#just mirka things

[nabaath-areng]

Whenever I feel bad about symptoms from my illnesses, I think of my sibling's horse growing up, whose name was Batman and who was so allergic to grass he had to be wrapped up like a christmas present every summer to prevent rashes. I don't know if that makes me feel better exactly, but if Batman could cope and continue to mosey around like the gentle old man he was, then maybe I can cope with being completely bedridden certain days.

[bluespring864]

Roger: "Novak, I guess he was the party crasher of Rafa and Roger fans. […] He got to the top in a different way. I got to the top sort of alone and Novak came up through me and Rafa. He had to really second-guess himself how to get there… [...] And I think I didn't give Novak the respect he deserved because of his technical flaws. […] But then he ironed those things out super well, and he became an unbelievable monster of a player. [...] I think he's been a little bit misunderstood. I look past the media and I see at the end the man he is and if I take away his game, who is he, what are his values? I know, I can feel he cares very deeply about his family. So we have similar values. When he signed up to play the Laver Cup, he could have always still pulled out once he heard I was going to retire, but he didn't, so I really appreciate that."

Novak: I was just very grateful, really, and privileged […] to witness that [the retirement ceremony]. It was one of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever experienced in my life […] I empathise with Roger because I understand exactly what is necessary in order for you to be on the tour for such a long time. It’s an individual sport so people think that it’s really only up to us and that win or lose we take the blame or we take the credit, which is somewhat of a truth but on the other side you wouldn’t be able to do it without the support of the closes ones and I think he said it beautifully yesterday that his wife, Mirka, and the closest people in his life allowed him to be able to play on such an incredible level for so many years. And I’m talking too much [laughs] but much love to Roger.

Roger Federer talks about Novak Djokovic (in the Documentary Federer: Twelve Final Days) and Novak Djokovic talks about Roger Federer (in an on court interview during Day 2 of the Laver Cup 2022)

[husbandograveyard]

Hey, Hazel ^^

I saw that the list of fandoms included Naruto and got me excited <33 Could I request the letter R from the fluff alphabet for Might Gai? Thank you in advance! 🥰 And hope your event will be successful!

Aaaahhh Mirka, I am so happy to get some Naruto in!! I have been getting back into it (especially since I will be getting a Naruto tattoo on the 2nd of November), so I am very happy to indulge in some more writings! Enjoy <3

2nd person. GN reader. No warnings, just fluff.

R - Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Oh Guy is SUPER romantic, almost obnoxiously so. When he is in love, he pours in all he has, much like he does with anything in life. He cares a lot about interpersonal relationship, and as his partner, you are firmly at the top of those relationships and he will give you no chance to ever forget it.

His romance is found in the little things, checking in, getting your favorite food, remembering all your favorites to surprise you at any given time (sometimes you’re sure he knows you better than you know yourself, it’s very impressive).

But his romance is also found in grander gestures, especially on special days, like your birthday and anniversaries, but even some random occasions. Leave it to Guy to find an occasion to celebrate even in the most mundane moments. Rest assured that the most flamboyant declarations of love come from your boyfriend. He will paint your initials right next to the Hokage rock if he feels like that’s the appropriate thing to do.

The entire village knows of your relationship because of his antics and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Love is one of the most beautiful things there is and it should be celebrated. Expect loads of his ‘challenges’ to be dedicated to you, especially when he breaks yet another one of his records.

This is part of my AB(C)-Day event! Click here to join!

[rockybloo]

As an italian I'm SO glad you're enjoying Sweet Paprika, It makes me so Happy to know that comics from my country are liked and read overseas! I'm sure you'll take good inspo from It and that the future scenes of your comic Will be gorgeous! Have a nice day!

Thank you!

I'm a big fan of Mirka Andolfo's art so I really wanted to give Sweet Paprika a read after YEARS of seeing teasers. The story was way better than I was expecting (I just thought it'd be sex and lewd jokes and not the actual heartwarming stuff it turned out to be with multiple character plotlines being tied in a nice satisfying bow) SO I AM VERY HAPPY much of my day was spent binging it.

I really like being able to read comics made by people from other countries because everyone puts their own unique perspectives into their stories, regardless of how minor things may seem, and it's fun to see and learn all the new stuff.

It shows the world is very big and has many stories to offer and helps expand the storytelling horizons instead of staying in a little Americanized bubble.

[dragonfelling]

Find word tag :-)

Saw this floating around and wanted to do my own

My words to find, and the words I want y'all to find: Heart, Sweat, Conversation, Returned

@the-majestic-pterodactyl-senpai @bloodmoodtrash @albatris @tracle0 @trixierosewrites and anyone else interested

--

Heart

Jeremias sat on the couch where Amara died.

His hands white knuckle grasped his knees. His twisted, forever-broken left hand screamed at him to stop but he couldn't. He stared ahead, whole body locked up into a still, stiff statue. The only part of him that moved was his chest. He couldn't stop himself from breathing, and he could not stop his broken heart from stop pumping.

Sweat

She was her father's girl, though.

Their little fighter. She had fucking pride. She deserved her title. She deserved the fucking world, paid by her own blood, sweat and tears.

Apprentice of Crown Mirka.

She brought her hand up in a swinging arc, and in an instant there was a moment of sunrise that lit the top of the wall.

Bright, dazzling fire.

Conversation

Lucy did not bow his head as scripted and did not speak to greet himself. He went pale. His eyes went wide. His heart raced a million miles a minute.

The Chalat Drake in his arm perked up, his quills moving in response to Lucius’ breathing becoming increasingly panicked.

Chien didn't quite notice at first, too focused on speaking with Akakios.

The man turned his head to Luce while the Crown spoke, blinking slowly down at him. His head tilted a bit, almost recognizing the terrified face of the small man cowering there… before turning back to Chien to continue the conversation.

Home

Everything felt alright in these quiet moments. There was no hurt. No need to numb the pain or forget the distant and recent past.

In this short time the only thing that mattered was the now.

All that mattered was Lilybelle. Innis’ little girl.

The girl he came home from the war to, much to his surprise. He did not think he’d have Anya when he returned, let alone the child that she said she would not keep. She sat on the end of the couch between Innis’ legs and parallel to hun. She lounged back just like how he laid, her own book propped up just like him.

[sylviazem]

FFXIV Write 2024- Prompt #26: Zip

master list

"Krää!"

"This thing again..."

The bird zipped past them a few times, but eventually landed in front of Mirka and Rolanberry. It stopped to peck at the ground before getting to the point.

"Krä! Message! Direct!"

"Oh," Rolanberry seemed surprised. "It's been a while since I've gotten one of these. It's my doctor."

"...Your doctor communicates via familiar? Isn't that a bit," Mirka leaned close and inspected the shabby bird. "...Old fashioned?"

"I suppose she is. She even prefers to call herself a witch."

"Ah, there we are," the bird's voice shifted suddenly. "Hello, Rolanberry. And...companion."

"Hello, Dr. Foxglove," she greeted her and motioned to Mirka. "This is Mirka Alisiil, we're, uh...traveling together."

"I see," the bird flew to Mirka's shoulder and eyed her closely. "Are you taking good care of Rolanberry?"

"Doing my best, ma'am," she smirked. "I'm sure she agrees."

"Uhh, anyway," Rolanberry flustered. "Something urgent, doctor?"

"Not particularly, just a regular check up. Are you feeling normal after your previous potion?"

"Same as always, happy and healthy!"

"Good. I slightly optimized the formula in this batch, but you're well into the process so you likely won't notice any major changes. Report to me immediately if you experience any unusual side effects."

"Of course."

"Additionally, I was thinking," the bird hopped to Rolanberry's shoulder and lifted her floppy ear with its beak. "I could try tweaking the potion further to restore your ears, if that's something you'd want."

"Oh, um," she touched her other ear, and contemplated. "I'll think about it."

"Very well. I'll send Dahlia your way again soon. Shall we say, three suns? Until next time, and stay safe."

The bird took off and disappeared in a flash of light once again.

"What do you think, Mirka," Rolanberry held her ears up. "Floppy, or not?"

"You want my honest opinion?"

"Yeah."

"...The floppy ears are really, really cute."

[vadergf]

fedal!!!!!!!!!!!

I'll admit I got into this a little late bc I always watched tennis with my parents and they loved loved mirka so much so I never saw it. But laver cup... oh laver cup definitely did something to me bc what do you mean the man you've tied so much of yourself to is leaving and what does that mean for you? he literally took a piece of me with him which is a crazy thing for these guys to say out loud and not just be a line in a fanfiction but well... that's fedal. Since then I've definitely started shipping them more and more like omg what FREAKS (affectionate). They can't be normal about each other they can't communicate they will however do the most random displays of love and affection that will make a million people feel like you're intruding

[lale-txt]

Lale!! Lale!!

I finally sat my ass down and read everything you put our for Soft Launch and I just have 1 thing to say:

hehe, welcome to the cult Mirka ♡

thank you so much!!! i'm happy you've been enjoying every chapter out so far!!

[balimode]

@trashsquatch brought it to my attention that Karl Lagerfeld hated pink, and there were quite a few people who wore that to the MET Gala... but the question became whether or not it was done on purpose or if they just didn't do their research! So, without further ado:

Did They Wear Pink As A Fuck-You to Karl Lagerfeld?

Alexandra Daddario - shaky, this is Greige

Viola Davis - THAT bright ass pink? Absolutely

Lily Aldridge - super subtle from the front, MASSIVE from the back, so maybe

Allison Williams - it's orange, so she might need a colour test if it was

Jennifer Lopez - really more of a pearl pink and I honestly doubt it

Dasha Zhukova - she knew him irl and she's done some iffy shit herself so definitely not

Donatella Versace - same case as Dasha, HOWEVER... she seems like the type to be petty so I can imagine yes

Gwendoline Christie - she's a big lady and Karl was a notorious asshole about body types, so possibly. I just wish she'd worn something with some shape to it

WAIT. GWENDOLINE AS LADY D. I SEE THE VISION

Ashley Graham - quite literally known in the industry as a plus size model so yes absolutely

Sydney Sweeney - ehh... this is edging on greige, and with the bow and embellishments, I think she just liked the colour

Precious Lee - another larger woman and it’s almost an accessory; with how bright it is, for sure yes

Song Hye Kyo - feels accidental more than anything

Grace Elizabeth - she worked with him, so she would probably know... and that's a LOT of pink, including her makeup. If it was, she probably has stories

Kate Moss - knew him irl but not smart enough to do it on purpose/probably liked him

Naomi Campbell - also knew him irl and.... it feels very deliberate, so probably

Karan Elson - even if it was, it was poorly done and she needs a new stylist regardless

Quannah Chasinghorse - with that context now in mind, and how careful Quannah has been about choosing her fits with purpose in the past, definitely yes and I have a new appreciation for the outfit

Quinta Brunson - hmm... maybe. She's not ~model skinny and she's very much of my generation so I can see yes

Nicole Kidman - nah, they hung out a bunch and seemed to like each other, this was just an awful decision

Mirka Federer - I think she just likes pink, she wears it a lot

Bee Carrozzini - OH SHE'S ANNA WINTOUR'S DAUGHTER. ...why can't anyone in this family dress themselves 😭 but with that in mind, no, just bad taste

Harvey Guillén - ABSOLUTELY 💯 AND WE LOVE HIM FOR IT

Chloe Fineman - she also had this little cat purse thing which was apparently a Lagerfeld ~staple... so this seems like a shady homage

HONORABLE MENTION to Lizzo, who did not wear pink but straight up got photos done of her eating fries in her MET Gala fit!

[rotm-channel]

Mysterious Times:Chapter 2 Yetis

YETI!(This is meant as Edutainment so you can enjoy and learn)

The Yeti is an ape-like creature. They are taller than an average man. It can walk like a man and has long white or brown hairs covering its whole body.

Colors vary between sightings; sometimes they're snowy white to match the camouflage of the Himalayas.And sometimes in different colors: reddish brown, bluish gray, cream, coffee, light gray, white and light brown.

They are found in the Himalayas. Inhabiting Nepal,Tibet and Russia and India, the Yetis according to modern sightings are said to stand from 8 to 10.5 feet tall, have a furry coat of brown, reddish or black hair and to resemble a huge, upright walking ape.Several expeditions have taken place to find the Yetis, however, only footprints, bones, and hair samples have been discovered-

The "Yeti" or "Abominable Snowman" is a variety found high in the Himalayan Mountains(round Shangri-La), commonly depicted with white fur in fiction.

The Yeti was even mentioned in pre-Buddhist cultures, such as the Lecha people, who worshiped a "Glacier Giant." Tibetan and Nepalese monasteries have collected several skulls and bones of the yetis, some of which reside in the Smithsonian Museum today. Although one of their specimens was proven to be a human bone, others stored in the museum are still in question.

In Buddhist mythology, the Yetis were peaceful creatures that were very shy, and lived in dense snow caves on the glaciers which form the Ganges River in India some legends even state that they had their own tribes and chiefs. In modern times, most sightings and evidence are on K2. The name Yeti derives from "Yeh-Tah", meaning "rock thing".

Around the time of the 16th century the number of yeti sightings and alleged meetings significantly decreased,why did this happen?Skeptics say because people stopped making so many fairy tales…however according to legend they were hunted and feared by many locals and so some went into hiding deep into the himalayas whilst another legend states they were taken under the protective wing of a cossack warrior and left to whereabouts unknown��.

Tibetan

Michê : translates as "man-berar”

Dzu-teh – 'dzu' translates as "cattle" and the full meaning translates as "cattle bear",

Migoi or Mi-go translates as "wild man".

Nepalian

Bun Manchi – Nepali for "jungle man" that is used outside Sherpa communities where yeti is the common name.

Mirka – Another name for "wild-man". Local legend holds that "anyone who sees one dies or is killed". The latter is taken from a written statement by Frank Smythe's sherpas in 1937.

Kang Admi – "Snow Man".

Jungli Admi – "Wild Man".

Xueren Chinese: 雪人 - "Snow Man"

Fun Fact!

The name Abominable Snowman was coined in 1921, the year Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Howar-Bury led a reconnaissance mission which he chronicled in Mount Everest The Reconnaissance, 1921. In the book, Howard-Bury includes an account of crossing the Lhagpa La at 21,000 ft (6,400 m) where he found footprints that he believed "were probably caused by a large 'loping' grey wolf, which in the soft snow formed double tracks rather like those of a bare-footed man". He adds that his Sherpa guides "at once volunteered that the tracks must be that of 'The Wild Man of the Snows', to which they gave the name 'metoh-kangmi'".. "Metoh" translates as "man-bear" and "kang-mi" translates as "snowman".

--------------------------------------------------

Now i invite you to a journey to a land which boundaries are that of imagination!A story.....that you will not believe! Little does anyone know that a threat IS COMING!!!! Pitch while powerfull and dangerous....this....is far worse! There is far more at stake then just belief! (It was alluded to in certain offical rotg content) And will have some details about the past.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3.5/5

Book Blurb: PENNY DREADFUL meets MONSTRESS in this feminist Victorian horror by the creator behind the bestselling graphic novels UNNATURAL and SWEET PAPRIKA!

Mercy, a goth-inspired, Victorian monster series explores topics of “otherness,” damnation and redemption, and what it means to be a monster in a horror graphic novel perfect for fans of Penny Dreadful, Crimson Peak, The Alienist, Parasol Protectorate, and Dark Shadows.

This new graphic novel by acclaimed creatorMirka Andolfo (Unnatural) is a gothic horror tale where mysteries and unspeakable sins are blended together in a unique and sensual way.

Washington State, late nineteenth century. During the frenzied historical era commonly known as the Klondike Gold Rush, a mysterious woman arrives in Woodsburgh, a small mining town close to the Canadian border.

It's been a few years since the Swanson mine was closed following the terrible accident that claimed the lives of so many men and women, including the owner's and the city it's still struggling in search for a new place on the map of the country.

Elegant and extraordinarily wealthy, Lady Hellaine arrives in the city accompanied by her faithful butler Goodwill and settles in one of the most luxurious mansions in town. A lifestyle that contrasts sharply with that of the majority of the population, forced to choose between humble crafts and illegal activities.

No one is aware of the reasons that led such a classy lady to move from Seattle to the small village, but her arrival certainly did not go unnoticed. Especially in the eyes of Lady Swanson, widow of the late mine owner and leading figure of the local bourgeoisie. Lady Hellaine's plans will bring her on a collision course with the powerful Lady Swanson, who, for reasons not entirely rational, distrusts the newcomer.

Meanwhile, the streets and surroundings of Woodsburgh are flooded in blood: a heinous creature is killing incautious citizens, wreaking havoc on their bodies. Enough to induce local authorities to impose a strict curfew after sunset.

And with the falling of the first snow, the “Woodsburgh Devil”'s fury seems to have even increased. What's the connection, if any, between this disturbing presence and the ivory-skinned stranger?

Who is Lady Hellaine, really? And what's her secret agenda?

Collects Mirka Andolfo's Mercy #1-6, the complete story.

Review:

Penny Dreadful meets Monstress in this gothic victorian monster series featuring a mysterious woman who has just moved into a struggling mining town... where dead bodies seem to drop constantly and a deadly monster is eating away at people... and the town's own secrets are deadly. When Lady Hellaine arrives into town with her butler Goodwill, things shake up in this small mining town. Hellaine's beauty, her wealth... is all picture perfect but she's hiding something... the fact that she is a monster who consumes people and so is her butler. Her arrival is not smooth sailing though as it arises suspicion from Lady Swanson, widow of the late owner of the mine and a leading figure of the local bourgeoisie. It doesn't help that Hellaine's not the only monster in this town... there are other monsters ready to eat and monster hunters on the loose too... bodies are dropping and blood is being shed, the question is, who is the true monster and can any of them be redeemed? This was definitely an interesting one, it's. a bit scattered, but the artwork is phenomenal, absolutely stunning. I love love love the art in this series and would recommend it for the art alone. The story has a interesting monster/gothic tone to it too.

*Thanks Netgalley and Image Comics for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[theburgessobserver]

Mysterious Times(AKA JAMIES BOOK FROM ROTG)CH 2 YETIS!!!

YETI!(This is meant as Edutainment so you can enjoy and learn)

The Yeti is an ape-like creature. They are taller than an average man. It can walk like a man and has long white or brown hairs covering its whole body.

Colors vary between sightings; sometimes they're snowy white to match the camouflage of the Himalayas.And sometimes in different colors: reddish brown, bluish gray, cream, coffee, light gray, white and light brown.

They are found in the Himalayas. Inhabiting Nepal,Tibet and Russia and India, the Yetis according to modern sightings are said to stand from 8 to 10.5 feet tall, have a furry coat of brown, reddish or black hair and to resemble a huge, upright walking ape.Several expeditions have taken place to find the Yetis, however, only footprints, bones, and hair samples have been discovered-

The "Yeti" or "Abominable Snowman" is a variety found high in the Himalayan Mountains(round Shangri-La), commonly depicted with white fur in fiction.

The Yeti was even mentioned in pre-Buddhist cultures, such as the Lecha people, who worshiped a "Glacier Giant." Tibetan and Nepalese monasteries have collected several skulls and bones of the yetis, some of which reside in the Smithsonian Museum today. Although one of their specimens was proven to be a human bone, others stored in the museum are still in question.

In Buddhist mythology, the Yetis were peaceful creatures that were very shy, and lived in dense snow caves on the glaciers which form the Ganges River in India some legends even state that they had their own tribes and chiefs. In modern times, most sightings and evidence are on K2. The name Yeti derives from "Yeh-Tah", meaning "rock thing".

Around the time of the 16th century the number of yeti sightings and alleged meetings significantly decreased,why did this happen?Skeptics say because people stopped making so many fairy tales…however according to legend they were hunted and feared by many locals and so some went into hiding deep into the himalayas whilst another legend states they were taken under the protective wing of a cossack warrior and left to whereabouts unknown….

Tibetan

Michê : translates as "man-berar”

Dzu-teh – 'dzu' translates as "cattle" and the full meaning translates as "cattle bear",

Migoi or Mi-go translates as "wild man".

Nepalian

Bun Manchi – Nepali for "jungle man" that is used outside Sherpa communities where yeti is the common name.

Mirka – Another name for "wild-man". Local legend holds that "anyone who sees one dies or is killed". The latter is taken from a written statement by Frank Smythe's sherpas in 1937.

Kang Admi – "Snow Man".

Jungli Admi – "Wild Man".

Xueren Chinese: 雪人 - "Snow Man"

Fun Fact!

The name Abominable Snowman was coined in 1921, the year Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Howar-Bury led a reconnaissance mission which he chronicled in Mount Everest The Reconnaissance, 1921. In the book, Howard-Bury includes an account of crossing the Lhagpa La at 21,000 ft (6,400 m) where he found footprints that he believed "were probably caused by a large 'loping' grey wolf, which in the soft snow formed double tracks rather like those of a bare-footed man". He adds that his Sherpa guides "at once volunteered that the tracks must be that of 'The Wild Man of the Snows', to which they gave the name 'metoh-kangmi'".. "Metoh" translates as "man-bear" and "kang-mi" translates as "snowman".

--------------------------------------------------

Now i invite you to a journey to a land which boundaries are that of imagination!A story.....that you will not believe! Little does anyone know that a threat IS COMING!!!! Pitch while powerfull and dangerous....this....is far worse! There is far more at stake then just belief! (It was alluded to in certain offical rotg content) And will have some details about the past.

Find out on MARCH 27TH!!! WHO WILL SAVE US????? And what is this giant threat that will imperil everyone?

[husbandograveyard]

Hey, hey ^^

How have you been?

Saw your reblog about the mbti tag and I couldn't help but laugh loudly at both Mirio and Douma being your alter ego, just seeing these two right next to each other is wild 😂

Adhlsfja Mirka yes 😭😭😭

It caught me so of guard too, they are SO incredibly different. Also the communication style with Douma being "Empathetic" cracked me up so much. I'll Empathetically put a muzzle on that mouth, yes.

But the MBTI thing was a lot of fun, i inserted so many blorbos just to see what would happen. 10/10 would do again.

Sending you love!! ♡

[surreality51]

For the fedal promp thing, maybe fedal with the Federer children or meeting babyrafa? 🥺

You know, funny you should mention the Federer children, because I just happened to have a ficlet sitting on my laptop that includes guest appearances from the Federer children. You've inspired me to finish it. Here you go:

Roger didn’t mean to build a compound for himself and Rafa along the shores of Lake Zurich. It certainly didn’t start out that way. How it really started was with the idea that he wouldn’t mind doing mini coaching sessions every now and then in his retirement, especially with young up-and-coming players, but not full-time coaching and the tour travel that came with it. No, he promised Mirka and the kids that he would stay home for a while, get adjusted to life after the tour, do some more biking and hiking, and keep working on his knee. But during one of the Laver Cup post-match interviews, he mentioned the idea of inviting young players to visit him at home in Switzerland for short coaching stints. He didn’t think much of it at the time; it was a throwaway comment in the midst of the media blitz around his retirement. Plus, he invited young pros all the time to be his practice partner when he was training in Dubai or before tournaments. It wasn’t like this was new.

Much to his surprise—but not Tony’s or Mirka’s, or apparently anyone else on his team—the inquiries started coming in immediately.

Exponentially.

Torrentially.

“Roger,” said Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what were you thinking? Of course people are going to be interested in being coached by you. Why would you even throw that out there as a possibility if you’re not really interested in it right now?”

Roger shrugged. “I meant in the future, in a ‘never say never’ type of way. How was I supposed to know that people would take it literally?”

“Roger,” Tony growled, as his phone pinged for the hundredth time that hour. “It’s not rocket science. The ball kids could’ve seen this coming. The janitor could’ve seen this coming. The fucking fish & chips guy outside the O2 could’ve seen this coming.”

“Oh, you got chips from Mick recently? How are his daughters?”

“They’re good, the older one is at university now and—hey, don’t deflect, I’m not done being pissed at you.”

Tony swatted at him. Roger cackled and ducked behind Seve.

The inquiries and entreaties pouring in were endless: When would he be able to take on a student? How many would he be willing to take at a time? This one was willing to travel here from the US, that one all the way from Argentina. So-and-so was a future number one, if only Roger would work with him. Tony looked like he wanted to flatten Roger with the sheer power of his exasperation as he politely fielded all the calls, emails, texts, and, on one memorable occasion, a swan ice sculpture delivered to the Team8 office with the inquiry folded in its beak. Roger couldn’t do anything besides shrug sheepishly. 

But the idea still appealed to him: the notion that he could have the best of both worlds, stay involved by helping young players evolve and also have dinner with his family every night. So in between making waffles with the kids, hitting the ball around on local practice courts, rehabbing his knee, and attending to his sponsorship duties—one aspect that certainly had not slowed down despite his retirement—the idea started to take form in his mind. The players would definitely need to come to him here, they would need to stay for at least a few weeks at a time, and it would need to be somewhere close. But he also knew that not every promising young player could afford to live out of a hotel or rented house for several weeks in his multimillion franc neighborhood. He decided early on that he didn’t want money or means to be a barrier for talent. But where would they stay? And what about their parents, coaches, or other members of their team?

It became obvious that if Roger was serious about this, then he would need to provide room and board. Somewhere close by, ideally walking distance, or maybe even on his property. They already had one guest house planned for their new home that was under construction. Maybe they could repurpose that, and there would need to be a gym attached, and—

“No, not next to the court. Nobody wants to feel like they’re sleeping on a tennis court,” said Mirka.

She was slicing some fruit for breakfast, her hair pulled back in an immaculate bun but the rest of her still wrapped in a robe.

Roger opened his mouth but Mirka cut him off.

“Nobody sane wants to sleep on a tennis court,” she amended, her hands moving efficiently with the knife.

Roger grinned and popped a bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“Okay, what if we set it a little back, along the back line of our plot? Maybe create a little walking path down to the court. They’ll have some privacy; you can’t even see the main house from back there because of the trees.”

“Roger,” she said, patiently, “we talked about you retiring from the tour. We did not discuss you bringing the tour home with you.”

“But what if they followed me home? I can’t just leave them out in the cold. Have some pity.”

A corner of Mirka’s lips curled up against her will. “No.”

Roger groaned dramatically. Mirka serenely deposited the fruit into the bowl.

“Fine,” he said, draping himself over her back and nuzzling her neck, his arms encircling her waist. “I’ll just have to sneak them in behind your back. Secretly put them up in the guest house. Slip out for midnight practice sessions while you sleep. Come back all sweaty with flimsy excuses.”

That got a derisive huff out of her. “If you can arrange a secret tennis affair behind my back, much less on our property without my knowing, I will be impressed.”

Roger conceded that she had a point.

----------------------------

Of course, Mirka wasn’t truly against the idea. If she really was, she would’ve made that clear right from the start. Roger knew from all these years that she liked to work through the logistics on her own first. He just needed to wait, and she would come back with a full 5-year plan.

“What about for their parent or coach? Not everyone wants to live with their team in the same house,” she said from the couch, laptop propped open on the arm.

“Two guest houses, then,” Roger replied easily as he scanned the live scores on his phone. “And their own pool.”

“Oh? You realize that they’re here to work, not for holiday.”

“True, but it’s nice to have a long soak after a hard day of playing tennis against the great Roger Federer, and I don’t want them to have to use our jacuzzi.”

That earned him a snort.

“So now we’re talking about two guest houses plus a building with a gym, a pool, and a jacuzzi for your prospective students.”

Roger hummed, distracted. Schwartzmann really did need to work on his serving.

“Maybe three guest houses—one for them, one for their trainers, and one for extras like parents or tutors,” he said.

“Uh huh. Anything else? No courtesy car? Cafeteria? Sauna?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil them,” said Roger, judiciously.

Mirka laughed.

------------------

Planning and construction on the two guest buildings took about 18 months from start to finish, and then putting in all the furnishings and finishing touches took another 5 months. Roger started thinking about them as cottages instead of guest houses and the open area they clustered around as the village square. Over the course of the construction, he sometimes found himself telling the kids that he was “going down to the village” to check the progress.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re subconsciously trying to build your own mini Manacor here,” said Mirka one evening on the couch after dinner, after the dishes were put away and everyone had retired to the living room with various books, screens, or textbooks—in the case of the children—in hand.

Roger nearly choked on his coffee.

“Wh-what makes-you say that?” he wheezed, setting his mug down on the coffee table before he got hot liquid where hot liquid should not go.

Mirka considered her own coffee for a moment.

“Well, the guest houses are nearly ready to go, and yet you haven’t talked to me or Tony at all about who you’d want to be your first student. Normally you’d already have a vision for who you want to invite first, when to extend the invitation, how you’d want to go about the coaching, and all the other details.”

“That’s because the cottages weren’t done yet,” he replied, summoning his most reasonable tone, because that was an absolutely reasonable reason.

“And now they are,” Mirka returned evenly, “or they will be by the end of next week. Normally you would’ve been going on and on about this project during the whole construction. You should be so excited about it that I’d have to tell you to go pester Tony instead. Has something changed? The only thing I can think of is that you don’t want to have students here anymore. Which means you had another purpose in mind for those houses, or else you wouldn’t have built them.”

“No, no, I still want students in there.”

Mirka gave him a look that suggested he refrain from insulting her intelligence. “You’ve always had a very strict boundary between work and home. Tennis is your public life, and you never bring your work home with you. That’s why I was surprised when you first suggested inviting young players to stay at our home, but I figured it was worth giving a try, so I didn’t say anything at the time. I was surprised when you wanted to build a full tennis court in the back too. You’ve always practiced at the local courts, because of the separation between your tennis life and home life. Now, suddenly, after all these years, you want to bring work home with you? I don’t think you really wanted to build those guest houses for prospective students, Roger.”

“Maybe it’s for the girls,” he tried.

The truth was, Mirka was right, and it bothered him because he was always very intentional about his decisions. It was unlike him to commit to something without fully understanding his reasons. He thought this was what he had wanted. Now he realized that, while he had kept the needs of a professional tennis player in mind during the design and construction of the guest houses, he hadn’t envisioned what it would be like to have a student actually living there once construction was finished. And it was because he still thought of the guest houses as part of his home, which meant family and close friends, not prospective students and their teams, who would be like strangers.

So if the guest houses were for family and friends, who did he really build them for? There was a tiny, niggling feeling in the vicinity of his chest that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

“The girls are getting older now,” he continued. “Someday soon they’ll need their own space, away from their uncool parents. This way they can at least be close by.”

Mirka rolled her eyes.

“I know the girls being 16 now is probably setting off all sorts of internal alarms, but you realize that just because you build houses for them doesn’t mean they’re not going to move out some day. You had already moved out by their age.”

“Yeah, and look how far that’s gotten me,” Roger said, gesturing at Robert reading a book on the other couch.

Robert very obviously ignored that with the wisdom of an experienced parent.

Mirka did too. She had over 24 years of experience pinning Roger down, figuratively and sometimes literally.

“If the houses aren’t for the kids when they grow up, then who are they for?”

Roger was quiet for a long while. He kept his eyes fixed in the distance and sipped his coffee. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft.

“Rafa is probably going to retire at the end of this year or next. He’s 39 now, you know.”

To some, it might seem like a non-sequitur, but Mirka knew instantly what he meant.

“Oh, Roger.”

She moved closer to him on the couch until they were leaning against each other, Mirka with her legs tucked up against his.

Roger sighed and leaned his head against hers.

“The first year is probably going to be fine for him,” he said. “He has the Academy, his foundation, the sponsors, his family. He’ll need at least the first year to decompress, just like I did. I think it’s the second or third year that might be hard for him. The tennis starts to fade because you’re not training as much. Because there’s no reason to.”

Mirka linked her arm with his and patted him comfortingly.

“He could use a friend and rival then,” she offered. “Someone on his level. The Academy kids are great, but it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, just like he already knew that the young players he thought about coaching would not be the same. “Maybe we don’t have to visit him all the time in Mallorca. He can come visit us as well, bring the family, bring the kids. Stay for a while in the summer when it’s nice here. He’ll like the lake and the hiking.”

“You miss him.”

“Yeah.”

Mirka curled against his shoulder.

“You know you love him,” she said softly.

“Yes, of course I love him,” Roger said easily.

Mirka slanted a look at him like she was questioning his intelligence. “Rogi, you know what I mean. You don’t just love him, you’re in love with him.”

“I—.” He paused, careful, unsure where this was going but sensing dangerous territory. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mirka rolled her eyes. “Rogi, don’t—don’t lie to yourself.”

He turned to study her face, brows furrowed. “Why are you saying this?”

“Dad, we could see your star-crossed romance from our box the whole time,” Myla interjected from the study desk by the window.

“Everyone in the stadium saw it on the big screen at your retirement. The whole Internet saw it,” Lenny snorted, not looking up from his homework.

“You guys were not subtle,” Charlene sniffed with the supreme confidence of a teenage girl when it came to analyzing other people’s love lives.

“What? What are you guys talking about?” Roger said, looking between them, but it sounded unconvincing even to his ears.

“Don’t worry, he feels the same about you,” Charlene said. “I caught him checking out your ass like ten times last summer when we were in Manacor.”

“What?! Wait a minute. He was not—I don’t think he would—are you sure? You didn’t tell me about any of this.”

“Yes, I’m sure, yes it was gross cuz you’re my dad, and of course I didn’t tell you. He tried to play it off, but he totally was. Myla caught him too”—Myla shrugged when Roger glanced at her—“plus he bribed me with a family outing on his boat if I kept quiet and didn’t tell you.”

Roger remembered that boat outing. It had been a fantastic day, but that was beside the point. “And so you lied to me and kept this from your dad?”

“Yeah, but I at least told Mom.”

Roger turned toward Mirka, who shrugged. He turned back to his family, his face halfway between incredulity and indignation.

“Who else knows about this?”

Every single hand went up—both girls, the boys, Mirka, even his own mom and dad.

“Everyone on Uncle Rafa’s side knows too,” Leo added helpfully.

“So I’m the only one who didn’t know?”

Mirka patted his arm sympathetically. “It’s not your fault. You assume and easily accept that everyone likes you, but you’ve always had a hard time accepting when people love you.”

Roger stared at his family, who all stared back at him expectantly. Finally, he threw his hands up. “Well what am I supposed to do with this knowledge now?”

Myla shrugged. “I think this is the part where the music kicks in and you run into each other’s arms and start making out in the rain. But that’s, like, eww, cuz you guys are old.”

Roger looked from his kids to his parents to Mirka and wondered how this conversation got so far off the rails. “How are you guys not shocked or bothered by this?”

Lenny rolled his eyes. “Dad, we’ve been calling him ‘Uncle Rafa’ since we were little. I thought he actually was my uncle until I was 8. I think I was more surprised to learn he wasn’t actually related to us than I was when I saw found out you two had the hots for each other.”

Roger could feel his face turning red. “I do not have 'the hots’ for anyone.”

Now it was Charlene’s turn to roll her eyes. “Dad, please. My friends were texting me links to the Tennis Channel Valentine’s post of you and Uncle Rafa. Some of those photos were from back before I was even born.”

Roger turned to Mirka helplessly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Mirka said, coming to the rescue. “Everyone back to their homework.”

[i-mybrunettelady]

i genuinely think that ocs become much more real (as in they have a more physical presence in your mind, if that makes sense) if you consider things like whether they have things like stretch marks and body hair. seems like something you guys probably know, but it’s happened to me more than once - the moment i gave cass body hair, for example, he became just that much more real (for the cass enjoyers on main, he is a fairly hairy dude! i’m talking whole nine yards + full beard kinda hairy. anyway.)

so in that name, barring any non-humanoids, here’s a rundown for that for my gw2 girlies! under the cut for some talk of malnourishment and a lot of body stuff relating to ren, by virtue of her whole story:

nyra, outside from her scars, also has stretch marks on the expected places. she also doesn’t bother shaving - her legs are half-scarred anyway, shaving would be a waste of time in her mind.

sanne likewise doesn’t bother shaving, but she’s also blonde, so her body hair isn’t that noticeable anyway. i don’t think she has stretch marks much, but she does strike me as someone who has some cellulite.

mirka is also in the no shaving camp, but she’s dark-haired so doesn’t really have a peach fuzz. she’s also white, so it’s gonna show (kinda like how a lot of slav, specifically serbian, women i modeled her after - myself included - will be pale-skinned but dark-haired. that’s the vibes.) she also has stretch marks because she’s 9′3! she’s giant! her body had to lengthen and adapt to being a giant as she grew up!

ren,, oh boy there’s a lot to talk about. first off - she doesn’t have scars from her cosmetic surgeries. i do not know what she looked like pre-surgery. the scars were magically removed when she was healing from them. she does keep her stretch marks, because she did gain a lot of weight; when she came to the chantry, she was quite literally malnourished and entirely too underfed. to this day, she is more soft and has a rounder, softer frame. i imagine she also has cellulite as well. but she is mostly scar free, though.

[dragonfelling]

Snippet Sunday

I didn't finish anything this week, but I did get two WIPs half way through.

The first one is part of Ilonia's Pinnae Dragon Fight and the second is Chien's Perpetual Trouble With Women

Under the cut

----

Lightning parted the sky, cutting it in two. Super heated air cracked past pine trees and farm fields.

The light flashed over Ilonias eyes, lighting her father's blue eyes up into pale tones for a fraction of a moment. 

Brave Lutalo - Merciless Derre.

The echo of thunder rumbled through the mountains.

Wing beats and claws scraping stone caused her heart to drop into her stomach. Her guts twisted, and she hesitated to turn and raised her lantern. 

She brought it up, and the fire lit thin reflective stripes and the insides of membranous wings. Pale eyes looked back into hers and the inhuman ones contracted to pin points. 

Here she was… following in Mirkas footsteps.

But, she was alone. The only company she had was her Pero and it wasn't much for conversation past a miserable warble when she gave it a scolding for chewing at the masonry.

There was nobody but herself to save her from this beastly winged thing. This thing… fuck. At this moment, she wouldn't actually mind if Alfonze of all people were here. He could pry it's fangs from her flesh, even if it were for his own selfish gains.

Spit pooled in its mouth 

A dizzying nausea built drool under her own tongue.

Why couldn't she just be satisfied… If she just- if she didn't complain. If she didn't beg Chien to get Maxwell to relent into granting her knighthood. 

If she just let him do as he pleased her… she wouldn't be here.

Maxwell wouldn't have sent her on this death march alone. She’d have backup 

She was her father's girl, though.

Apprentice of Crown Mirka.

Their little fighter. She had fucking pride. She deserved her title. She deserved the fucking world, paid by her own blood, sweat and tears.

She brought her hand up in a swinging arc, and in an instant there was a moment of sunrise that lit the top of the wall. 

Bright, dazzling fire. 

Flames from her fingertips engulfed air, breathing in a gasp as it first touched the wind. A louder woosh, then the thick fluid that burst from the Pinnae dragon's mouth was eaten by her fire.

If Alfonze could fight a Dragon… If Mirka could beat Alfonze… 

If Ilonia could beat this Dragon, she was better than them all. She would be a Dragon Slayer. An honorary Riderband. 

If she came out of this alive, surely, she would be recognized. She would be the knight that proved herself despite it all.

The secondhand twitched on Ilonias watch. White-hot, searing pain ripped through her muscles.

Her own fire burnt away most of the assault, but spittles of fire-breath splattered through. A drip on her face, several more hitting her jaw and neck, and dripping under the collar of her shirt. On-fire, viscous liquid poured down her armor, slipping through seams and heating up metal. 

Everything smelled like cooked flesh and alcohol based cleaner.

Ilonias hands found their way to her bow rested against the wall as her arcing motion came to its finale.

Light from her pyrokinesis was fading.

She gripped it and in her other hand she pulled an arrow by its fletching from her quiver

She placed it in its rest, pulled the cord with great effort, and released it into the animal's head.

Her Pero ran past Ilonia, quills going wild as it leaped and sunk its fangs into the Pinnaes arm as the arrow met it's mark.

It raised the arm and screeched, kicking all four walking limbs out as it leaped up. This dislodged the Pero and kicked it to the ground.

Ilonias Pero scrambled and turned tail. It ran towards the towers, yelping and making a ruckus. This was what a Pero was trained to do.

Its bites were annoying to Pinnae but its real advantage over them was their incessant need to alert others to its master's quarrel.

Its wings blocked out the sky, blinding Ilonia into a squint as it caught light in its wings. Through that long, adrenaline filled second. She could feel her heartbeat in her skull.

She dropped out of the way of its spread back talons, belly to the stone. The coldness of the bricks did not help to alleviate the fire on her. Slapping at the spit did little more than to spread it. It would either eat through her or use up its self-igniting fuel first. Pinnae fire was notoriously difficult to put out without water, as the fuel itself just lit back up when exposed to oxygen again.

It ate through the spittle quickly though, and Ilonia could groan out a sound of relief past the searing, lingering pain.

She crawled onto her hand and knees, looking up into the Pinnaes eye when it turned slowly. Its lips were pulled back to show off its horrible teeth. She held her bow in her hand not supporting her weight.

The Pinnaes body could only barely be seen without the reflective stripes on its body giving it away in the lantern light. 

With a squint, she could see Its fur was patchy around its mouth and its lips were pale with burns from its fire-spit being flared back at it. 

One eye had been severely damage by ilonias arrow. It had found its way through its cheek and into the eye socket.

A stream of blood dribbled down the feathers on the arrow and through its fur. It found itself pooled on the ground.

----

“Lord Chien,” a prospect chimed, fingers brushing his arm. 

“My Crown,” another cooed as she batted her eyelids.

Midonian girls. Anemoian girls Draslix. Ishidan even.

Wives from all over shot the young king smiles and touched his hands.

They all kneeled and bowed and curtsied. 

Chien would never say weren't all very beautiful. They all had promise as good wives who offered dowry and deals.

He had been offered queens since before he was even crowned. Of course, they never expected him to truly get married so early, but marriage was a tool of politics.

He was offered more often after the title was given to him by his God.

He accepted twice. Pretty girls who's deals piqued his interest…

Things always seemed to fall through… He’d meet these girls. Iasis would speak with them. Azaiah would speak with them. Then, marriage would come quickly. 

Or course due to his age, he wasn't expected to consummate. This was simply a tool of politics.

The first wife he was married to at 13. Faye was the anxious type. Prone to bouts of panic and paranoia. She was a Midonian girl, and was the same age as him. 

Chien never understood why this girl hated him so much, but she was convinced that she was to live a miserable life under the Crown. She resented her kin for selling her off to the Aeraki. 

One night, while Chien slept soundly in his bed, he awoke to a sight too familiar to Aeraki men. 

Someone trusted standing over their bed, dagger glinting in the moonlight pouring in from the window. 

In that moment he was in the bodies of those before him.

Caius, Dikaiosyn. Skalono. His own father, Mavros presumably. 

Why?... He had not touched a hair on this girl. He doted on her in innocent ways. He offered her a place beside him on his throne, not below him… he had no answers at that moment. There was nothing but a ‘why?’ in that lingering moment where he knew he wouldn't be able to move fast enough to stop her from sinking her dagger into his body.

Faye brought the blade down into his rib and he let loose a horrible flash of lightning an instant later.

It went through the metal and into the girl. 

Flesh seared and the tips of her hair singed.

He screamed and sobbed as he held her twitching body in his arm, belting out for help. With his free hand he held the dagger and gasped out for air.

He was hauled to the infirmary, as was she. 

Chien, in that familiar infirmary bed, with Kid as his witness, quietly vowed.

He would never brighten a room like that again. His powers would remain inside him so long as he could help it. He couldn't hurt someone like that again… 

All while Kid changed out gauze and questioned the Crowns own sanity.

Chien, beside a wheelchair bound Faye, went to Father Braxton.

With his hand gripping his rib and a sorrowful look, the Crown requested annulment.

It was granted, given the circumstance of her actions and of the state of the girl.

Faye was sent back to Midonia with signed divorce papers and irreparable damage to her brain and body.

At 15, Chien was hopeful going into his second marriage.

Jovi was his 16 year old bride.

She was convinced of the sin of one's father, and the father's before. 

Chiens continued loyalty meant nothing to Jovi when the proud tradition of the Aerakis unfaithfulness followed the family the way it did. 

Chien could deal with the guards. He could deal with the servants.

He was pretty sure his creepy head knight had his gazes upon his young queen too.

He couldn’t deal with Fluvius Lutalo laughing at his misfortune. Teasing how he and his street boys spent the night with her, How she basically crawled into their laps… How Chien must be a bad lover.

Charge built, and Chien held his fists at his side. His knuckles went white, and his guts twisted. Sparks ran over his skin in a wash of numbness.

His smirk boiled the Crowns blood. He stared him down… He could sanction his death. He could have him whipped. He could strip him of everything right down to his name and exile him to the land beyond the walls of Aeraki.

If he let his anger get the best of him, Chien could bring down great power upon the autocrat of the Grigora!

He could punish him for his hubris, but… wrath like that was not the actions of the kind of the king that Chien decided he should be.

 He turned his back to the snickering. 

It wasn’t really Fluvius’ fault after all… It was Jovi.