her second goal of the night and the score is 3-3 in the 70th minute. The girl’s teammates ran by her side to congratulate her on the goal.

“Number 7 Y/n L/n equalizes in the Champion’s League match!” the commentator screams in excitement.

After the celebration, Y/n looks over at Salma Paralluelo on the Barcelona bench. She was substituted out for Esmee Brugts two minutes before, but she hoped that Salma saw her goal. Y/n wasn’t someone who looked for external validation, but she wanted the girl in braids to be impressed by her goal.

Salma saw her goal, and she was impressed.

Salma didn’t celebrate obviously, out of respect for her Barcelona team. She looked at Y/n with soft eyes and a light smile. The Benfica player took it as a silent approval.

The girls weren't in an official relationship, but they’re in a long distance talking stage through social media. Y/n L/n is a (Reader’s Country) International who was in La Masia before signing to Benfica. She knew Salma for years, but they weren’t friends while attending the same school.

Salma, who casually scrolled through instagram one day, stumbled upon a captivating Instagram post from Y/n. She didn’t follow her, she saw the post through a mutual friend's story. The Spanish girl knew Y/n from the academy. When Y/n left Barcelona, she didn’t notice because her promotion to the Femeni A team happened at the same time.

Salma was entranced by Y/n's striking features and magnetic presence in the post. The girl had a four photo slideshow of herself on vacation in Albania (Visual at the end). Salma couldn't resist the urge to reach out. With a flutter of excitement and confidence, she initiated a conversation through social media. Y/n was surprised by this reach out, but they've sparked an instant connection. Y/n adored Salma and Salma couldn’t stop thinking about Y/n outside of football.

The game ended in 4-4 which disappointed the Benfica player. She didn’t want to defeat Barcelona out of hatred or vengeance for the club letting her go, but her competitiveness inside of her wanted to end their winning streak to boost her team’s morale.

As Y/n places on her red puffer jacket and pulls the tight hair tie out of her hair, she looks over at her teammate who walks towards her.

“Congrats on the goal against your old club!” Jessica Sliva pats on Y/n’s back. The younger girl smirks before shaking her head.

“Thank you...... Sorry- I feel like I shouldn’t have celebrated it.” Y/n confesses when her appreciation sounded monotoned. Jessica lowers her eyebrows in confusion, “Why?”

“Barcelona is the club I grew up with. People might consider the celebration I did as disrespectful.” Y/n swallowed. Jessica smirks before looking behind Y/n, seeing a particular girl 40 feet away with her own team.

“Is it because of that, or is it because of Salma?” Jessica smirks and nods her head towards someone behind them.

Y/n turns and sees Salma looking at her. The girl blushes and waves at the Spanish, who waves at her back with a shy smile.

“You’re in love, girl.” Jessica jokes.

“Shut up!” Y/n laughed, not denying it.

The girl continued to look at Salma as Jessica walked away. She knew that she had to go talk to her, but she is shy. All she does is admire from afar.

“What a sight for sore eyes.” Y/n thought, looking at Salma who moved to talk to Vicky Lopez.

Two months earlier....

(Pretend you're in the pictures below)

y/n.l/n

sarandë, albania

tagged: jackie_groenen_14

liked by esmeebrugts, urbestie, and 11,237 others

loving albania 🇦🇱

comments

urbestie I LOVE THESE PICTURES OMGGG

jackie_groenen_14 had a good time 🤩

evagaetino 🥰

wosoplayers457 SO CUTEEEE

barcefemenifan7 come back to Barcelona 🔵🔴

shesaballer you are not beating the psg transfer rumors

salmaparalluelo follows y/n.l/n

an: hope you liked :)

#salma paralluelo #fc barcelona #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #aitana bonmati #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas

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scotianostra · 3 months ago

Text

Thomas Sean Connery was born in the Fountainbridge area of Edinburgh on 25th August, 1930.

Big Tam, as he was affectionately known around Fountainbridge in his youth, well he was Tommy until his teens, when he shot up in height and stature, at one point he entered a bodybuilding contest, he was 6'2″ at the time, weighed around 14 stone, had a 48-inch chest, 25-inch thigh, and his arms were 15.25 inches.

His first job was as a milkman with the St Cuthbert’s Co-Operative Society in Edinburgh. I would think he would have delivered the milk on a horse drawn carriage, the stables for these horses was in the are he grew up, were in Grove Street, where I used to live the main offices for St Cuthbert’s still stands round the corner on Fountainbridge.

Connery also played football at junior level for Bonnyrigg Rose, my cousin played for them too for several years.

A few more facts about Sean are he has a tattoo on his arm that state “Scotland Forever” he got when he enrolled in the Merchant Navy, he was discharged from that job due to stomach ulcers, between jobs he was a nude model for art students at Edinburgh College of art, again not to far from Fountainbridge. Other jobs he took up were, a lorry driver, a lifeguard at Portobello swimming baths,a labourer and a coffin polisher!

I think it is interesting Connery never strayed far from Fountainbridge in his younger days, indeed when he decided that acting was a career he was going to pursue, it was the nearby Kings Theatre he got a job helping backstage, he was also competing in bodybuilding competitions at this time and while at an event in London he learned that there were auditions being held for South Pacific, he was picked to appear on the chorus line but as the production toured the country he was making his way up the ladder.

By the time it hit Edinburgh he had the part of Marine Cpl Hamilton Steeves and was understudying two of the juvenile leads, and his salary was raised from £12 to £14–10s a week, when the production was reprised the following year he had the lead role on the tour, taking over from the actor Larry Hagman, who played the part in London’s West End.

Connery never looked back from there and of course the role of James Bond catapulted him to international stardom, Ian Fleming though was against him getting the part initially, he said Sean was “unrefined” and not what he had in mind, Sean soon won him over though and Fleming later admitted he was an “ideal” Bond.

A few of the parts Sean either didn’t get or turned down are Gandalf, in the Lord of the Rings series of films, he said he never understood the books and also wasn’t keen on 18 months of filming in New Zealand. He also turned down the chance to play the role of the Architect in The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. Sean was asked to portray King Edward I in Braveheart, but was too busy working on Another film at the time, Patrick McGoohan took the role instead, I’m sort of glad he never played Longshanks.

His 93rd and last film was 2003’s The League of Extraordinary Gentleman - although he officially retired in 2006, although he was temporarily tempted back to do the voice of Sir Billi in the animated adventure comedy of the same name.

Sir Sean Connery passed away in his sleep on 31st October 2020 at his home in the Bahamas, his son said he had been unwell for some time. The official cause of death was pneumonia, heart failure and old age, his death certificate revealed.

In a career spanning over 50 years, Connery earned an Academy Award, multiple Golden Globes, including the Cecil B. DeMille and Henrietta Awards, as well as two British Academy Film Awards (BAFTA) awards.

I've posted more pics than I normally would, firstly to show that Sean was much more than the first Bond, but also because the Scottish public, had and still have a big connection and love for the big guy.

Sean Connery 25th August 1930 – 31st October 2020.

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #actor

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wospacsportsacademy · 1 year ago

Text

Physical preparation in achieving success in the world of sports

Physical preparation in youth sports, particularly in the realms of residence soccer and residence football, plays a pivotal role in nurturing young talents and building strong foundations for their athletic careers. In the context of RESIDENCE SOCCER programs, it is essential to focus on both the physical and mental aspects of training to ensure holistic development.

In the world of RESIDENCE FOOTBALL, young athletes are provided with an ideal environment to harness their skills. A key component of this environment is the residential soccer or residential football setup, which offers a structured approach to training and development.

RESIDENTIAL SOCCER academies are dedicated to instilling discipline and honing the physical attributes of budding soccer stars. These programs emphasize the importance of fitness, agility, and endurance, as well as mental toughness. The blend of technical skills and physical prowess ensures that young players are well-prepared for the competitive world of soccer.

Similarly, in residence football programs, athletes are immersed in an atmosphere where physical fitness is given utmost importance. RESIDENTIAL FOOTBALL academies provide a platform where players can develop their strength, speed, and endurance, which are fundamental to succeeding in the sport.

The residential soccer and residential football approach goes beyond the field, focusing on a holistic development of young talents. It aims to mold them into not only skilled athletes but also responsible individuals who understand the importance of physical preparation in achieving success in the world of sports.

#physical therapy #studies and sports #sports opportunities #football academy #boardingschool #international school and soccer academy

0 notes

ell-alexanderarnold · 9 months ago

Note

hiii could you please to a dad!trent fic where his son/ daughter is in the academy and one day they get upset in training, then trent finds out that they are scared that they won’t be as good as him when they’re older so he re assures them? i love your fics btw :)

Our Starboy

Summary: As the request says :)

dad!Trent & Fluff

Note: I’ve had this request in my inbox since MAY😭 So here it is ta-da🤗

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Your son who usually looked rather happy when you come to pick him up from training now looked bothered. Just like his dad he’s not good at explaining his emotions when something’s wrong. But your mother instincts knew something was up.

“Hiya, how was training my boy?” You said and pecked his cheek as he entered the car, visibly disappointed.

Leo hummed in response and you took it as he was tired and not in a chatty mood. Until a few minutes later, he spoke up.

“When is Daddy coming home?” Leo asked.

“He should be home just before your bedtime.” You answered.

Trent has been away due International duty a few weeks. You thought you’d cope alright without him but then you find yourself laying awake at night, wishing he was next to you.

When you came home Leo went up to his room quickly, your attempt at trying to find out what was bothering him in car didn’t work. You could really use Trent’s help right now.

Right when you thought of Trent, you heard the front door open.

Trent searched the room for his two loved ones, only to find you. He walked towards you, no words, just the two of you in each other’s arms again.

“Oh my love, I’ve missed you so much Y/n.” He cooed and kissed your forehead.

“I’m glad you’re home again T, it’s been a bit lonely without you.” You said and smiled at him.

“Alright, where’s the kiddo?” Trent implored as he again scanned the room for his little one.

“In his room, he was not in the best mood earlier.” You explained as you watched Trent furrow his brows.

“What do you mean?” He wondered.

“I don’t know Trent. I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, something might happened at the academy. Could you try talk to him?” You grumbled and sighed as Trent rubbed your back to calm you down.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll talk to him.” Trent comforted then made his ways up the stairs.

Trent knocked on his door and heard a ‘yes’ in a tired tone.

As Trent walked in he could see Leo watching highlights of Trent himself on YouTube. Leo watched closely how he crossed the ball, how he took a free kick and so on. And he immediately knew what was on Leo’s mind.

“Daddy!” Leo beamed and his face lit up as soon as he saw his daddy.

“Hey little man!” Trent chuckled and hugged his son.

“What’s up?” Trent began and Leo put his ipad aside, turning all his focus to Trent who was his role model. All Leo wanted was to be a footballer like his dad. He tries to copy every move the 66 does on the pitch.

“Daddy I’m scared.” Leo revealed and Trent looked at him in awe.

“Worried about what Leo?” Trent asked, wanting him to open up more so he can get the whole picture.

“That-“ Leo stuttered.

“Go on.” Trent soothed.

“That I might not make it through the academy.” Leo said and bursted into tears. Trent felt his heart break a little when he heard what his son said. He put his arm around his little shoulder and comforted him, he wanted nothing more for him to be okay.

“Shh, don’t you worry. I’ve been exactly in your shoes.” Trent stated and Leo looked up at his dad.

“Just focus on the now. The coaches know how good you are. I know how good you are, okay? You’ve got talent Leo, they see that.” Trent explained and watched as Leo’s eyes lit up with hope.

”And don’t be afraid to tell Mommy, she used to play footy back in the day. She will understand too.” Trent added and heard the door open, seeing you standing there admiring them both.

“Aw you two!” You whispered and tried not to get too emotional of seeing Trent and Leo together.

“Mommy I didn’t know you used to play football!” Leo said and giggled whilst you widened your eyes at Trent.

“Oh yeah I did, a long time ago.” You claimed and laughed, thinking about the memories when you and Trent used to play in his garden when you two were young lovers.

After finding out why Leo was upset you all three cuddled up together in yours and Trent’s room and watched a movie.

“You know what Leo, Daddy helps past academy players to not give up on their dream after being dropped.” You spoke up, mentioning The After Academy.

“So you’re in safe hands.” Trent chimed in. Neither of you and Trent was worried about Leo not making it professional because you both see the hard work he puts in everyday at such a young age.

A few days later

“Look at him Trent.” You whispered to Trent as you both stood watching Leo’s U6 match. Leo was absolutely brilliant, scoring two goals already in the first half.

“Our starboy.” Trent cooed and looked at you, smiling.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Thanks for reading ♡

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #dad!trent #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold fanfic #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent x reader #footballer x reader #england x reader #football imagine #trent alexander arnold fic #trent alexander arnold one shot

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johannestevans · 5 months ago

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The Joy of Trans Creation

On the liberty of making unapologetically transgender art.

Originally published in Prism & Pen.

For me as a child, there was no real transgender representation around me.

Transfeminine characters were exciting when I saw them, even though they were frequently the butt of jokes, highly sexualised, or the targets of violence from the narratives they appeared in. They were never afforded complex character arcs, and I can’t recall any trans women on my screens or on the pages of the books appearing for more than an episode or in small appearance before being killed or disappearing off-screen.

And trans men?

Nothing.

In the British soap series, Waterloo Road, there was a narrative about a trans guy that started when I was a young teenager myself, and it was… difficult. The narrative was clumsy and uninformed about trans experiences. It seemed more about cisgender parents’ anxieties about their trans children and was very conservative in extending liberty or freedom to the trans guy’s life or his body. He was sporty, a football player, and dykey — he was presented almost as if he was transitioning just to play sports.

And the obvious inspiration for this Waterloo Road plot, She’s The Man (2006) was…

Well, that wasn’t much to write home about either. The film is about a girl disguising herself as a boy in order to play soccer. I know that Amanda Bynes, who played the protagonist in She’s The Man, has talked in interviews about experiencing a lot of gender dysphoria whilst in the role, but what better encapsulation of the fact that trans roles were and still are so often played by cis actors who have no business doing so?

I remember watching She’s The Man as a kid and finding a lot of the jokes not very funny. These two trans male narratives, the only ones that I ever saw until I was much older, bore no resemblance to my life, my desires, and my feelings, whatsoever.

They were cisgender heterosexual people’s fantasies of transgender men. One is about a woman “thankfully” going back on her vile trans ways and revealing herself to be sexy and female after playing at being a pathetic and unmasculine man; the other is about an undesirable and lesbianish teenager who is “obviously” transitioning to get around misogyny, more than for any of his internal feelings.

I felt far more gender euphoria — far more excitement, more sense of feeling loved and cared for and genuinely represented and validated — when I saw effortlessly queer and fruity men on my screens. Characters like Hook and Smee in Hook (1991), or Armand and Albert in The Birdcage (1996): two silly, middle-aged men being overdramatic and in love with one another. Or characters like Hollywood Montrose in Mannequin (1987): fashion-focused, catty and, emotional.

Or, hell, even characters like the sexy gay leather bikers in the Blue Oyster Bar in the Police Academy movies — they’re intended as a recurring punchline, but nevertheless portrayed hot hairy men who dance the tango and unapologetically love and desire other men.

I did not feel like or want to be an eternal little boy for being transgender, continuously infantilised and emasculated, treated as if I wasn’t a real man. Moreover, I had no interest in feeling or acting as though manhood or masculinity or men were something I should have been superior to.

I’m a fashionable, pretty gay dude with so many joint problems that going for a jog can put me out of action for days. Narratives about straight trans guys, let alone ultra-sporty ones, couldn’t bear any less resemblance to my life or my desires as a man.

There’s a reason many cisgender people are attracted to these narratives about transmasculinity, and unfortunately, it has nothing to do with truly supporting the trans men who are lesbians, or who are sporty or straight. It has more to do with their feelings about which “women” are best to “allow” to transition, and so much of those feelings are based on their expectations of female attractiveness or desirability within heterosexual society, and never truly afford love or respect to those men.

And men like me?

We’re unthinkable, and thus, invisible.

Times have changed, a little — I do see more trans men on television and in film, bit by bit. I know that in animation particularly, great strides are being made in portraying various trans characters, and we see a much wider variety of trans characters in shows and film.

I do still think that I see far more they/them trans masc types who are often a white monolith with similar butch lesbian stylings, dyed hair, and certain piercings, often as a sort of introduction for cis hetero viewers to the concept of nonbinary identity or the use of they/them pronouns. I know many people like this in real life, nonbinary or trans, and the issue isn’t their physical appearance or the fact that they’re depicted like this — it’s that their characterisations are so often one-note.

I can’t think of seeing a character introduced as nonbinary who appears more transfeminine, or who characters would automatically label as “he” instead of “she” before being corrected to they/them, because nonbinary identity is treated in popular media as a sort of woman-lite; I can think of one gay trans guy who’s in Shameless; I can’t think of many trans men on television at all or in film who are fat, non-white or disabled.

Television and film are still a long way behind the beautiful diversity of real trans experience — but I write books and short stories. I get to create, as a gay trans man, trans men like me, and trans men like my friends, and craft narratives about trans experience that cisgender people would never be able to.

I published my second novel this month. One of the main characters is a transmasc fallen angel with BPD — he’s cold and arrogant, manipulative, cruel, and at the same time, he’s endlessly loving and charismatic, he’s beautiful and savage, he’s radical and believes strongly in his ideas, and in the rights of everybody.

I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams as a child seeing a character like that in any book I read. But many other trans men, trans people, queer people, and readers in general, will be able to pick up my book and connect to that character, see themselves in him, and love him or despise him as they might any other character.

There is no limit as an indie author to the trans characters that I can create, or how many of them I can have. I don’t have to limit myself to having a singular trans man on a cast of cis-hetero characters, his whole person and physicality aligned to the cisgender stereotype of transmasculinity.

I have dozens of trans characters in the universes I create, and many of them are trans men like me, or not: fat trans men, trans men of colour, Jewish trans men, disabled trans men, traumatised trans men. They’re tailors, revolutionaries, students, teachers, historians, archivists, office workers, stablehands, fops, librarians, adventurers, rogues, pirates, sailors, bastards or angels, heroes or villains.

The sheer joy of that reality is striking me regularly at the moment whenever someone leaves a kind or enthusiastic comment on my works or in their reviews. There’s so much joy that people display in reading my short stories or buying my books, and God, the wonder that I feel when I attend conventions or events and people recognise me or recognise my work and enthuse about it to me.

There is no greater compliment to me, no better assurance, no more loving thing to be told or to overhear, than “Finally, I feel seen.”

“He’s just like me!” or “I’ve never felt so represented,” or “Oh, I want to be him. I am him already. I love him.”

It’s lonely to be transgender.

In a society that punishes and penalises any acts of gender transgression or perceived deviation from the norm or expectation, the transgender or nonbinary or otherwise gender-nonconforming person is constantly at risk — and aware of the risk — of ostracisation, of victimisation, of violence, or assault. We go through life aware that we may be attacked or discredited, violently assaulted, denied medical care, treated as unworthy of love, abused, harmed, hurt.

We must fear and be wary of isolation from our friends, our loved ones, and our communities, because society fears us and has been taught it can hate us. Other people, those that we love, that we care about, forging those connections and keeping them strong, they are how we can survive.

And how do we do that, when we don’t know in our heart of hearts that those like us exist? When we can’t be sure that we exist?

I was very lucky as a young man to feel confident and assured in seeing myself and then establishing myself as like the queer, fruity men that I saw and loved on the screen, no matter that they weren’t made with the thought of transgender men like me. Yet so many others, people I talk to, people I’ve never heard of, do not have that assurance.

They stand in front of a mirror and they don’t see anything. To feel transgender before one’s transition is often to see oneself or think of oneself as existing in potentia. We are an egg yet to crack and hatch; we are a soul without a vessel as yet.

How can we imagine a future for ourselves when we can’t envisage it? When we have no framework or canvas or idea of how a person like us can look, can live, can exist? How can we conceive of what we might be or what we truly are, when we might be grappling with our own pains and trauma and dysphoria, and at the same time society’s disregard of us, when we have never known or thought of others like us existing — let alone existing in beautiful diversity, in variety, in the complexity that we truly do?

Whenever I get one of those comments or whenever someone says a kind word to me about my work as a trans man and I see the light in that person’s eyes or the enthusiasm in the words they’ve written, there is an unspeakably immense happiness and joy in it.

To have taken part in that, to have created a mirror for that person to see themselves in, a character or characters that make that person feel real— not merely validated or represented, but seen and loved and cared for by a complete stranger, I can name no greater privilege.

It’s a shame I didn’t have that in my childhood, sure, but what’s important is that I and, far more importantly, a whole variety of trans and nonbinary creators, are doing that work today.

In Daniel Ortberg’s Something That May Shock and Discredit You, there’s a truly beautiful quote:

As my friend Julian puts it, only half winkingly: “God blessed me by making me transsexual for the same reason God made wheat but not bread and fruit but not wine, so that humanity might share in the act of creation.”

In being transgender I have created myself — no longer in potentia, I have developed and evolved. I’ve played with my hair and my face and my jewellery and my clothes; I’ve fed and nurtured my masculinity and my love for men and manhood as a gay man; I have created myself, and that’s been very joyful for me…

But to create works that help other people, transgender or otherwise, men or otherwise, create themselves? See for themselves the sort of people they’d like to be, how they would like to make themselves created?

That is a triumph beyond measure, and I am so grateful to do so.

#musings #essay #pride month #trans pride #transgender pride

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

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Big Adventures Thoughts

So, my fics were pretty short tonight because I was stuck on a coach for six hours and couldn't write much but I do have some random Big Adventures thoughts that may or may not make it into fics at some point but I'm just going to share them all with you now 😊

I've mentioned it very briefly in an ask before but when Princesse was very young she spoke Swedish with a slight Danish accent and Magda hated it. It faded after she started living with Magda but it's always funny to Pernille whenever anyone brings it up

It's not been used a lot but moster Frido is a big part of Princesse's life. This is coming in a fic soon but after the doctors and Magda and Pernille, she's actually the next person to hold Princesse and she's the one that brings her girl-swan and girl-moose when she's a baby. Princesse adores her in the way all young girls idolise their older, female relatives and Frido's definitely the one she turns to when she's older and doesn't want to talk to her mums about certain things

Magda feels a bit inadequate sometimes (particularly early on) when she finds out just how easy Pernille and Princesse work together on things and it's a pretty steep learning curve for her but she adapts pretty quickly

Every shirt Princesse gets when she's younger, she wears to bed the night she gets it. Some shirts (like Leah's) she hoards for weeks before letting them get washed and framed if she thinks they're special enough

Princesse is deathly allergic to kiwi, banana and avocado but only slightly allergic to latex

Sometimes on the bus to away games, Princesse curls up on Jessie's lap and naps with her. Pernille has a whole photo album of pictures of Jessie and Princesse napping

The gloves that Zećira gives Princesse after the match against the USA, Princesse keeps. It becomes a bit of a superstition but before every match, she puts them on and then takes them off to put on her own gloves because she wants Zećira's good luck from that game to rub off on her

Princesse is absolutely a prodigy at keeping. Magda and Pernille debate sometimes whether there must be some kind of keeper dna in the donor they chose (because it certainly didn't come from Magda's) or whether or not it was the near hero worship Princesse has for Zećira that made her want to prove herself

Princesse's schooling ends up being a bit all over the place. She only starts school when they all move back to Germany and she only really goes in a few times a week because Magda and Pernille's schedules can be erratic sometimes and it's a bit easier to home-school her (and because of the slight separation anxiety Magda develops but will forever deny). When Magda and Pernille retire and they end up in Sweden, Princesse's time is taken up by academy training and then when she hits fifteen, professional training so she ends up taking online school

I think I've mentioned this as well but Princesse never lets in a penalty her entire career and it makes other players all the more nervous during penalty shootouts at major tournaments because she continually blocks them. It becomes kind of a thing that commentators at matches talk about in the 'is this the day someone finally scores a penalty against her' kind of way

Like Magda did, Princesse gives away her World Cup medals but this time to Magda and Pernille rather than a child of her own

Almost all of Princesse's World Cup jerseys get given away to players from her childhood (if and when she defeats their teams) while the others go to Magda and Pernille

For club football, Princesse has her first name on her back but for every international match, it's her last name

Princesse feels awkward getting praise sometimes from people that aren't her mothers which is something that carries into adulthood so, at award shows and such things, she always brings them with her because it makes her feel less awkward

Speaking of award shows, Princesse is presented with awards by both Mary Earps when she grows up along with Alexia and Aitana

#The Big Adventures Universe

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footytea · 5 months ago

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disclaimer: these are all romain molina's claims. none of them are mine. romain is an investigative journalist who focuses on exposing corruption, abuse, etc. within the football world. i'm just sharing what he has said over the past few years. some of these claims might sound crazy, but not unbelievable, unfortunately.

trigger warning: his claims mention topics such as rape, abuse, pedophilia, etc. so if those are topics you're not comfortable reading about, please don't continue reading.

one particular topic romain molina has been repeatedly speaking about is the pedophilia and trafficking ring(s) within the football world, involving many (as molina said over half of the) federations, including the spanish federation and the french federation, but also in south & north america, asia, africa. what is happening within these federations is actively being covered up and romain claims that even the french government is involved in the shit happening within the french football federation.

here's a list of a few claims romain molina has made:

more than 400 international players from the premier league, championship, ligue 1 and ligue 2 have been raped multiple times during their youth. some of them had anal injuries and diseases as a result and would go to specialised clinics to be treated. this has been going on for at least two decades.

an international coach was caught raping two 13 year old girls in the middle of an international tournament. his employer covered everything up for him, but still fired him in 2017. romain molina later went on to say that this story was also covered up by a footballer who many idolise and would use as their profile pic on twitter.

a ligue 1 club covered up a pedophilia case, that took place in their training centre. the (foreign) victim was later sent back to his country of origin.

victims of abuse and people who knew about this cannot speak up without facing major consequences. a human rights lawyer who was in the space romain hosted also stated how dangerous it is for the victims to talk about the abuse they have suffered.

an ex-member of the french federation said the following: "when something happens, we keep quiet. they have too much power. the second you speak, it's over."

the ex-director of the french federation said: "at the FFF, everyone talks to everyone. they are all aware of these affairs but they are very quickly buried. it's a policy of silence. they are like ostriches: head in the sand. if you speak, you are eliminated."

didier deschamps apparently claimed he had no idea about the cases of abuse within the french federation, while he was in contact with several people involved these abuse cases and knew about everything happening, but kept quiet for financial reasons.

a lot of molina's work focuses on african football. he has shared stories of female players forced to get abortions (one even died as a result), luring children to their homes, giving children blowjobs and keeping their sperm in jars to perform rituals, academies ran by pedophiles. crazy stuff.

some claims he made unrelated to the pedophilia and trafficking rings:

a current (this was back in 2021, idk if he's still a current player) french international player would organise parties where he would shit in women's mouths and film himself doing it. he forced a girl to participate, who later on issued a formal complaint. molina was also sent a video.

apparently helium balloons are very popular at arsenal and there's a player who even threw a "nitrous oxide balloons"-themed birthday party.

generally, a lot of players smoke shisha. there was a time psg players would bring their shisha/hookah with them on away games. one of the players who would regularly smoke shisha is blaise matuidi.

a few notes:

these are just a few of his claims summarised. if you want more details i would have to deep dive into his work more. romain has written several books and has been doing investigative work for longer than a decade now.

this space was insane, i think there were about 80k listening, even clubs' official twitter accounts were tuning in. the rock was in the space at one point as well 😭 i can't remember who else tuned in as it's been 2/3 years already

these claims simply show how rotten football institutions are and how it isn't surprising that footballers with rape/abuse charges don't have their careers ruined, when the people in charge are doing the same things and even worse.

#romain molina

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