#us bank stadium

[chaddavisphotography]

US Bank Stadium in downtown Minneapolis after the Minnesota Vikings draft Michigan Quarterback J.J. McCarthy at the 10th overall pick.

[surprisesongoclock]

Taylor Swift performs "If This Was A Movie" at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota on June 23, 2023.

[clairity-org]

US Bank Stadium, Minneapolis 9/2/22 by Sharon Mollerus

[farlydatau]

[taylors-husband]

Tonight is the second of two nights of The Eras Tour at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

If you’re going, have a great night.

[subsidystadium]

Minnesota's new stadium being debt free is irrelevant to whether it is an actual good financial asset

– SportsBusinessJournal.com Late last year, I saw an unbelievable headline. The Minnesota Star Tribune wrote a story with the headline of “U.S. Bank Stadium reserves are robust enough to pay off building 20 years early”. That is quite remarkable. I mean, in 2012, both the city of Minneapolis and the state of Minnesota kicked in over $500 million in taxpayer money to build this new stadium. Why is…

[niadavenport]

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[tormiller]

i’m literally so sad about my eras show experience like it was a great concert but so many things went wrong trying to get there and then getting back home was even worse and on top of it all the surprise songs were lame

[the-cimmerians]

Today, ProPublica reports on yet another big change that stands to solve a decades-long problem we first learned about back in 2016, closing a huge loophole that allowed states to divert federal antipoverty funds to governors’ pet projects, like promoting abstinence, holding “heathy marriage” classes that did nothing to prevent out-of-wedlock births, funding anti-abortion “clinics” to lie about abortion “risks,” sending middle-class kids to private colleges, and other schemes only tangentially related to helping poor kids. It’s the same loophole that Mississippi officials tried to drive a truck through to divert welfare funds to former sportsball man Brett Favre’s alma mater, for a volleyball palace. [ ]

The agency has proposed new rules — open for public comment until December 1 — aimed at nudging states to actually use TANF funds to give cash to needy parents, not fill budget holes or punish poor people.

One change will put an end to the scheme Utah used to substitute LDS church funds for welfare, by prohibiting states

from counting charitable giving by private organizations, such as churches and food banks, as “state” spending on welfare, a practice that has allowed legislatures to budget less for programs for low-income families while still claiming to meet federal minimums.

Another new rule will put the kibosh on using TANF to fund child protective services or foster care programs, which are not what TANF is supposed to be for, damn it.

And then there’s the simple matter of making sure that funds for needy families go to needy families, not to pet projects that have little to do with poverty:

The reforms would also redefine the term “needy” to refer only to families with incomes at or below 200% of the federal poverty line. Currently, some states spend TANF money on programs like college scholarships — or volleyball stadiums — that benefit more affluent people.

[chaddavisphotography]

Downtown Minneapolis as seen from across the Mississippi River.

[surprisesongoclock]

Taylor Swift performs "Daylight" at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota on June 24, 2023.

[clairity-org]

Minneapolis Downtown 11/27/23 by Sharon Mollerus

[steddieasitgoes]

Their dining room table has been taken over by thousands of tiny little beads and elastic in different colors. 

Steve sits opposite their sixteen-year-old daughter, a thin elastic band clutched in one hand and an assortment of approved beads laid out in front of him. He picks up a small purple crystal-like bead and tries to feed the elastic through the minuscule hole. 

“Christ, why isn’t this hole bigger,” he groans, squinting as he tries for the third time to thread the bead onto the elastic. 

“Aw, but I thought you liked tight holes, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, sauntering into the room. 

Their daughter pretends to retch before turning up the Taylor Swift song playing from her phone, hoping to drown them out. It doesn’t matter that they have a state-of-the-art stereo system in the other room that sounds a thousand times better than the shit speakers in her phone. She likes the convenience. 

Steve, on the other hand, glares playfully at Eddie. “Seriously, not in front of our daughter.” 

“Oh, please, don’t pretend she doesn’t know things.” 

“I mean, yeah, but she doesn’t need to know things about us.” 

“I really don’t,” their daughter agrees. 

Eddie laughs before collapsing onto the seat beside Steve. Assessing the beads in front of him, Eddie collects a few and gets to work. 

“Hey,” Steve whines, swatting Eddie’s hand away when he tries to steal one of his beads. “These are mine. You didn’t even get her approval.” 

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t need her approval. She trusts me, right bug?” 

Their daughter rolls her eyes, but nods. Eddie hoots victoriously before going back to his own bracelet. Steve shares a look of amusement with their daughter. One that says it’s better to let Eddie think he won than try to give him a set of rules to play by. 

Many things have changed about Eddie over the years, but one thing that has remained the same is his disdain for other people’s rules — even if the rules are coming from his daughter. 

When Steve tries to take a peek at what Eddie is working on a moment later, he gets a swift elbow to the ribs. “No peaking!” 

Shaking his head, Steve gets back to his own bracelets. It’s a lot easier threading the beads when he grabs his glasses from the bedroom and he manages to finish two daughter-approved bracelets in the time it takes Eddie to finish whatever he’s been working on. 

“Are you ready to see the best bracelet ever?” he asks, standing up with all the dramatics he had when he was thirty years younger. 

Steve and their daughter nod, setting aside their own bracelets to look at Eddie’s creation. 

A rainbow of beads, all different shapes and sizes surround a group of block letter beads that reads: Fuck Ticketmaster. 

Steve laughs while their daughter smirks, shaking her head. 

“It’s not a Taylor lyric, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Our bank account definitely agrees.” 

“So will the Swifties, you’ll see!” Eddie says, reaching for another random set of beads to start another bracelet.  

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets. Well, Steve and their daughter do. Eddie continues making “Fuck Ticketmaster” and various other obscure and random bracelets. The highlights of which include a red beaded monstrosity with the word “scarf” on it and one that just says "Olive Garden."

Unfortunately for Steve and their daughter, Eddie’s unhinged bracelets are the biggest hit at the concert. He ends up trading all his bracelets before they even get into the stadium. 

He doesn’t let them live it down, proclaiming himself the King of Friendship bracelets. 

[taylors-husband]

Tonight is the first of two nights of The Eras Tour at US Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

If you’re going, have a great night.

[trulyhblue]

MISS AUSTRALIA (PART ONE)

Katie Mccabe x Aussie!Chelsea! Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, praise kink, angry sex, dom! Katie, sub! Reader, enemies, coarse language, Chelsea mentions, little age gap.

A/N — I know Mackenzie wasn't at Camp but let's just skip past that :)

Masterlist

___________________

The game against Arsenal had been a complete disaster. No one could've prepared you for the monstrosity it turned out to be.

Two days before the long-awaited London Derby, you were in Canada alongside your fellow Australian teammates, basking in the double defeat against your Chelsea teammates Jessie Fleming, Ashleigh Lawrence, and the Canadian National Team. To be fair, it hadn't been all that bad. Some Canadian fans were dubbing it ‘revenge’ after the World Cup, but a friendly was hardly much vengeance in your eyes. They had beaten your B team with their A team, and you had only played the second game alongside the usual starters like Steph, Hayley and Alanna.

By the end of the second game, you had swapped shirts with Jessie, who smothered you in forehead kisses and walked alongside Ashleigh for the lap around the stadium. Steph and Caitlin joined shortly after, both of their jackets covering their sports bras; they had given their jerseys away.

Soon enough, Kyra filtered over. You poked your tongue out to the girl, who giggled and reciprocated the actions before hugging your waist. Dozens of fans banked against the barricade, holding out signs and jerseys to sign. Phones stacked on top of hands reached out as the group of you travelled around the loop. You still had a firm hold on Kyra as you peeled your shirt off, handing it to a little girl with big, bulky glasses. You signed her poster, took a photo, and thanked her before waving goodbye. Your boots had been cuffed and peeling after a nasty tackle by your opponent, so you didn't waste any time in unlacing them and passing them over to a pair of twin girls, who hugged each other and cried at the notion.

Steph and Caitlin mingled with their respected fans while you and Kyra continued to use markers and pens to sign anything that was within arm’s reach.

“Oi, y/l/n!” Caitlin called out, your head turning toward the girl who stood a few feet away. “C’mere, look at this.”

Kyra waddled beside you as you made your way over to where Caitlin had pointed. You couldn't help but notice the slight huddle of fans that had accumulated in that spot, several cameras filming the interactions with cheeky smiles decorating everyone’s faces.

You caught sight of the massive poster, reading it with a blank expression, knowing the cameras were trying to catch your reaction. The sign was coloured in red and blue, with a photo of you on one side, and none other than Katie McCabe on the other. You tried hard to conceal the scowl on your face, hiding behind a sly smirk. You ran your hand over the writing: ‘YELLOW CARD DERBY’

It was no secret that both you and McCabe had a notorious reputation for receiving yellow cards from referees. It was a running joke in the Football community, starting from when you had your debut for the Matildas at fourteen, against Ireland. Katie had gotten a card that game too, both of you receiving it for tackling one another. You played for Sydney FC before you moved to Chelsea, playing your debut match against Arsenal six months after your seventeenth birthday.

Katie had been sent off that match for nearly breaking your ankle, a red displayed in the air before she stopped off with a heated scowl across her face. You knew of her reputation from International games, recalling the older woman as an aggressive little shit that hated you for no reason.

London Derbys started to become all the more heated. After a while, both sides tried their hardest to not put you on at the same time, pressured into thinking that they’d end up being a player down due to your rivalry.

It got so bad that people started picking sides. Dividing the two London teams and causing hate to spread. You were younger than Katie by six years, which seemed to be the leading factor in why people believe that Katie is too harsh. On the other hand, Arsenal supporters reckon that you are immature on the pitch. In prior matches, you had been called a whinger, especially when you were around your sister-like teammate, Hayley Raso.

It is safe to say that you and Katie were not on agreeing terms, even off the pitch, with mutual friends to keep you at bay. You both competed for everything. You were neck and neck in the Ballon d'Or, scoresheet, heat maps, everything. It didn't matter if you weren't playing against one another, you were always compared.

But it didn't seem to bother either of you. In fact, you were certain Katie enjoyed it.

You did too.

“Do you agree with it?” Steph laughed beside you, swinging her arm around your shoulders, pointing towards a printed photo of you pushing Katie to the ground, blood smeared across your nose and lips. Beside it was another photo of the referee pointing towards both of you with red cards. You were looking at Katie with utter turmoil; your Australian Jersey was covered in mud, hers had streaks of dirt covering her socks, and a testing smirk written across her face. Behind the pair of you was a younger-looking Steph, her hand covering the shock on her face.

“None of those were my fault.” You answered, watching as the huddled crowd around you chuckled at your response. You didn't want to say the wrong thing, you didn't know if what you said was that funny. “I promise I don't do it on purpose.”

“Oh, yeah, right, Little Miss Goody-Too-Shoes.” Caitlin scoffed, poking your side. “I've seen you play, you're a ride-off.”

Kyra giggled like usual, swaying her hips into yours. She pointed towards the red card photo. “I don't remember that being an accident.”

You don't exactly know why, but your cheeks are stained a solid red, staining your freckles with a tint of embarrassment. Katie had pushed you over, laughing when your face met the cold, wet mud. It was not a pleasant memory you look back on fondly. “Shush, Ky.”

You felt a presence behind you lifting you up by a grip around your waist. You were pulled onto the shoulders of Macca, earning a yelp to sound from your lips, the interaction leaving fans laughing even more.

“Oh, Baby, what's wrong?” Macca said teasingly, holding your thighs with her hands. You looked down at her and frowned, the team’s nickname for you left you feeling a tad humiliated considering it was in front of people who didn't know of the handle. Kyra took out her phone, taking a few shots of the sight with the intention of putting it in her photo dump.

When Macca caught sight of the poster, she cracked up. “Oh God, that's good.”

“Put me down, Mackenzie.” You groaned, kicking your feet half-heartedly into her side. The Keeper did as she was told, but made the show of huffing and puffing as she let you off her shoulders.

“Do you want me to sign it or something?” You said to the boy holding the poster, watching as his eyes lit up as he nodded.

“Are you a Chelsea or Arsenal fan, mate?” Steph asked him, waiting as the boy shook his head.

“West Ham.”

This made Mackenzie’s head snap towards him. “Really?”

“Yeah, who the fuck supports West Ham?” Caitlin questioned, yelping when Steph whacked her in the chest. “Language, Cait.”

“You're a real one, mate,” Mackenzie said, walking up to the boy and hugging him, making him smile like it was Christmas.

“Who do you think’s gonna win on Saturday?” Kyra egged on, shoving past Macca and grinning at the boy, indiscreetly pointing towards herself and the other Arsenal girls.

The boy looked between them and shrugged, folding his sign back up when you finished signing it. His eyes landed on you. “Well, you're my favourite player, but Chelsea are always too cocky.”

“No lies said.” Kyra said, yearning you to push her playfully.

“What if I score a goal, will you go for me then?” You asked, holding out your hands.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, but that's if you get past Katie.”

You couldn't help but scoff, shaking her head. The girls around you smirked at your competitive nature, sharing knowing looks.

“I don't remember the last time McCabe scored against me.”

***

You were glad that at least you kept that statement true.

The video of you reacting to the poster had gone viral, and everyone found the interaction utterly hilarious. Not only did you have a reputation for cards, but you also had one for being a sub in important games like this.

But that assumption didn't seem to make an appearance today, as you waited in the tunnel beside Jessie, holding the hand of a little girl, waiting as you caught sight of Caitlin in front of you

“Are you alright?” Sam muttered, turning to face you with an inch of worry apparent in her eyes.

You looked back at her, nodding. “Yes, just tired.”

You said this in truth. You hadn't had much sleep over the past week due to the different time zones you were living in. Sam had an injury during the Friendly, therefore not being able to compete alongside your Matildas team. But the fatigue was apparent in everyone’s eyes. You even noticed it in Kyra when you saw her on the bench as you walked towards your starting position.

The fans were screaming at the tops of their lungs, but you slowly drowned them out as you honed in to concentrate. You looked to your left, finding Jessie throwing a thumbs up towards you. You smiled back at her, gulping down the last of your anxiety before the whistle blew.

You knew this would be a hard game before it even started, but Arsenal’s level of aggression was completely unexpected.

Fouls were handed out left and right, followed by a bit of push and shove from either side. You fought your way up and down the wing, waiting for an opportunity to surpass. Both teams were angsty with the ball, throwing easy chances away as the crowd grew in volume.

Sam hadn't come down to defend like she usually does, instead waiting past the halfway mark as the midfield continued to pass to and fro.

You grew annoyed at the lack of ball time you were receiving, even when you made a point to be out and open near the corner. Your breathing was ragged and tested, your patience running thin when the crowd of Chelsea players swarmed Victoria Pelova and leaving Beth Mead to shoot in the open.

“There were four of you, for fuck’s sake.” You muttered, dragging your hands over your face as you sighed, returning to your starting position once more.

It started to become ridiculous when you still hadn't received the ball, yelling out on the wing as the minutes passed with Arsenal in front. You hadn't been in the midst of any tackles or gameplay until the thirteenth minute when one of your teammates crossed the ball to you over the halfway line.

You dragged your feet across the ball, feeling the grass hit your feet as you sprinted toward the goal. You stepped past Lotte Wubben-Moy, leaving an open space to slot it through toward Kaneryd.

The ball had left your feet with a concentrated pass before your balance was cut short. A potent force left your legs to crumble beneath you. Your body collided with another, leaving your lungs without any air. Your head spun with nausea, the speed at which you were taken out leaving you heaving for breath. It took you a few moments to register the figure you had landed on, and how the crowd went wild at the shot that had passed Zinsberger.

“I’d never thought you liked being on top, y/l/n.”

The voice made your stomach churn even more.

“Surprised you have enough brain cells to think, McCabe.”

You rolled off her with a groan, your legs aching from the impact. You felt the hands of one of your teammates soothe the distant pain in your head, causing you to roll onto your back.

Instead, you were met by a red jersey. “You alright, Baby?” Steph asked, helping you up.

You didn't have time to answer Steph. She was bombarded with a shove from Lauren James, who turned to the ref with her hands in the air. “That’s a red, ref! The ball left her feet!”

“James, do not yell at me.” The referee fired back. “McCabe, this is your first and final, am I clear?”

McCabe shrugged her shoulders. “I slipped.”

Lauren looked like she was about to pounce. “Oh, you little-”

“What, eh?” Katie walked up to challenge the girl back. “Can Miss Australia not speak for herself?”

Kim Little, Arsenal’s captain, appeared in the mix. “Katie, that's enough! Walk away.”

“Can't handle a tackle, what a baby, shouldn't be on the field—”

“McCabe!” Kim snapped, which shut up whatever rant Katie was about to begin.

The ref turned towards you, putting a hand on your shoulder. The action was met with Arsenal boos. “Y/l/n, are you alright?” Looking concerned at your pained countenance. Lauren rubbed a hand across your back, eagerly awaiting the card Katie deserved.

“I’m fine.”

Maybe you shouldn't said no — maybe that would've landed Katie with a card. But you knew you’d be sent off if you did. You had just scored an assist to level your team. Katie McCabe of all people was not going to ruin that.

The game continued, your left ankle feeling tampered with as more tackles progressed.

It was clear that Arsenal were hungry for this win, leaving Chelsea left and right with calculated footwork and sprints across both their defensive and attacking lines.

When an Arsenal corner arrives shortly after, you run back to defend the post alongside Jessie. Steph is walking to take the corner with the ball in her hands, giving both teams time to find their spot in the box. Pelova was in front of you, Russo to your right. The majority of your midfielders banked against the goal in an attempt to stop the chances of Arsenal moving up two-one.

Steph was about to kick when you felt someone against you. Unknown hands grip your hips tightly, maneuvering them with ease that your body was stuck to them. Your breath hitched when you were pushed forward, forced to leave your place by the post.

“Miss Australia bent over for me?” The voice whispered, pricking the alcove of your neck. “With all these people watching? Guess she's not as innocent as everyone thinks.”

You weren't watching Steph’s long shot into the box, too angered by Katie to care. You didn't notice Amanda Ilestedt’s header into the middle of the goal, hitting the back of the net with a swoosh, met by North London cheers. Hell, you didn't fucking notice anything except Katie falling to the ground, your arms propelling her with so much force you fought to hide the flame that hindered your cheeks.

The whistle blew, causing celebrations to halt when both teams found the two of you glaring daggers at one another.

“Get off her, Y/l/n,” Wälti called out, running towards you and pushing you backwards.

“Nah, what a fucking ride-off.” You heard another Arsenal player say, making you stomp in the opposite direction, huffing in annoyance when the referee called you back.

Kim Little and Sam Kerr were standing by their respective players when the referee was scolding the two of you. It was obvious that you were painted as the immature one since it was made out that you needed to control your emotions more.

“I won't have you manhandling each other like idiots on my pitch. You play fair or you don't play. Understood?”

The four of you mumbled your understanding, filing back into place begrudgingly. Sam was ordering Jessie to swap with you, but you found yourself shaking your head, promising her you’d pull it in.

Turns out, you didn't.

The same circumstance of you pretty much skin-on-skin with Katie happened after Alessia Russo’s chip against Berger. 3-1 for an undefeated team was embarrassing, and no matter how many times you fed the ball well enough to become an assist, the communication just wasn't there.

“Get the fuck off me, McCabe.” You seethed, trying your best to squirm your way out of her grip, but to no avail.

“You need to stop all that wriggling, Y/l/n,” Katie responded, the smirk on her face was evident even from behind. “Those red cheeks couldn't have been from running.”

“I’m not red.”

“Ha, yeah, you and London both.”

Katie and you both got your yellow cards in the second half.

You knew people would find it funny online — the fact that you both got it at the same time — but the game felt like it had gone on forever, and at this point, all of Chelsea’s players were defenders.

You had a clear shot of the goal after Niamh Charles curled the ball to your wing, leaving you and Katie battling for possession near the sideline.

You couldn't help but notice how high her hands had gotten on your waist. Your knees were bending slightly so you could attain more balance, but maneuvering past Katie was a challenge, and proven extremely difficult.

You let out a struggled breath, angered at the lack of options your teammates offered due to their attacking absence. The ball beneath your feet went back and forth between the women in front of you. The two of you were complete mirrors of each other, both trying to nutmeg the other or humiliate them in some way. It was as if minutes had gone past when everyone was watching the two of you battle it out. It wasn't until Jessie came up behind the two of you, threading the ball out from beneath McCabe’s feet and dribbling it away that it seemed to have stopped.

You blanked when you saw Katie stretch her leg out, tripping Jessie onto the floor; leaving her limb on the grass.

“You’re such a cheat!” You exclaimed, pushing Katie with your hands. “You’re a fucking cheat, McCabe, and you know it!”

Katie surged towards you, her breath thick against your face. Your shirt was taken into her hand. She was so much taller than you. “Imagine needing your girlfriend to win your battles for you.” She spoke, her tone condescending. “The score says it all, Miss Australia. If only you weren't so distracted by me, you’d realise.”

She was looking down at you now, holding your shirt so tightly you knew that if you moved, she’d pull you right back in. Her accent was coarser than usual, sending you into a frenzy of disarray and warmth. She was towering over you, her build similar yet broader. Her smirk was minuscule, but prominent all the same. You knew you had lost the game, but you weren't going to lose this fight.

“And where’s your girlfriend, McCabe? Is she somewhere in the stands?”

You were pulled apart but Kim and Sam, the referee tramping over at the sight of the pair of you bundled up. The presence of the yellow card was something you expected, but not rewarding whatsoever.

“Get off my player, McCabe,” Sam ordered, holding a protective arm over your shoulder. Somehow, you knew what she was thinking, peeling your Captain’s arm away from you and marching off. In the distance, you could hear Katie speaking. “She's a big girl, Kerr. I promise it's never on purpose.”

Of course, she was mocking you, you thought. Of course, she saw the video.

You were replaced by Guro not long after that. The Chelsea cheers did not seep through your irritated exterior. Your head was pounding from the fall you had at the start of the game, and you winced at the tinge in your ankle as you ran off to hug Guro.

Emma Hayes strolled up to you, placing a stern hand on your shoulder. “I want you to cool off before you come back and sit down. You're going to shake each of those girls’ hands before you go home tonight.”

Without a second thought,, you stomped down the tunnel, making a point to let your metal studs echo all the way to the changerooms. At twenty-two years old, you had the most yellows in the WSL for your age. If the stats were compared, people would argue that you were higher than most of the older girls.

It was nothing you were proud of, despite the effortless compliments you gained for being potent in your determination to win. But you had been told by almost every coach that you could be too aggressive.

You kicked off your boots, peeling off your shin pads and socks to reveal the nasty bruise that was already blossoming on your ankle. Removing your clothes, you engulfed the hot spurs of water that left the shower head in Emirates Stadium. There was still half an hour of the game left when you were subbed off, so you made sure to take your time washing yourself from head to toe, soaking in the warmth that relaxed the tension in your muscles.

You replaced your game kit with some Matilda's trackies and a fitted tee. Combing your hair into a pony, washing your face with freezing cold water, you waited for your team to arrive from the game, feeling defeated and unprepared for the beating they were about to receive from Emma.

The changing rooms blocked out most of the noise from the game above, except from the thundering rumble of Alessia Russo chants that boomed after five minutes of waiting. You knew that had scored just by the sinking of your gut. The jetlag and fatigue were starting to hit you now, and you had half a mind to just pack up and go home. But you remembered Emma’s words to you before you stormed into the changing rooms. You knew she’d have your neck at training for the next three months if you didn't do as you were asked.

So you stood up, slotting your phone into your pocket, making your way back through the tunnel. The volume of the crowd was starting to get louder, and with each step you took, the less you felt inclined to follow through with the orders you were given.

You were about to turn the corner that led to the field when you were pushed back against the wall, your arms pinned above your head, your body caged in by someone tall and firm.

“Are your cheeks always so red, Y/l/n? Cause every time I see you, you look like you're on fire.”

“Piss off, McCabe.”

Katie was towering over you, unpinning your hands from their place above your head, leaning down so that you could see every detail of her face.

“You're free to go.”

“You're a right pain in the arse.”

She was laughing at you now. “Am I bothering you, Miss Australia?”

“Stop calling me that!” You knew your cheeks were flaming now but you couldn't help it.

Katie grabbed your face with her hand harshly, pulling you closer so that you were forced to look her straight in the eyes. “No, you don't like that?” Her hips met yours, and you squirmed. “What about Baby, eh? Everyone seems to call you Baby. You act like one so I guess it suits.”

“Katie—”

“Oh, so you're calling me Katie now, are ‘ya? I call you Baby and you call me Katie, is that what's happening?”

“No.”

Katie scoffed, placing her knee in between your thighs, keeping you planted between her. You had nowhere to put your hands, so you decided behind your back was appropriate. You felt the subtle movements of her knee in between your legs, her eyes watching for your reaction intently.

“No?”

You watched her head move down to your ear, her breath fanning across your neck. Her lips gradually grew closer to your pulse point, where goosebumps poured over your skin. When the warm sensation of her lips met your neck, your body subconsciously relaxed on her knee, making you jolt at the sudden friction applied to your core.

“Yes.” You ushered, pulling your hands out awkwardly as your neck reclined against the wall, your face etched to the ceiling. You were so, so stupid. What were you thinking?

“Yes… what?” You heard her say, her tongue swirling across the harsh mark she just made below your ear. You hesitantly fell back down on her knee, holding in the groan that yearned to leave your lips. This time, as you tried to regain the dispersing shards of your dignity, lifting your heat off her knee, her hands moved to seize your waist, pushing your hips down to roll against her knee.

The motion made you whine. “Yes, Katie.”

The woman chuckled as she coerced your hips back and forth, sucking and licking down your neck and across your collarbone. Feeling a slight ache from the game she just played, the sensation of the majority of your body weight rubbing against her knee made the Arsenal Victory even more triumphant.

“Is this okay, Baby?” She asked, leaving your neck cold as she waited for your response. You were so tired from the past few days that you slumped on Katie’s knee, waiting for her to continue kissing and moving you as she pleased.

“I need to shake people’s hands.” Your voice was meek but clear.

Katie looked at you, taken aback. “What?”

You wrapped your arms off her shoulders, holding them together in front of you. “Emma told me I need to shake everyone’s hands after the game is finished. She’ll be really angry if I don't.”

Katie’s smirk was back. “Will she now?”

You, too exhausted to realise she was egging you on, nodded. “Yes. So I have to—”

“Shake my hand?”

“Yes.”

Katie leaned in, raising her eyebrows. “What if I don't want to shake your hand?”

You were evidently stumped at the question, pursing your lips as you struggled to find a response. Katie's smile grew, and you grew bitter.

She moved to kiss your neck again to silence your upcoming retort. “What will Hayes do if you don't shake my hand, hm? She’d be so disappointed in you, wouldn't she?”

You tried to focus on anything but her lips led closer to your breasts. “McCabe, I need to—”

“What are you going to tell her, hm? When she asks you if you shook my hand, are you ‘gonna tell her that you tried to get off on my leg instead?”

You were at loss for words. Was she wrong? Of course, she wasn't. Katie McCabe was never fucking wrong, and here you were, pathetic on her knee, about to get off to your enemy calling you Baby, when you tell her you need to shake her hand. You really were a baby.

“Is that what you're going to say to her, Baby?”

“N-no.”

“Why not? It's the truth. You wouldn't want to lie, would you?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I'm not going to tell her that.”

She must've caught onto your honest dispute, slowly dragging her knee directly onto your clit and rubbing circles over it. You didn't expect her movements, so you moaned, pulling your head into her neck and breathing heavily.

You were so out of breath it wasn't funny. “I’m- I told Jessie I’d spend a night at her house.”

“I didn't take you for the cheating type, Y/l/n.”

“She's not my girlfriend.”

Katie slowed down her movements. “I ‘spose you weren't thinking you’d get off with her knee tonight, would you?”

“No, we were just going to watch a movie.”

“How ‘bout this?” She whispered, pushing your hips against the wall. “You go and shake everyone’s hands like a good girl and I’ll treat you like one afterwards.”

You groaned when she pulled her knee out from under you, feeling your inner dread grow when you heard the full-time whistle and a tsunami of cheers.

“We won 4-1.”

“Still second on the ladder.”

“You have bite for someone who was just moaning fully clothed.”

“Goodbye, McCabe.” You snapped, trying to act Almighty and unbothered by the longing in between your legs. You had to double-check that nothing had leaked through from how wet you were, trudging up the tunnel without a second glance back.

When you found yourself on the pitch, you made a point to shake each of the Arsenal player's hands, including the ones on the bench, which had been nothing short of mortifying. Almost all of them looked at you strangely, trying to push past the obvious awkwardness and reciprocate the sportsmanship, except for the Aussie girls, who hugged you and offered warm conversation with the buzz of their victory.

“Is your ankle okay?” Caitlin asked, pulling you out of an embrace with worry smeared across her features.

You nodded, showing her the bruise by moving your sock. “Yeah, just some bruising. You guys played really well.”

Steph did the same: hug and condolences, while Kyra was completely opposite.

“LONDON IS RED!” She screamed, laughing when she mounted your back from behind.

“Get off, loser.” You retorted, pulling her into a hug as the two of you met in the middle of the field. You knew heaps of people were waiting for signatures, but you didn't care.

“What’s all over your neck?” She asked, grabbing your jaw and observing the fresh marks.

Shit, you thought, recalling the sensation of Katie’s lips tugging at your skin.

You pulled away, hoping distance would lessen the stringency of them. “I think it was from the grass. Y’know, when I fell.”

“Oh, don't worry, I know.” Kyra giggled, seemingly too full of energy to remember what she said two seconds ago. “You need to take a chill pill, Y/n/n. I’ll be sending you all the TikTok edits of you and Katie when I get home, don't you worry.”

“Please don't.” You muttered, holding out your hand to interlock it with Kyra’s. “Are you going straight home or?”

Kyra chuckled. “After this win? No fucking way.”

“You're still second on the ladder.” You reminded yet another Arsenal player.

Kyra poked her tongue out. “Boo, you whore.”

Kyra left you to celebrate with her teammates, marking her as the last Arsenal girl you needed to shake hands with.

You walked back into the changing rooms with an impassive frown on your face. Lots of the girls were already in the showers, Jessie among the few that had already finished and changed.

“We still up for tonight?” You asked, hoping your prior plans that you made before the game were still available after the thrashing they had just endured.

Jessie nodded, pulling you into a hug. “Sam, Millie, and Erin are all going to the pub to have a drink. They want us to come with them, you in?”

“Why not?” You replied, kissing the girl’s forehead before packing your bag.

You were glad that you were going out with your teammates instead of caving and finding Katie. But something deep down made you ponder whether what just happened was a one-off thing.

Spoiler: it wasn't.