#barcelona food tour

[jaycation]

Top 5 Foods in Barcelona to Try in 2023

Dine around Barcelona, Spain & try Jaycation’s Top 5 Foods to Eat when visiting the Catalan Capital. From Tapas to Pintxos, it’s sure to be a delicious experience! Watch the Original TOP 5 Foods in Barcelona!https://youtu.be/BIxChapnAzM Top 5 Foods to Eat in Barcelona Chapter List:0:00- Intro0:42- Pintxos at La Tasqueta de Blai Carrer de Blai, 15, 17, 08004 Barcelona3:57- Catalan Cuisine at Can…

View On WordPress

#barcelona #barcelona 2023 #Barcelona Food Guide #barcelona food tour #Foodie

[hsmagazine254]

Barcelona Unveiled: A Complete Guide to Food, Shopping, Parks, and Historic Sites

Barcelona Unveiled: Discovering the Best of Food, Shopping, Parks, and Historic Sites Barcelona, the vibrant capital of Catalonia in Spain, is a city that beckons travellers with its captivating blend of history, gastronomy, shopping, and natural beauty. From its stunning architecture and rich cultural heritage to its delectable cuisine, trendy shopping districts, and picturesque parks, Barcelona…

View On WordPress

#Barcelona #Casa Batlló #cultural heritage #El Corte Inglés #food scene #gastronomy #Gothic Quarter #historic landmarks #La Boqueria Market #Montjuïc Park #Natural beauty #Park de la Ciutadella #Park Güell #parks #Passeig de Gracia #Sagrada Familia #shopping districts #Spain #tapas tour #Tibidabo Amusement Park

[thenuriainthesky]

Foro,

Barcelona '22.

#barcelona #bcn #walking tour #world tour #nighttime #food #argentina #winetime #meeting #love on tour #restaurant #life #world #art #enjoy food

[pers1st]

i can't handle change - leah williamson x reader

part two of let down

pairing: leah williamson x barça!reader

warnings: bit angsty

You had expected your first day, merely a day after arriving in the city, to be full of football. Barcelona did media duties occasionally, for sure. But you had expected to throw yourself into training immediately here, mostly in an attempt to conceal your emotions and at least act as though you wanted to give everything for this club. In truth, you wanted to give everything for yourself. You wanted to keep yourself a candidate for the national team, you wanted to keep yourself a candidate for Barcelona once they were ready to sign you back, you wanted to play, partially, out of spite as well. Anger was one of the emotions in your mess of a mind, and although you knew that it was no use, you wanted to show Jona the mistake he had made.

What you hadn't expected was the absolutely overwhelming amount of cameras, catching every inch of you they could. London Colney, otherwise known as the Arsenal training centre, was nice, but it was different from what you were used. The corridors were small and you feared they'd squish you if you stared at the white walls for a second too long. The friendly woman from the entrance, who's name you had missed due to her heavily accented English, had led you all the way to Jonas' office on the first floor, and the man was gauging at you with a grin you couldn't quite place. You shifted uncomfortably.

"So, let's put pen to paper!", he clapped his hands as he gently motioned to the seat next to him after having shaken your sweaty hand.

"Yes", you croaked as you sat down, taking the pen with the Arsenal logo into your shaky grip. The smile on your lips was fake as ever as you scribbled your name onto the dotted line. You fooled them again when holding up your shirt for the cameras. And again as you sat in front of the social media's team, answering all of their questions.

Your move surprised everyone in the Women's Football Community, can you tell us what exactly made you choose Arsenal?

Of course. I think Arsenal are very good with the fans, and they play really good football. I'm really excited to maybe play at the Emirates, and yeah I think anyone can see they are a real family so that's why I'm happy to be a part of it.

They payed the most. That was the answer you would've given, had anyone actually wanted to hear the truth from you. But people didn't want the truth. People wanted you to love Arsenal. And although it pained you, you had to admit that so far, it wasn't that bad.

Leah gave you a tour of her home that was now yours too, and the training grounds were nice. The gym was nice. The changing room was nice. The cafeteria was nice. You couldn't hate the club as much as you had when you hadn't seen it yet - hadn't been a part of it.

"So, do you like it here?"

You thought for a second that you would choke on your food when Wally asked you this, completely blindsiding you as you sat with her, Leah, Laia and Teyah in the dining hall, letting most of their conversation slip past you. Their English was difficult for you, not because you hadn't learned (or, attempted to learn) them language, but because you'd never heard it as much as you did here. The words were starting to become a constant, distant noise somewhere in the back of your mind, but as Wally looked at you expectantly and the others turned towards you, you knew that this wasn't something you could escape.

"Yeah, sure", you smiled. "It's nice here."

"Your contract is two years, right?"

You nodded. "Sí."

Two years. Two long years of being away from Alexia, except for Spanish camps. Two long years of being away from your parents, your actual teammates, your actual home. The thought didn't scare you as much as it used to.

"So, two years and then you'll go back?", Leah nudged you playfully, sipping her water as she smirked.

You shrugged. "We should see."

Over the next few days, you got to know the team, and London, even better. Leah spent every minute she could with you, always partnering with you during training and offering to show you her favorite cafés and places in the city when you weren't kicking balls around, inviting you over to her flat for a movie night or taking you to the little Spanish market she'd found halfway across the city. You appreciated her company, knowing that she was trying to make this transition as comfortable for you as possible. She didn't succeed completely, as you still felt homesick whenever she spared you a minute to call Alexia, or when you checked Barça's social media to see all of your teammates together, seemingly not even missing you.

Logically, you knew that they did. Barça was a family, and Alexia told you everyday that the girls were asking about you. Many of them texted you as well, informing you that they would try and find a livestream of your cup game against Reading, in which you would likely make your debut for your new club. Still, seeing them without you felt like someone was shooting daggers through your chest, piercing the skin and leaving you to bleed. You wanted to be there. You should be there. They had taken that opportunity away from you, ripping it out of your hands and tearing it apart like a piece of paper.

Anger and longing rose within you interchangeably, and if you didn't know any better, you would've believed you were simply going through a breakup like any other. But you forced yourself to push through the first week as hard as you could, keeping conversations with Alexia short in order to not be pulled back into memories and instead attempt to enjoy the present.

You were glad when Laia told you about her birthday party just a few days before your first match. The team had planned to go to Laia's favorite Spanish restaurant, and as you were a part of the team now as well, Kim had extended the reservation for another person. That was how you had found yourself, dressed in a tight black dress with a pullover on top, in Leah's car, allowing yourself to accept her offer to share a ride, trying to ignore the ringing phone in your hands.

Your ringtone cut off the soft country music playing in the background, which you had told Leah many times you would not enjoy. When the ringing finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief. Just for it to start again mere seconds later.

"Maybe you should answer that", Leah huffed, her eyes focused on the road but a soft smile on her lips. You shrugged.

"It's Alexia."

"You're ignoring the Alexia Putellas?" Leah's expression turned into a shocked one at once, but you could only chuckle.

"You're feeding her ego. She's just- my best friend, you know?", you attempted to explain how Ale's success had never driven a wedge between the two of you, not only because many believed you were equally good at football, but because Alexia was likely the most down-to-earth person you knew. Of course, the woman knew how good she was. Everyone did. But she'd never let it change her.

"Isn't that just more of a reason to not ignore her?"

You shrugged again.

"I dunno. Don't want to talk to her."

Leah's eyebrows furrowed as you finally reached your destination and she put the car into park. Your phone began ringing again. This time, you declined her call, texting her quickly that you couldn't talk right now.

"Why?"

You shrugged again. It seemed like all you knew to do, but as you looked at the way Leah's expression didn't relent in the slightest, you knew that it wouldn't work anymore. Maybe it was good to talk to Leah. Maybe she would understand.

"It just reminds me of home, you know. I miss it", you croaked, suddenly overwhelmed with longing once more. You wanted nothing more than to be in your apartment again, to drive to the Barcelona training grounds in your blue and red shirt, to join Mapi's banter, you even missed being yelled at by Irene and Marta.

"Are we really that bad?", Leah attempted to joke, a hand of hers flying out to gently land on your knee. Your breath hitched at the sudden contact, your eyes leaving hers to stare at her fingers on your skin.

“No”, you huffed. “Not at all, that’s the problem.”

Sitting in the car with Leah, nothing but the annoying country music in the background, for a second felt like a breath of fresh air. For just a second, you could focus on the warmth of her skin, on the air refresher dangling from her rearview mirror, on the eyes that she lay on you gently, on the softness of it all.

“Should we go?”, you broke the silence, knowing that Laia would not be happy if you were late. It was past ten already, and you softly smiled at the knowledge that some Spanish habits never truly left. It felt comforting to eat this late, as stupid as it sounded. It reminded you of the countless team dinners you’d had with Barça. You didn’t allow yourself, once again, to dwell on the fond memories as you pushed your door open without awaiting Leah’s answer, her hand retrieving from its position as she followed you into the restaurant, a bottle of Spanish wine in your hands. You had brought as much as you had been allowed to bring, and you figured passing Laia one singular bottle couldn’t hurt too much.

The restaurant held a nice atmosphere, one that immediately pulled you in as the bell jingled above your head. Most of the girls were already sitting at the table reserved for you, who all turned as they waved at you happily, grins plastered on their faces. Laia caught your eye first - she was wearing a little plastic crown, grinning like a kid on Christmas as she rose from her seat, hurrying to welcome you and Leah, who seemed to be the last ones to have arrived.

"¡Feliç aniversari!", you hugged Laia shortly, rubbing your hand across her back before pushing the bottle into her hands.

"Merci", she smiled as she accepted it, taking Leah into a short hug as well before you made your way towards the only seats available. The warmth of Leah's body next to yours, the familiar food and music playing softly in the background almost made you forget about the guilt in your stomach. You weren't supposed to enjoy all of this half as much as you did.

Seemingly as a distraction, though you figured you subconsciously wanted to remind yourself of what was your actual home, you opened Instagram. A video of Aitana singing the Barça chant, laughing into the camera with golden confetti around her shoulders, made you halt. You scrolled. You saw the trophy.

Shit - that was what Alexia had been calling you about. Of course. It came back to you flying - the supercopa final was today. How could you have forgotten? It was all you had been looking forward to ever since the winter break had ended. Yet you were so far away from it all, the match had slipped between your fingers, and you were left with nothing but the reminder that Barcelona functioned just as well without you, that they had simply moved on, while you were stuck here - in a Spanish restaurant, with your "friends", trying to remind yourself that if you tried hard enough, this could feel like home.

With a screech, you pushed your chair back and wobbled out of your seat uncomfortably.

"Just need the bathroom", you excused yourself in response to Leah's surprised expression, before marching through the restaurant and leaving all of the girls behind.

The bathroom was empty, luckily, and you let the tears flow at once. How had you been so stupid? How had you thought that, even for a minute, you would be okay so far away from your home, watching your teammates do all the things you wanted to do with them, while seemingly not missing you at all?

It didn't make any sense to you- Barcelona could win every trophy they wanted, while you were stuck in London, not even sure whether they would want you back after your contract was over. Were you delusional? Were you ever going to return to Barcelona?

Just as your brain started spinning further, and you had to steady yourself on the sink, knuckles turning white from how hard you wanted to keep yourself grounded, the door to the bathroom swung open. You didn't need to look up to know who it was - her body was right behind you, and she smelled of vanilla, just like her car did.

Leah. It was Leah who had entered the bathroom. Leah who was frantically trying to get you to talk to her, all the while you were choking on your sobs. Leah, who had tried her best to make you somewhat comfortable in the club she loved so much. How were you supposed to look her in the eye?

#woso community #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso fanfics #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #awfc #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson oneshot

[delfiore]

—MONTAUK.

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

synopsis: you remember how it used to be whilst dealing with how it is now.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: alexia baby come home the kids miss you 🥲 this was the clairo - bags fic i promised months ago but now the premise feels completely different and i've changed the title also lol. a lot happens to one's state of mind in 3 months.

After.

Under normal circumstances—as much as normal was nowadays—the silence in the apartment would feel like a blanket of comfort. It meant you were having a rest from your hectic days training and playing matches, it meant you could finally relax with the love of your life; it meant peace.

Now, the silence was deadly. It was sucking up the life in every room in this apartment, and it was draining the life out of you too.

The door clicked, and you shifted in your spot on the couch, quickly shutting off your phone on which you had bullet points typed out in the Notes app—bullet points of things you wanted—needed—to say, to lessen this inevitable pain. You cracked a smile when you heard tiny feet pattering on the floor, just as the little Pomeranian came to greet you with loving licks.

Nala was oblivious to the cracks that had been forming in her home, that have been left unamended for too long with the thinking that they would go away with time. You dreaded thinking of the day when the little pup came home from a walk and you weren’t there anymore. Would she miss you? How long until she starts to forget you?

“I got us dinner.”

“Cool,” you said, breathing in deeply. “You wanna eat now, or . . . ?”

“Sure.”

You helped her unpack the food without another word, the only sound heard was the clanking of plates as you pulled them out of the cupboard and set them on the kitchen island.

Alexia didn’t say anything either, just gingerly put the food on the plates. You felt her stiffen slightly as you walked towards her and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She offered you a small smile—a forced smile—and brought the food to the table.

You cursed yourself and wished you hadn’t done it.

Before.

“And that concludes the tour of our facilities. Any questions?”

“No, I’m good.” You were way too excited to think about anything else other than the Barcelona crest on your chest.

“Great. Then, how about we go meet your future teammates? Some of them should be in the weight room.”

Patri greeted you initially, first in Spanish, then in English once she realized you weren’t catching on. Jana and Salma followed suit with friendly handshakes and quick hugs. It left the captain to be the last. And there she was; la Reina herself.

You were surprised to find that she was rubbing her hands together, waiting for her turn, almost like she was nervous. As you came to know her, you understood that she was in fact nervous when meeting new people, a polar opposite to the confident leader she was on the pitch.

But you saw the way her hazel eyes fixed on you, and as you approached her, a lingering smile played on her lips. Your heart suddenly leaped in your chest, and your cheeks felt embarrassingly warm, which you hoped she didn’t see.

You had admired her from afar, looking up to her as a role model in the game, but now that you were seeing her up close, something stirred inside you. There was something so endearing about Alexia’s shyness where you had expected assertiveness. It made her feel more down-to-earth, more like your teammate rather than a mythical figure up on a pedestal. One look at her and you understood why people had talked so highly of her—how could they not?

Extending a hand towards her, you had made your greeting, but she pulled you in for a firm and generous hug.

And that’s how they started—the butterflies, the attraction, the yearning—and they never went away.

After.

You decided that you were going to do it after dinner. Doing it during dinner is just tacky and downright disrespectful. You’d hate to be crying into your takeout after telling your girlfriend you wanted to break up.

When you snapped out of your train of thought, you realized that it was way too quiet. Alexia was eating on the other side of the table, scrolling through her phone as she did.

“Did you see Claudia’s banger of a free kick today?” You asked, smiling slightly.

Alexia looked up briefly from her phone. “Si. Really good.”

A curt answer. You nodded, and silence ensued again.

You didn’t talk to Alexia much these days. You used to be able to talk to her about anything, even in the beginning when the both of you were still testing the waters to see where you stood. When did it become like this?

Before.

Practice was going swimmingly. You found yourself catching on quickly with the rest of your teammates. Alexia has made it her mission as captain to make you feel welcome. “Anything you need, ask me,” she would say in English. You wanted to, but every time you thought about talking to her, your hands would sweat and you needed to practice what you were going to say to her. You weren’t scared that she wasn’t going to understand you, but because you knew you’d make a fool out of yourself tripping over your words.

“Hey, Alexia,” you said after practice, “I don’t know the city that well, and—well—since you do, would you be willing to show me around?”

“Si, claro.” She answered and looked around the field. “Maybe I can ask some of the girls to come with? They might know things to do that I don’t.”

Later she would explain to you that she panicked and that she knew she would be weird about it, thinking it was a date when it really was just a little outing between teammates. You wished she had treated it like a date, though, and was slightly disappointed when she mentioned bringing your teammates. Still, you had a great time watching Mapi banter with Lucy and Mariona while Alexia played the role of the disappointing mom trying to restrain her children.

You were grinning thinking back on the day when you came home. Her bashful smile after she offered to drive you home was so unlike anything you had pictured in your head before coming to Barcelona. You loved her calm nature, something that made her such a reliable captain, but also an endearing human being.

After.

You stayed seated by the dinner table and you watched her load the dishes in the washer. The scene was void of music that she would sway her hips to or a hearty conversation about a random fact she learned from one of your teammates. Now it was just robotic, lifeless movements, and your heart squeezed at the thought of what it used to be.

The end is near.

Somewhere, somehow, you gathered the courage to speak up. “Wanna watch a movie?”

And to your surprise, she turned around and said, “Sure.”

For a second, you let yourself hope that there was still something salvageable from this ruin. Then you realized that you had been here many times before, and everything accumulated and led you here to this moment.

Before.

“Really?! You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

Alexia shook her head and chuckled. “I didn’t watch a lot of movies, Y/N. Growing up, all I had time for was football.”

“Yeah, but . . . I mean, it’s Mean Girls. That’s just a crime,” you clicked your tongue. “We’ll have to catch you up on all the classics.”

The discussion had been prompted by the imminent movie night at one of your teammates’ places. The movie of choice was Mamma Mia!, and you had been most excited to rewatch it. You and Alexia arrived together after an outing in town, and since you did so late, you both were in charge of stocking up the snacks.

“And by that, I hope you mean . . . you and me,” Alexia stuttered, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for you to fill your bowl with popcorn.

Your lips curved up. “Yes, I mean me and you. Just me and you.”

Your captain grinned too, like a devious little kid. “Good. Just making sure.”

“¿Qué diablos está tardando tanto? (What the hell is taking so long?)” Patri called from the living room. “¡Más te vale no estar besándote en mi cocina! (You better not be making out in my kitchen!)”

You let out a surprised laugh, as Alexia cursed under her breath, wishing silently that the girls in the living room would just shut up and stop snickering. Once the bowls in your hands were filled to the brim, you turned to her with a knowing look.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

“Mind what?”

“If we were making out,” you said before leaving Alexia in the kitchen to soak in your words.

She found a seat next to you after taking a minute to calm her racing heart so that you wouldn’t notice how crazy you drove her. She felt like a teenage girl having a silly crush, but there was nothing silly about the way you looked at her. And when you put your head on her shoulder midway through the movie, she knew she was gone. Patri saw it too across the couch apparently, and her knowing grin made Alexia want to bury herself inside a hole. While she wasn’t particularly into romcoms, she was already looking forward to watching Mean Girls with you, her fleeting heart hammering in its cage at the thought of getting you alone again.

After.

The silence was deafening. You didn’t dare to look over to Alexia to gauge her reaction. The screen continued to play the movie, blissfully unaware of an earthquake that had suddenly roared to life in the space on the couch between you and Alexia.

You swallowed. She hasn’t spoken for hours.

Then, she turned to you and said, “Okay.”

Okay.

You drew a sharp breath and nodded with finality. “Okay.”

The movie was still playing, though. It was one of your favorites, but it made you cry every time you watched it because you were so touched by the story and its main characters. It was about a man—grief-stricken with the loss of his relationship—who decides to get his memories of his girlfriend wiped, but during the process, he relives everything he shared with her and slowly rues his decision. You used to enjoy it because their story was fictional, but now it all felt like one big joke, like you were one of the characters in the movie, inching towards a certain endgame that you couldn’t escape.

You wondered if there were a different script written out for you and Alexia.

“Let’s finish the movie though, yeah?” She said, finally looking over to you.

You hadn’t expected that look on her face when you looked back at her—it was something almost like desperation.

Like it meant something to her.

You nodded. It was the least you could do after dumping her. What kindness, after the neglect she had shown you, what kindness.

Before.

Alexia was shaking when she brought the two glasses of wine out to her living room, where you sat. Nala, the ever-excited little puppy that she was, followed her like a personal little cloud.

“I heard it was going to be a sad movie, so wine it is.” She said, handing you your glasses.

“It’s a cult classic, trust me. It’s one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Well, I liked Mean Girls, so I trust you.” The truth was, she would have watched any movie with you, as long as it was with you.

You were right, it was quite sad. When she looked over midway through the movie, she could see a glossy streak running down your face. You laughed it off and wiped your tears away, embarrassed that you had cried in front of her, but Alexia thought you were the prettiest.

With feather-light touches, she reached over and brushed the tip of her fingers over your cheekbone. She knew there was no going back if she went ahead with this. She wondered if there was a script written out for you and her already, and she was just following it on its path.

Her lips brushed against yours softly, and only once she felt that you started to kiss her back was she brave enough to put her hand around your waist and pull you closer.

You were grinning so wide when she pulled away, that she thought it might have been a prank and you were somehow in on it. But you put your arms around her neck and pecked her lips again.

Whatever script it was, Alexia was sure it would be one of fairy tale endings and happily ever after, because that is what you believe when you’re in love.

a/n: the movie is eternal sunshine of the spotless mind btw. made me ugly cry.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas angst #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso angst

[randombush3]

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

words: 11455 (SORRY THERE WAS A LOT TO FIT IN)

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks part two x

content warnings: it’s gets a little sad but tbh the next part is the one you should be worried abt ��

notes: this one covers 2017-2019. i apologise if it’s a bit jumpy because if i covered EVERYTHING you’d be sat here reading for days. also, this part was so slow to be finished because i abandoned it for ages and only just decided i should probs get to finishing it. the next part is the last one!

It’s about three months later, and there is not a silence that can’t be filled with the sound of Alexia’s voice. You don’t know how to prove this, because you leave none to be filled, instead seeking to occupy every spare second granted by your tour schedule to call her, to text her; to talk to her. 

You spend your nights on balconies all over the continent. Your smoking habit is worsening but the excuse of getting some fresh air to do so is a perfect way to weasel yourself out of parties and clubs and late-night chats with your friends. You much prefer to spend your time finding out more about the woman you quickly become obsessed with. She often verbalises her disdain for your disregard for your lungs – something that transcends the language barrier with an overwhelming clarity – but she is glad that you are talking to her either way.

A few times, you go as far as to hop on a secretly booked flight. You never step outside the airport, leaving Barcelona very much stamped in your passport but not on your list of places you have explored, but Alexia is more than content to pursue your hooded figure as you lead her into hidden corners of the arrivals lounge she begins to associate with the racing feeling in her heart when she sees you. Kissing against walls and on hard airport seats is not what feeds most budding romances, but you don’t care. You happily fly to her whenever you have a spare five minutes, and she is more than content to make the time spent physically together worthwhile.

The tour is nearly over. Five shows in three weeks, and then you can traipse back to London to fight off the delayed hangover in the comfort of your own home with meals cooked by your parents to keep you going. One of the worst things about being on the road is the food (or lack thereof), and your athlete gi… Alexia, is unimpressed with your nutrition. You find that she does not agree with most of your lifestyle, yet she seems captivated by it; like she is discovering a different, scarier world, and she can’t close her eyes.

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

She has enough dread for the event to have communicated it far more efficiently than usual, with most conversations needing to be doubled in length to get past the all-too-familiar grunts of unrecognition. The streets of Barcelona are filled with whispers of a women’s league, and she is unsure of the pressure that is starting to grow on her shoulders. A birthday is inconvenient, she claims, though you only laugh. 

You tell her about Virgil – she knows you love him, she knows you love most things to do with him – and his famous quote. “Labor omnia vincit,” you say, finding it ironic that you are only able to talk to her right now because you skipped out on soundcheck and a run-through with the backup dancers. “Work conquers all. It reminds me of you.” 

Her lilting Spanish laughter fades as she actually thinks about it. 

“Es verdad,” Alexia replies, and you are glad to understand. “Quiero ser la mejor del mundo así que ‘labor omnia vincit’.” 

“You’re speaking Latin with a Spanish accent.” 

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

It hasn’t settled in Alexia’s mind that you, who calls her whenever you can because you miss her opinions and her jokes and the face that you can picture when she speaks, are the same person as the one she sees on Jenni’s phone as the team crowds round the screen to watch a viral video from your concert last night. 

“A birthday present for you, eh, Ale?” Jenni jests, clinging on to Alexia’s admission months ago about her crush on you. She doesn’t know about the reality of it all. No one does, as of yet. 

“Who puts them in these outfits?” asks Leila, mildly outraged at the bedazzled lingerie you’d been dressed in. “There’s nothing to them! They might as well go on stage naked.” 

“It’s fine. They get hot while they’re performing anyway,” Alexia dismisses, not wanting to delve into your issues with your stylist. Well. Her issues with your stylist, who seems to not care about dignity or have any faith in the world’s imagination. (That, and Alexia is not sure she likes this idea of sharing, though she is aware that nothing defines you as hers.)

“Oh, did they tell you that themselves?” She glares at Jenni, and shoulders her way out of the huddle. It’s not Jenni’s fault that her mood has been easily soured, because tomorrow is Alexia’s birthday and then, the next day, she has to get to Madrid for her national camp. The Euros later this year is going to be in the Netherlands, and her dreams for her country are currently far-fetched. It hurts, and you’re well aware of her misery.

In fact, you are so aware that you are on a flight from Oslo on the fourth of February. It’s too special a day to miss. You have once again abandoned soundcheck. 

Alexia receives a text as she slides into her mother’s old car, considering flinging the device out of the window at one of her teammates’ heads after they sang to her at training without the mercy of letting her forget that she is one year closer to the end of her career. At this rate, the career will be full of wasted potential. She is in a terrible mood about it. 

And then she looks at her phone. 

You have really tried to up your game with the Spanish of late, enlisting the help of a private tutor who Skypes you twice a week with new phrases and grammar that mildly resembles that of a dead language you carry more than a passion for. 

You: Estoy aquí!

The only thing she can think to do is slam her index finger on the call button of your contact, nail bending painfully on the glass of the screen. 

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

She drives at an embarrassingly desperate speed, because just over a week is too long a separation and her day has been awful and there is something so magnetic about your presence that she would be going against nature to do anything other than find you. Obviously, find you she does: right in the arrivals lounge, same black hoodie as always disguising your identity. It’s not any busier than usual, and you catch sight of her the minute she pushes her way to the front of the crowd of expectant faces. 

With a weary grin, you walk towards her, and she knows that this game is only temporary. There will be privacy close by, and you can speak then. 

She turns with a nod, and you follow as she takes the usual route, but suddenly there are fingers intertwined with her own and you are stopping her in front of everyone. 

“Feliz cumpleaños,” you say with a pronounced failure and a hilariously concentrated expression. Alexia giggles, and the storm cloud above her dissipates, but the kiss she wants to press to your lips will have to wait. There’s somewhere empty just around the corner, and she tugs your hand to get you to come with her – to match the same haste she has – but you don’t. “Al coche. So we can go to your casa.” 

Her eyebrows raise. 

“It’s your birthday,” you explain, stepping towards her so that the people around you see a couple instead of two women walking in a vague direction. Alexia swallows, body tingling at your proximity. Her body always tingles when you stand near her like this. “It’s your birthday, so I am here for the night. My flight is tomorrow.” 

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

Alexia does not even remember what it’s like to be miserable. She is set alight by your presence, by your lips, your hands, your soft greeting that you whisper in her ear when she pulls away to drive you to her flat. It’s a new place, and she is free from the fuss of her mother. 

You smile when she pulls you out, taking your bulging handbag in one hand and grasping yours with the other, and she kisses that smile as she presses you against the mirror in the lift. The bag hits the floor with a thud, your overnight things spilling out because of her carelessness, but you pay the rolling Dior lipstick no mind, too caught up in the way her tongue swirls in your mouth. How her hands grip your waist. 

She’s stronger than last time. She gets stronger every day: she is going to be the best footballer in the world. She is dedicated to her sport. 

Your palms travel up the back of her t-shirt, cold from the metal you’d previously had them pressed against. Alexia flinches as your fingers brush a particular spot, the skin there slightly raised. 

“¿Que pasó?” you ask, head tilted to the side as she draws back, panting. “Are you hurt?”

She examines your eyes. Deeply inquisitive. Full of something that may resemble love in the future. 

Alexia smiles – an expression that she wears mostly when she is thinking about you. You watch as she turns around, the lift jerking to a halt as if to hurry up her slow movements. As she lifts up her t-shirt, you eye the tattoos you are aware decorate her back. There are going to be more someday, she has always been clear about that. 

And, oh. 

You’re not usually so attached. Alexia, it’s apparent, is a complete exception.

She asks you if you like it. You lean forward, and kiss the four words (she must have researched the quote, because you excluded the last when you mentioned it), tongue running over the redness as if you are going to heal the irritation. She moans quietly, more surprised than anything else. 

“Do I get the credit for it?” She shakes her head, which you catch in the mirror opposite, and, before you can voice your protest, she is facing the right way again and kissing you as she leads you to her door. “You know, there’s another quote from him that I much prefer to that one. ‘Labor omnia vincit improbus’ is… Do you know the word workaholic?” Again, her head shakes. She backs you against the wall next to her door, lips attached to your neck as you keen under her touch. 

She slots her leg between yours, and you forget your next sentence. 

It’s a heated kiss. It promises tonight’s activities to you, and you cannot wait for her to unlock her door. 

Your lips run along her neck as she jams her key into the lock. You suck and bite, spurred on by the moans she bites back with a clenched jaw. You find it sexy: her determination to get you inside. And it’s her birthday, after all. She deserves it. You have another gift for her in your bag, but she is grateful for this anyway.

“Inside,” she gasps as you smooth your tongue over the newly-created hickey you just gave her, kicking her door wide open and hauling you through the gap. 

The flat is pitch black, but Alexia knows it well enough to chuck your bag towards the dining table and have you on your way to the bedroom without needing to switch any lights on. But your hands wander, and she gets distracted. She stops you in the middle of the flat, only half a second into your journey, and her life feels so full (especially when you moan like that). The room feels so full. 

The room is full. 

The room is…

“Moltes felicitats, moltes felici–” sings (and abruptly stops) a whole choir of Alexia’s friends and family, the lights switching to bathe the two of you in total mortification. 

Alba’s hand covers the eyes of her cousin’s six-year-old, whose mouth has formed a perfect circle.  

Silence washes over what looks to be a surprise birthday party. One which Alexia was assured yesterday was not going to happen. By multiple guilty attendees! 

Alexia looks helplessly between you, her mother, and the shit-eating grin on Jenni Hermoso’s face, remembering herself promptly when Eli’s eyes drop to the placement of her hands on your bum. She almost jumps away from you. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, stewing in the terribly awkward silence as Alexia’s eyes only grow wider and wider. “Alexia.” 

She breaks from her frozen state, thawed by the husk of your voice. 

“Jo…” 

The crowd explodes, and you let the tsunami of Catalan wash over your ears. There is so much noise, and so many people, and you can only watch as Alexia tries to answer all of their questions. She shakes her head, nodding at the same time, switching between two different languages to cover the shrieks from Jenni and the absolute bollocking her mother is giving her in front of everyone about dignity and respect. You are famous, says Eli, and you do not need Alexia’s horny motives to embarass you like that. 

“She’s a celebrity,” Eli chides with a glare at her daughter, eyes softening as you continue to stare at the sea of faces blankly. You are backed against a wall with nowhere to run. “Alexia, introduce us to your girlfriend. Now.” 

“You guys don’t need to be introduced to her!” Alexia replies like a petulant child, nearly crossing her arms and stamping her foot. “You know her name, and you’ve seen her. So you should all leave, really. Mami, I told you I didn’t want a party.” 

Eli’s hands fly from her body to halt the departure of the guests as they catch on to how unwanted they are. “No, we are still going to have this party,” she insists. It’s the final decision. “So, go on. Introduce us.” It’s definitely not a question. 

You clear your throat, wanting to save Alexia somehow. “Hola,” you begin, and every face breaks out into a beaming grin. “Um. Soy Y/n. Y… soy de Inglaterra?” 

“Sí,” Eli says with a swell of encouragement that you can feel from two metres away. 

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

“Guys, this is Y/n. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and she definitely does not speak Catalan, so either you practise your English or we cut the cake Mami has made and then you–”

“I am a big fan!” Jenni squeals, accented words loud and piercing as she surges towards you, sparking the movement of the entire body of people. No one listens to the rest of Alexia’s declaration. 

… 

There is a reason you are so well-liked, Alexia determines. She can see it as you interact with her family and closest friends. You smile and you listen and you remember things about people that they would deem insignificant. And it helps that you look breath-taking while doing it all.

Sitting at her dining table, Alba on one side, her mother on the other, she watches you flit around her flat with a talent for socialising, charming every person you speak to. 

“She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?” Eli comments, noticing the hesitation in her daughter’s expression. 

“I don’t know how she feels,” is what Alexia replies, because there is no way you can ignore the emotion she pours into your conversations. It exceeds that of a simple crush or hormone-fuelled desire. “She is incredible. I am me.” 

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

“And she at least likes the way you kiss her,” Alba chimes in, her contribution unnecessary but making Alexia blush at the memory. The fact that her entire family saw that, most of them knowing where you were heading, is something she might be tossing and turning about at night for a while yet. 

“Your father would love her.” 

“I think so too,” Alexia says, chin resting on her palm as the world melts away, your eyes briefly meeting with hers as one of the children giggles at the face you have just pulled behind their mother’s back. A pang of disappointment reverberates in her chest as she grieves momentarily over the loss of her favourite person on Earth, wishing he could have shared the traumatic experience of today. He would’ve laughed so hard at her face when the lights went on.  

“She seems lovely, really. Very polite. Is it because she’s English?” 

“She is very…”

“I suppose the Latin came from her?” Alba asks with a smirk, prodding the fresh tattoo over the thin material of Alexia’s t-shirt, grinning as her sister hisses in pain. 

“Next time, we can go somewhere quieter and talk properly. I know that you’ll be busy when tonight is over.” 

Both Alexia and Alba shudder. “Mami!” her little sister groans, suppressing her gag. 

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Alba.” 

“Never say ‘sex’ in front of me again,” Alexia tells her smug mother.

“Well, never get so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice the balloons taped to your flat number.” 

Alexia bolts outside to check, and hates herself when she sees them. 

…

“Dance with me!” 

You grab Alexia’s hand, pulling her towards you. The party has lasted longer than she’s happy with, and you have seemingly forgotten about what you could be doing. You love to dance. You love music. 

The little boy who’d been your partner up until now sticks his tongue out at Alexia, and she reciprocates the gesture. She is the birthday girl, after all. 

You don’t understand a word of the music, but the beat flows through your hips as you move them against her. She runs her hands up and down your sides, your tank top now the only layer between your skin and her impatient fingers, hoodie having been stripped off the minute the party became interesting. 

“My mother likes you,” Alexia whispers into your ear as you sway in time to the rhythm. Her lips brush your ear lobe, and you shiver despite the growing heat between you. 

“This was very much a surprise,” you giggle in response, possibly answering wrong because her Spanish didn’t quite catch.

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “You are not having fun?” 

“I am,” you reply with a nod, a smirk slowly creeping into your content expression. She holds her breath, reminding herself of the presence of her family as you grind into her. “But I also can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

They sing again, completing the lyrics this time. You are even taught them before-hand, pushed out to the side of the crowd, very much silently told that you currently hold no place in Alexia’s life in comparison to these people. They all love her. You aren’t there yet. 

But, she values your presence. 

Alexia doesn’t care much about the people here tonight. She sees them almost every day, and she knows they are constants. What she does care about is you. 

You, in that tank top. You, with your hair down, face fresh even though your day must have been exhausting. You, with a red mark on your collarbone that no one knows how to point out to you in English. 

Soon, everyone is gone, and you are panting underneath her. Her lips capture yours, muffling the groan that comes with the movement of her fingers inside you. Your legs wrap around her body tighter, heels digging into her back. 

Her hair falls around you; encapsulating you, surrounding you with only her. Her smell, her taste, her fingers. 

You moan as her determination to destroy you becomes apparent. She hits every spot that has been neglected for the past few months, and though it is the first time the two of you are doing this, it’s as if Alexia has studied your body for years already.

She breaks apart from you as you come, your back arching off the mattress, chest pressing against hers. She wants to see your face for the first time. If she had a camera, she would have used it. You look beautiful. 

Nothing on Earth compares to the cliff you have just been pushed off, and it is as if you are falling for eternity. 

She goes again, and again, and again. She’s an athlete. 

She ruins you, but her strong arms hold you together afterwards. 

You fall asleep, for the first time in a while, with someone by your side. Whose hands find purchase on her favourite part of you, pulling you on top of her as she whines at your own tired attempt to make her feel good. Alexia whispers that she has been given enough, that she doesn’t need it, and she thinks you fall asleep to the sound of her incomprehensible, breathy Spanish. You cling to her. 

…

The tour ends. 

You couldn’t be happier. The final show is a blessing, and the tears in your eyes are of joy. You, Gio, and Anya are going home at last. 

However, the well-decorated flat you walk into lacks everything possible, because there is no Alexia standing in the middle of the living room. She can’t be here, though you wish things were different. The season has been successful for her so far, and she is busy. 

You really miss her. One night wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, and you are starting to realise the gravity of your blushes. 

You like Alexia, and you have fallen hard and fast.

“You’re not coming back with us,” your brother says knowingly, skiing beside you down the picturesque blue run in Les Gets. You have come here every year since you were eight. April is a little later than usual, and the snow often turns to slush towards the afternoon – though one could argue that is simply a cue to move onto apres-ski – but it is pleasant to be on holiday with your family. People try to bother you, but it is easier to pretend you don’t see their waves when you have your ski goggles pulled over your eyes. 

Your brother coughs, not pleased that you are ignoring him, reducing him to ‘everyone else’. (His ego, far too preened, far too large, cannot handle the idea of that.)

In front of the two of you, your father turns with precision and great technique. You can’t relate: you’re drunk. You have been since this morning. 

“Sorry?” Your innocence is pretence and he rolls his eyes behind his Oakleys. 

“Your flight. I saw it was booked to take you somewhere else. Somewhere you’ve been going a lot.” 

“You’re not subtle.” 

“You’re not subtle,” he replies, skis dangerously close to yours. You have to swerve, sending you onto the off-piste section of the run much to your irritation. With the excuse of tackling the jumps, however, you are lucky to evade further questioning, watching as he glides off into the distance, reaching the banner and skidding to a halt to wait for you and your mother. Your mother prefers to drink more than ski. She is always holding up the rear. 

When you return to the chalet, bought by your parents a decade ago to solidify their roots in Les Gets, your brother seems to have remembered your conversation from earlier. Your parents have gone out for dinner, leaving the two of you to make something for yourselves. He is glad to have you alone. 

“You don’t like lads, do you?” And, in truth, it’s an insightful question by his standards. He cares; he just does not know how to show it. 

Pausing the construction of your sandwich for a moment, you allow him to see you for who you are. He’s your brother, after all. “Not at all,” comes your response. 

He hums. “Thought so. You’d have gone out with half of England’s football team otherwise. God knows that they don’t mind.” 

“England has a women’s team.” 

“Gross.” His lips purse as he thinks about his little sister’s love life, and he decides that he would like to know more about Barcelona. “Are you buying a villa?” 

“What?” 

“Well, you go to Barcelona a lot. Are you buying a villa with the girls? Is that what celebrities do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Mum and Dad buy villas. It isn’t just celebrities who splurge on property.” 

“You’re not answering my question.” 

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.” 

He laughs – hearty and deep. His laugh reminds you of dark forests for some reason; tall trees that dwarf your body, but keep you safe nonetheless. “I wish you’d never gotten famous. My life would be so much quieter if half my mates weren’t trying to squeeze something or other out of my connections.” His pride is profound in his misery, and you smile, blushing. “You’re not buying a villa.” 

“Well done, genius,” you taunt, assembling your sandwich once again in hopes that the baguette will kill the buzz in your mind. You can’t really think when you’re drunk, and, recently, when there is nothing else to occupy you, your mind wanders to Alexia. What is she doing now? Does she miss you? Is she excited to see you in three days? 

It dawns upon his face with an amusing animation. “You’re seeing someone,” he accuses. 

“Maybe,” you shrug. “She’d be one lucky girl.” 

“One unlucky girl, you mean. I’d better find out who she is and tell her to run for the hills. You’re about two decades overdue for an exorcism, and it shows.” He swiftly appears behind you, despite his lumbering limbs, and flicks your ear as your teeth sink into your dinner. You squeal, pushing backwards to get him away from you. “What’s her name? Who is she? What does she do?”

“She is… classified.” 

He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to find a list of Spanish names and see which one turns you into a tomato.” 

“She’s still classified.” You prod your index finger into his shoulder.

“Hey.” You retract your finger, surprised by the tenderness of his tone. “You can tell me, you know. You’re my little sister. I really don’t give enough of a fuck to spread it.” 

With great shame, you absolutely do not need to be told twice to talk about your favourite Spanish woman on the planet at the moment. He actually has to beg you to stop. 

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

Not just in terms of your relationship, but in general, too. Walks are more enjoyable, and so are mornings, afternoons, evenings. She likes that you feel comfortable to chill in her flat while she goes to training. She likes that she comes home to you. She likes that you spend your days with a pencil between your teeth, a blank page set out in front of you. 

Now that the tour is over, it is clear what comes next. The new album will be the best ever made, you have decided, because you might finally understand the lyrics that you sing. They could resonate. 

They will resonate. 

Alexia asks you to be her girlfriend when she drops you off at the airport. Your plane is private and she can kiss you goodbye when you agree. 

You love being Alexia’s girlfriend. You repeat your new identity over and over as you fly back to London, and it is a mantra that plays on loop in your mind as you get on with life back home. 

The girls tease you mercilessly when you spill it. All three of you are on the balcony, though this time there is a joint placed between your fingers rather than a cigarette. Slightly high, more so giddy about Alexia, you confess. They’re happy for you, but Gio can’t help but text Anya later that night. 

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

Gio is sitting upright in her bed, ensuring that her panic is quiet so her new boyfriend does not wake up. Her fingers hover over the keys shamefully, but she has to tell someone and it can’t be you.

Gio: The publicity plan. 

It’s at your studio session the next day when all comes to light. Your manager/publicist appears, which is honestly quite rare. She’s not fond of the claustrophobia of the small room, nor the darkness it becomes shrouded in when you, Gio, and Anya are trying not to murder each other. 

Dave swivels around on his chair, bored with the bickering. You aren’t sure about a lyric, but they disagree, even if Anya knows you have a better point than the third member of your group. 

Your manager clears her throat. “Y/n, may I speak with you? It’s quite important.” 

“Do this lyric without me,” you grit out to Gio. 

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

They hear your protests from the studio, the shout of frustration piercing through the small gap underneath the door, overcoming the supposedly impregnable sound-proofing. 

There are tears streaming down your face upon your return. Fuck her, and fuck him. 

Anya and Gio can’t look at you. Their chins dip to their chest as they slump in place, succumbing to the predetermined guilt they discovered last night. 

“It’s not fair,” you cry to them as they refuse to turn around, throwing yourself onto the sofa with a heaving sob. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. She’s going to hate me — she’s not going to love me anymore, and I… I love her.”

Anya’s mouth opens with a sob of her own. She had thought Alexia was a dalliance. She hadn’t realised. 

It’s fun to have someone, she knows, but it is painful to love them. 

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

“You love her?” she asks, though she is sure of the answer as another gasp leaves your body with a chilling desperation. 

“Yes, I fucking love her. It was obvious.” 

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

“They want it to last a few months. Enough to draw the attention away from my aversion to men and his relationship with some blogger.” 

Anya gulps. A few months is a lot to endure, especially for the footballer whose heart you’ll be breaking. “You’ve said no, right?” she tries, paling as she grips onto the mic stand, trying in vain to remember the harmony she is supposed to sing. “You’ve told them… You’re you, of course you’ve said no!”

“Of course,” Gio adds, equally in denial. 

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

Telling Alexia is hard, and not just because of the tears running through your words as you try to get them out over the phone. 

In Barcelona, her head hangs in disappointment. She is never going to be good enough for you, she tells herself. The world will soon slot you by the side of another celebrity, and you will be pictured together as many times as humanly possible. No one will know that she is the one you call when you need to talk to someone, or that it is her rose that is pressed between your favourite copy of Little Women, saved from Sant Jordi. No one will be any the wiser to the girlfriend you keep in Spain, nor assume that you are visiting the country for a reason other than tourism and partying with your favourite foreign men’s football team. 

It goes like this for months. 

It sours the second- place finish in the league even more; makes the Champions League semi-final exit soul-destroying; and completely ruins her joy about winning the Copa de la Reina (worsened by a picture of you and him released the morning of the final). 

She is still your girlfriend, but she is always one step behind you. She is in the shadows of the crowd when you sell out Wembley for the first time, and is just out of frame in the picture captured backstage of you and your lover embracing. His muscles do not feel the same as Alexia’s, but he becomes a friend, you guess. He isn’t fond of the arrangement either. 

Then, when Alexia feels as though she might explode from the jealousy she harbours, she is tested once more as you go radio silent for a day. It’s unbearable. You usually text her every hour. 

She misses hearing you greet her with ‘I took a smoke break’. She misses the taste of your lips, and the heat of your breath, and the swell of emotion you cause inside of her when you show her that you really care. 

It’s a hard day. The Euros have started, and Spain has won their first two group stage matches. Vilda is terrible as usual, but it is nothing in comparison to the cavity left in her chest where you have carved out your notifications. Alexia has never wished to be distracted from football before, but today is clearly Judgement Day. 

“Is this about your girlfriend?” Jenni pesters, mocking Alexia’s frown by exaggerating it on her own face. “She’s not pinging your phone every five minutes and now you’re inconsolable.” 

“I have many things to be upset about,” Alexia replies moodily, though Vilda’s earlier berating has had no effect on her mood because it simply cannot get worse. “Our coach is shit, and we don’t get treated like England or Holland does.”

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

Jenni is repulsed by the fire in Alexia’s belly seemingly having been put out. Her grimace is noticeable as she bends down to unlace her boots, glancing around the shoddy locker room, imagining what Alexia claims a few of the other teams have. 

“Maybe she’s busy. She is, like, famous. She could be out for lunch with Shakira!” 

“No, that was last month.” 

Jenni pauses for a moment, awestruck at her friend's seriousness, before collecting herself and trying another approach. “Why don’t we do some shooting practice while you wait for her to call? That way, Spain gets more goals, and you’re…” 

She doesn’t get to finish, cut off by the alarming brrrp of Alexia’s phone. Her friend saddens at the volume, pitying Alexia for how loud she has turned her ringer up just in case she had been missing your notification all along. 

Alexia swipes her phone up from the bench, and hurries into the toilets. 

Throughout the five months you have been dating, Alexia has become increasingly more aware of your intense reactions to emotional situations. You feel when you feel. She admires you for your work ethic, as you do her, because you fly from Barcelona to London and back again, all while writing songs, humming melodies, and holding together your high-profile life. Unfortunately, your determination and tendency to give everything and more has bled into every aspect of your life. And you are a wreck when she finally gets a word out of you. 

“Tranquila, cariño,” she tries as you suck in a pathetically shallow breath. She knows exactly how many kilometres away from her you are, and she wishes she could sprint the distance. “Tranquila. What has happened?” 

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

“My manager.” Alexia’s hand balls into a fist and she quietly celebrates. Well, until you sob again. “I mean, we all fired her. But now we have no manager and Dave is concerned about the structure of our group and the album sucks and it’s shit and HE tried to kiss me yesterday, even though he’s got a girlfriend too!” 

“Búa, más slower, por favor. I’m not inglesa!” 

Life, even if you are upset right now, starts to look up. You even get to spend a month with her, practising your Spanish (mejor-ing your nivel de español), meeting her family in a more appropriate context, and even watching the first match of the 2017-2018 season. Which Alexia is adamant they will win. 

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

It’s not a hard decision to make. Not when you have built IKEA furniture together, and spent a week in Menorca with her, her mother, and her sister. Not when her English is littered with your vocabulary and references to Virgil and the like, and your family can all shout at you in Spanish because they’ve heard her do it so many times. Not when ‘I love you’ is the easiest sentence she’s ever said. Every minute of her life that she gives you is like exchanging part of her soul for pure, complete bliss. 

You’re fucking freezing, and befuddled at the fact that Alexia has requested to take a walk in the park near your flat. Your Spanish girlfriend, the same woman who finds summer too temperate in England, has somehow turned into a snow-lover, even if there is only damp grass and a biting wind. Alexia wishes England had white Christmases, but it’s a myth, she has discovered. 

The ring sits in her coat pocket. She chose it with Alba before she left the warmer climate of Barcelona, and her sister did not ask her whether she was rushing into things. It’s not too soon; if anything, she should’ve asked a year ago. 

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” you groan as you shiver. She takes your hand, her woollen gloves itchy against your bare skin, but it warms you up. “We could be inside, in bed. There’s a new series we could start, or, I don’t know, don’t you have some football game to watch?” 

“I hate watching football with you.” 

You part your lips to respond, but she is not lying and she has said it before. Some bullshit about you supporting all the wrong teams. 

“Well, I hate it when you drag me out into the freezing cold for no reason. If you want a dog to bring on walks, just say so. We can go to Battersea before you leave tomorrow.” 

“Don’t,” she murmurs, halting you both near the inky water of the lake you have been circling for the past five minutes. It sucks that her visits are temporary, even if you are technically moved into each other’s homes (she has your keys, you have hers). With the remaining time left before her flight tomorrow at noon, she has worked up the courage to do it now. 

It’s like scoring a goal: receive the pass; dribble; gear up for it; shoot. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Her free hand reaches into her pocket. “Nada.” 

“No, you’re acting weird…” You blink a few times as if to adjust better to the dim light coming from the distant lampposts. A plop sounds from the water, and she jumps. She’s on edge.

“No.” 

“Yes. Jesus, you haven’t decided to break up with me in the middle of a park at night, have you?” Your question packs an unnerved insecurity, and she feels a little guilty about the suspense. She fiddles with the ring in her pocket, and then she takes a deep breath. “Hey,” you try tenderly. “Seriously, Ale, what’s wrong?” 

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She sighs, “here,” and she grabs your hand to press it into the soft warmth inside. And there’s a piece of metal, heated by her fingers. With a chunk of rock on top of it. It feels like an engagement ring. You’re probably not getting broken up with tonight. 

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hòstia.” She frowns, and you consider pushing her into the lake. “I am going to say it now.”

“But you already—”

A quick display of her athleticism, for the muscles exist despite being buried underneath all those layers, and she is down on one knee. Her joggers will have wet patches, and she hates the squelch of the mud beneath her, but she has a perfect view of your surprise. Your tears. 

“Bueno. Your brother helped me to… write the speech,” she starts, and her rehearsal is adorable. Although, honestly, you don’t hear what she has to say because you have already made up your mind. 

You tell her yes in as many languages as you can. 

And she thanks you with breathy moans into your mouth as you guide her towards a bench, and then your flat, and finally your bed. 

When you are finished, well into the early hours of the morning she will have to leave, you climb out of bed, missing the firm grip of her toned arms the minute you’re out of it. There is a burning, overwhelming sureness inside of you that you can’t escape. You know it is soon – probably too soon for most – but there is a person out there for everyone, and yours is right in your bed. 

Your guitar, slightly dusty from the neglect because of your frequent visits to Barcelona, rumbles when you pluck it from its stand, collapsing into the armchair beside your bed with a groan, feeling the ache of your muscles that only affirm just how good a time you’ve had with your fiancée. 

You don’t play anything interesting, but the noise is enough to rouse Alexia from her heavy slumber. She lifts her head from where it has been buried within the silk pillows of your bed, and watches as your fingers pluck the nylon strings with vague allusion to one of your older songs. The weight of her ring – your engagement ring – does not seem to affect your playing: in fact, Alexia realises your hand was naked without it. You hum, fingers beginning to itch for a cigarette the minute the guitar starts to bore you, and she clears her throat. 

Her grin is self-satisfied and certain. “Me voy a casar contigo,” she says into the dark stillness of your bedroom.

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

You stay in Barcelona in December, hiding from the bitter chill of England. No one questions it, and the absence of a manager grants you so much freedom. The girls pop to the city one weekend to brainstorm a song, but, other than that, you are content to forget your own identity and become Alexia’s fiancée, one of the regulars at the increasingly more popular Barça Femení games (only the team know you’re there, able to see through the caps and sunglasses). 

There are still rumours circulating about you and him, though their credibility has lessened ever since he revealed himself to have been in LA for a while. To the world, you’re sort of MIA. They catch you occasionally when you return to London for photoshoots or just to chat with your friends and family, but they get nothing more. Your Instagram posts are few and far between, and the most recent paparazzi picture is of you leaving Gio’s house to buy her a pregnancy test. 

When the test is positive, something is tweaked inside of you, and you return to Barcelona – a place that is now your home too – carrying a lead-ish guilt. 

Alexia loves her football, and Alexia is obsessed with her career. You are too, but you have done what you can, really. The BRIT nominees will be announced tomorrow, and you know that you and the girls are on that list. You have your fame, you have your money. But Alexia has neither, and she should. Especially when her male counterparts are raised high and mighty on large, golden platforms. 

You know just how ambitious she is, and that is why you lack surprise when you enter her flat to find her hunched over her iPad at the dining table, replaying the same twenty-second clip over and over until she has identified every single fault and created a plan to correct them. 

She barely registers your presence, but you don’t mind how absorbed she is in her footage. It is nice to make the ever-composed Alexia jump when you slink up behind her, pressing your lips against her neck. She dissolves herself in the fuzzy feeling you give her.

“Hola,” she says, regaining control when she spots another mistake, grasping her pen tightly as she scribbles down Spanish words you can’t be bothered to read. 

“Hola,” you reciprocate, though you are a lot more enthusiastic about it. “Tengo una pregunta.” 

“Oh no.” You wrap your arms around her shoulders, and she relaxes. Your ring reflects the light from her screen as if to remind her that you are hers, and that softens her previous sternness slightly. Another kiss to the skin behind her ear, and she is more open to talk. 

Clicking your tongue, you think of where to start. “Okay, first, I have news.”

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

“She’s… pregnant.” The emergency you were recalled to London for was actually a pleasant surprise for her and her boyfriend. You’re unsure about how committed they are to each other, and whether a baby is a great idea, but you held your tongue when Anya shook her head at you. 

“Uf. Pobrecita, ¿no? She loves tequila.” 

“She does love tequila,” you agree with a chuckle. You extend your hand slightly and press pause on the footage. Alexia pushes back against you. Her chair scrapes against the wooden floorboards, but there is a gap between her and the table now. She motions for you to sit in her lap. 

She tilts your chin up and kisses you gently: a welcome home kiss. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?”

“What would you do if I told you that I was pregnant tomorrow?” 

“I would ask you if you have been cheating on me with a man,” she replies instantly. You laugh, head falling forwards, resting on her shoulder. She runs her hands up your sides, fingers firm, thighs tensing underneath you. 

“But hypothetically. If it were possible,” you continue, a smirk working its way onto your lips, guilt forgotten. You may have spent your plane journey scrolling through pictures of Alexia with the various babies in your life. It was a self-indulgent act, and it has very much led you to now. 

Her eyebrows furrow with the adorable crinkle in between them, and she is seriously trying to work out if she is missing something. You go to London, you come back, you want a baby? 

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

She watches the smirk on your face blossom into a smile, and she feels a matching one tug her lips upwards. “Is it going to support España or England?” The latter is pronounced in your accent, and you make a mental note to ask Jenni if she has been doing impressions of you to her teammates. 

“It can choose when it’s older,” you say, waving off her stupid football question. Since dating her, your interest in football has decreased. She has sort of put you off. You only really watch it to watch her now, or when United are playing an interesting game and your father is antsy enough to text you every minute. 

“No, it can’t.” You blink. She pulls you into her. “It chooses now. Spain or England, and Manchester United or Barcelona. There are right answers.” 

“Manches–”

“Wrong! I think I will have to make sure the baby is not brainwashed.” 

You panic for a moment. “Wait, you do know I’m not really pregnant, right?!” 

Alexia is not the most ready for children, but she is always prepared to give you everything you want. “If you want a baby, mi amor, let’s make a baby. Sin chicos.” You giggle coyly as she hoists you up – the display of strength exuding an unbearably sexy cockiness. “And after,” she says in between kisses as she stands, “we can look on the Internet for options.” 

“¡Vamos!”

…

The Barcelona women’s team congas its way back into the Home team changing room of the Joan Gamper, following a 7-0 win. Alexia kicked off the goal-laden game in the sixth minute, and she is on cloud nine. Victory is the sweetest taste in her mouth, and one where she knows you are watching is even better. 

Mapi flicks her shoulder as they dance to the music bursting from someone or other’s speaker. “You’re so happy,” she says, her grin wide and eyes shining. They dance topless, most of them, but Alexia has subtly been rushing to get dressed and find you. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and she has promised that you can take her to dinner somewhere now that your morning sickness has subsided and only started to affect you when it is supposed to. 

“We just won,” she explains over the shouts of joy from her teammates. 

María León joined from Atleti this season, but she has known Alexia longer than that, and she can tell when there is something more to football in her emotions. Though it is a well-kept secret, Alexia has two obsessions, and you are one of them. 

“Yo sé. But you have been very happy recently, in general. Except, you don’t come out for team nights or hang back to practise more after training, so it is definitely to do with Y/n.” Alexia’s absence in her teammates’ lives is actually unusual, seeing as you are very encouraging and a firm believer in the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality. Your urging is what sends Alexia to bars and clubs with the girls, though she has neglected all of these outings ever since you showed her your positive pregnancy test (best belated birthday present ever). “So… what’s going on?” 

“You’re so nosy.” 

“I’m interested. I love her, and I want to know how she has made it so that you haven’t had a bad day for the last three months, even when we lost to Bilbao. Is it sex? Does she suffer through–”

“No!” Alexia interjects, cheeks reddening. Mapi smirks at the twenty-four-year-old, proud to have embarrassed her. She still claims that she is not a prude. Her phone buzzes on the bench – you’re asking how long she is going to take.

Mapi swipes Alexia’s clean clothes from her grip, holding them behind her back as she giggles at her friend’s exasperation. “Tell me, or go outside like that.” 

“Good thing it’s May,” Alexia shrugs, grabbing her phone and bag, knowing you won’t at all mind spending time with her in just her sports bra. She is pulled back by Mapi, who has hooked her finger into the waistband of Alexia’s shorts and yanked hard enough for them to have stretched. 

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

“So it wasn’t you who told Leila about Patri’s crush when I made it clear that we weren’t even supposed to know?” Mapi shifts uncomfortably, letting go of the shorts. “And it definitely wasn’t you who let everyone find out about my engagement because you don’t know what an inside voice is?” 

“Hey, you never specified that you were going to be sneaky about it!” she defends, as she has done ever since the entire canteen went silent in shock and then, two seconds later, broke out into a clamour of pleas to be bridesmaids and to get Bad Bunny invited to the wedding. 

“It was implied,” Alexia shoots back with a glare. 

“Fine. Be annoying. I’ll just ask Y/n.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s got better things to do.” 

“Ouch,” Leila says, patting Mapi on the back as she shoves her way into the conversation. The two are partners in crime, and Alexia hates that she is now outnumbered. “But tell us. Please, Ale.” 

“We’ll even not nutmeg you for a week.” They love to try. It’s their highest priority mission.

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

“Y/n is pregnant.” Three months down the line is not necessarily when she wants to announce her personal business to the entirety of Spain, but you both know that it’s safe to tell people now.

Mapi laughs. “Ay, Alexia, you don’t have to lie to us.”

She looks at her friends blankly, having not expected this reaction. When she told her mother, the woman at least had it in her to take it seriously (albeit with quite the cautious ‘are you sure?’). “I’m not lying,” she then says, more to Leila than the giggling Mapi in front of her.

“You’re not…?” Leila tries, grappling with it. Two pairs of eyes drift down to Alexia’s crotch, squinting at the material as though some previously concealed appendage is going to jump out at them.  

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

“She’s, like, actually pregnant? Like, de verdad, she is pregnant?” 

“Or she’s smuggling a lime under her shirt.” Her nod is small and she has the glimmer of a smile on her face despite Leila and Mapi’s gobsmacked expressions. Her phone buzzes: it’s you again. “And, if you two don’t mind, I don’t want to leave her waiting for me outside.” 

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

When she finally escapes the changing room, she climbs into her car. With heartbreak from both you and your dad, you have sold your i8 in favour of getting Alexia a Land Rover. Most of your money is in savings. You earn loads, but it is hard to find things you want to spend it on, and a lot of it goes towards private jets to get you to and from Alexia. 

You are sitting in the passenger seat. “Jugaste bien,” you say as her hand moves up from its instinctive resting place on your thigh, settling on the growing swell of your stomach. “I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.” 

“A horse?” 

“Or a house. Or, I don’t know, an entire cavalry. Feed me.” Her alarm — a mistranslation — causes her to almost run over the steward directing her out of the car park. “Tengo mucha hambre, Ale.” She nods with a roll of her eyes. She’s been warned about pregnant women. 

…

In the bustling excitement of Estadi Johan Cruyff, which has slowly filled with more and more fans in the time you have known the plastic seats and improving pitch, you find yourself in the midst of an unexpected turn of events. With your due date approaching and Alexia’s insistence that you are surely made of glass, you have been forced to part from your sisters (Gio and Anya) and live in Barcelona. She wants the baby to be born here. You’ve negotiated that the next one will be had in London. 

Alexia’s mother notices the deep breath you take in, well-acquainted with the horror on your face having worn that same expression twice before. ¿Estás bien?” she asks you, the steadiness of her voice comforting to the flurry inside your head. 

The whistle blows and the game kicks off. This can’t be happening now. 

It’s too early. There’s a… What are they called? Braxton-hicks? 

“Sí,” you affirm with a curt nod. The not-contraction doesn’t hurt that much, you tell yourself. You settle in the seat and focus on the match in front of you, using the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers (it can now be called a crowd!) to keep you grounded. With a reassuring smile, Eli offers you her hand. You take it and try not to crush her metacarpals. 

It’s definitely possible that you are in actual labour, considering the increasing intensity of your contractions, but you are not about to leave the match. Alexia would notice your absence. This game is important for her team – it’s the last before the Christmas break. 

At halftime, Eli quietly reassesses you, tricking you into seeing the team’s medic when guiding you to the ‘toilet’. Already briefed on the situation, the medic asks you a few questions in accented English, much like that of your newly trilingual fiancée. “Don’t tell her,” you beg quietly through a huffed sigh, gladly taking the seat offered to you. “I’ll wait until it’s finished.” 

“There is another hour left.” 

Your ears burn and another contraction shoots through you. You shake your head, fending off the pain while you do so. “He can’t be a Barcelona fan,” you insist. Eli grins at the knowledge that her first grandchild will be a boy, but you do not see it, too focused on convincing the medic to keep the child’s other mother in the dark about what is currently happening in the Barcelona medical room. “I’ll wait.” 

Eli hands you your phone per your request. You call Gio, whose daughter is only two months old. “Don’t tell me,” she starts when you fail to greet her. The sound of her voice, her accent, her tone is relieving, though you are incredibly grateful for the woman who continues to hold your hand as though you are her own daughter. “Nah, nah. Where are you? I’m gonna jump on a flight, alright? I’ll call Anya and we’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

“Babe, we are going to rush. Where are you?!” 

“A match!” You try to remember the breathing exercises you learnt for this exact moment. “Her match. Second half’s only just started. She… She doesn’t know.” 

Gio’s loud, boisterous laugh rings out, and you can tell that she is not at home. No one with a newborn baby can afford to make noise at that volume. “Fucking hell. Ever heard of sense?” You don’t respond, embarrassed that you are in too much pain to think of a comeback. “I’ve left Mia at my mum’s, so don’t you worry. Want me to bring anything from home? Cadbury’s, maybe?” 

“One of those massive bars?” 

“Yep, done deal.” She pauses. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna ring Anya now, alright? Call your mum – or your dad, if you two haven’t yet made up. I’ll see you soon. Tell Alexia her baby’s on the way!” 

Your protests are cut off by the final beep of her hanging up, and your head drops back as another contraction, your body squeezed as though some giant rubber band has just snapped back into place. Eli stands up, worried now. 

Before you can tell her that you are alright, a gush of water hits the sterile floor with an unnerving splatter. The prospect of having to care for another life suddenly becomes very real. “Tenemos que ir al hospital.” 

“No.” 

“Soy la abuela. Yo sé que hacer.” Even the medic, who has nervously stayed by your side, much more experienced with ACLs than broken waters (and stubborn pregnant women), looks intimidated by the firmness of Eli’s words. “Por favor”: she softens her blow. 

You glance around the room, slowly descending into agony and helpless against the wrath of rationality from your fiancée’s mother. “How long’s left of the match? ¿Cuántos minutos quedan?” 

The medic holds up all ten fingers. You grapple with your body, begging the baby to sit tight for a moment. “Let her finish. We can go when the whistle blows.”

Your contractions get closer together. 

Eli’s frustration leads her to ask God for the baby to not have inherited your stubbornness. She also loves you more for it; admiring your insistence to keep Alexia from missing everything. 

You don’t call your own mother. You simply type out a shaky text to the family group chat; blunt and to the point. ‘Baby. Now.’

Half of your universe storms the web, booking flights to Barcelona. Anya and Gio are almost at the airport already — a few steps ahead of your panicking parents and your brother, who has been enjoying dinner at the Savoy with his clients. Those who serve as your planets, revolving around you like you are the sun, do you a favour, letting Dave know that you probably won’t make it to the Skype call scheduled for tomorrow morning. Dave, in turn, now expanding into management, informs your newly-hired publicist (good riddance to the old one). The world has expected a pregnancy announcement ever since you failed to appear at your most recent awards show, despite winning in your category. 

It's almost an eternity later that Alexia, football boots clacking against the floor, flings open the door of the medical room. Eli calls out, warning her daughter about slipping on the sizable puddle that has spread out beneath you. 

Your fiancée is valiant in her attempt to mask her sheer panic. 

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asks her mother, stepping over your amniotic fluid and placing her hand on your shoulder. You squint, trying to open your eyes though this contraction has been the most excruciating so far. 

“We were waiting for you. She was adamant that you finished your match.” 

“No football match is more important than her!” If you understood Catalan (and weren’t in labour), you’d have teased her for being a sap. “Call an ambulance, Jesus Christ. Look at her — she needs a doctor.” Her composure revisits her fleetingly, and she turns to the medic. “Thank you for looking after her.” There is no answer because it is drowned out by her barking more orders her mother’s way. 

“No ambulance,” you declare before your mouth opens in a silent sob. “Drive me. Not an ambulance.” 

The last glimpse the Estadi Johan Cruyff gets of Alexia Putellas in 2018 is her carrying you to her mother’s car, your face buried in her team-issued jacket in case anyone is waiting outside to take pictures of the players. 

Eli drives; something she doesn’t like doing often but feels is necessary with the nervous bounce of her daughter’s legs in the backseat enough to convince her that they’d speed like the Flash if anyone else ended up behind the wheel. She knows Barcelona, can navigate it with her eyes closed, and you are at the hospital before you can begin to tell Alexia how much you think you can’t do this. 

“I really fucking can’t do this!” you cry out, situated in the delivery room. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, already dampening your hair. Alexia thinks you look beautiful, and she has been made proud of the last two hours. You’ve also helped her a lot with English swearwords. 

“You can.” 

“I can’t.” You’re told to push again. “Alexia, you are having the… next… fucking… beach ball.” Each word is punctuated by a guttural moan. 

Waves of intense pain contort your face in agony, and the midwife continues to talk you through your task as though instructing you how to park a car. “Estás haciendo muy bien, mi amor,” she tells you, ignoring the possibility that you may have rendered her left hand boneless. 

“There’s a baby coming out of my vagina,” you shout, “don’t even try to test my Spanish, you twat.” 

The midwife shoots your fiancée a pitiful look. “She’ll take it back,” she says in Catalan. 

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

You can imagine the conversation taking place in the middle of you delivering her literal child. “No, I won’t! It’s breaking me in half.” You grip her hand harder. “Never. Again.” 

But, with a final, visceral (and heavily encouraged) push, the room is filled with the sound of life. Nico comes into the world screaming at the top of his lungs. All Alexia can think to say is, “definitely yours.” 

…

Life is a lot more tiring trying to juggle being a mother and a pop star. 

The press have a field day when you announce the birth of your son with a simple Instagram post, your engagement ring second only to the swaddled lump on your chest. The caption (‘ours’) sparks debate on who exactly is the other parent. Well, father. Alexia’s teammates, while waiting to finally be allowed to meet your bundle, spend a good two months teasing her mercilessly about it. Most notably, Alexia almost loses La Reina to Papi. 

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

You hire a new manager so that Dave can focus fully on the last album 2sday will produce. The group has been together for six years, and you have made your millions.You seek neither money nor fame, but it comes knocking on the door of your quaint apartment in Barcelona anyway, along with a record deal only for you. A solo act.

Between Nico crying, Alexia playing football, and you trying to write songs that don’t end up criminally depressing, the contract on your dining table slowly becomes forgotten about. Alexia is too stressed about the impending World Cup to grant you a moment to breathe. You spend your days in Barcelona with a baby attached to your hip, the question of his parenthood still a mystery to the public, and, ever so slowly, you begin to resent your life. 

It could be postpartum depression, but you have no time to really investigate the symptoms. 

Alexia, two weeks before she needs to leave for her national camp and then the World Cup in France, comes home to an eerily silent apartment. 

She calls out your name, wondering if you have perhaps gone to her mother’s house. The terrible sinking feeling comes with your reply. “Can we talk?” you ask. 

She finds you perched on the Egyptian cotton sheets that cover your double bed. The sheets are out of place here, greatly exceeding the original budget of the decor, and, where Alexia sees this as you adding to her life, you feel you are somewhere you don’t belong. It is fine when she is next to you, holding your hand, claiming the other half of the now six-month-old baby boy gurgling in his carseat. When she isn’t there, though, the vacant space taunts you. 

“I have no friends here,” you tell her quietly. The gravity of the mood settling over you pulls her onto the mattress, not caring if the sheen of sweat she wears as her outermost layer of clothing dirties the expensive creamy white beneath her. “I have no friends, I don’t speak the language, and I think that I have played at being a normal person for long enough. I mean, it’s great to watch you and to be there for you, but, darling, that’s not who I am. This,” you gesture to the loungewear you have on, stained with dribble, “is not who I am.” 

Alexia hears what you are saying. She understands; she remembers the nights where you’d call her, a cigarette rasping your voice, sparkles shining in the valley between your breasts. She has seen this coming. It would be impossible not to notice the dimming of such a strong love between you: still present, yet slowly fading away. 

“They want me to sign a new deal. Alone.” The suitcases lined up in the corner of the bedroom become glaringly obvious. Nico is in his carseat for a reason. “I think it would be good for me to go back to London. I need to feel like myself again, and my parents are willing to watch him. I sold my flat – I’ve bought a house in Highgate.” Tears sting your eyes as you speak, and you know where Alexia’s shoulder is without having to look, resting your head against it. “I love you. I love you so much, but I just can’t do this anymore.” 

It’s as if the ground crumbles away beneath her. Your words hang above Alexia’s neck like an axe, waiting to execute her, waiting to end everything. She can’t look at Nico, whose face crumples at his mother’s clear heartbreak. 

The world, once vibrant, lays in ruins. Her funny story from training dies on her tongue, and her question of whether you wanted to visit her mother before she left for camp disintegrates, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asks, and you hate the way her voice cracks with uncertainty. “Are you moving permanently?” 

“I haven’t called anything off. It’s still going ahead as planned.” She senses the but. “But I… I can’t think here. I can’t be here. I want – I need – to go home.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

She is going to be at the World Cup anyway. You and her will always find your way back to each other. She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” 

She is going to fall apart without you. 

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

[milawritesstuff]

Can u do gavi and reader going on vacation with gavi's family plssss <3

•••

•••

You and Pablo walked through the airport to arrivals where his parents were waiting for you two. This was your first time in Sevilla and you were excited to spend some time with Pablo and his family but also nervous. His parents found the two of you and his dad took your luggage as you all walked to their car.

-I’m so glad you two are here.- said his mom as she opened the car door for you to step in and she gave her son a hug.

You and Pablo sat in the back as his father began to drive off. You were extremely nervous and your boyfriend knew it. You felt as he grabbed your thigh and squeezed it a bit causing you to turn around to look at him. You smiled at each other and he leaned into your ear. -Everything is going to be okay.- he whispered.

When you got to his family’s house his mom gave you the tour. -And this is where you will stay Y/N.- she said opening up a door.

-Does she really have to stay in Aurora’s room?- Gavi rolled his eyes. His mom turned to look at him. -Pablo, she will be more comfortable here. Besides Aurora won’t be here.- you smiled.

They left you alone to unpack your suitcase. You heard a knock on the door. -Can I come in?- said Gavi.

He stepped in and you smiled. He approached you and took you in for a hug. He rested his head on your shoulder. -I’m going to miss sleeping by your side.- he said.

-It’s just for a few days Pablito.- you reassured him.

That night you were all going out for dinner. You put on a white dress and began to laugh when Gavi opened the door to the room and began to whistle.

You rolled your eyes. -Pablo, please stop.-

-I’ll stop when you stop being so damn gorgeous.- he hugged you and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

Thirty minutes later you were all on your way to dinner. As you waited outside of the restaurant a little girl walked by and looked up at you.

-You are beautiful.- she yelled. Your cheeks began to burn because everyone turned to look at you. You bent down and looked at the little girl. -You know you’re beautiful too?- she giggled.

-What’s your name?- you asked her.

-Lucia.-

-Nice to meet you guapa Lucia.-

The little girl began to giggle and ran towards her parents. As you stood up you could feel Gavi’s mom looking at you. You looked at her and smiled.

-You like kids?- she asked. You raised your shoulders. -I’m an only child and don’t really have cousins but I love little kids.-

She smiled and nodded. She looked over se Gavi and sent him a smile too.

-When the time is right.- she said. -I’m sure got and Pablo will be great parents.-

That was the first source of affirmation you had received from Gavi’s mother. Prior to that you thought she in fact hated you because you were keeping her son in Barcelona. He had began to visit less since the two of you began to date.

Dinner went by smoothly. The four of you laughed and shared stories.

-And what is the plan once you’re done with uni?- asked his dad. You turned over to look at Gavi.

-I want to go do some additional classes in Italy.- you said as you took a bite of your food.

-Like stay there for a while?- his mom asked. You nodded. -It’s a year course. Once I’m done with that miss job opportunities would open up.-

-She has a wonderful plan.- said Gavi as he held your hand and squeezed it. You smiled at him. You saw as his parents looked at both of you and smiled.

You feel asleep on your way home. Your head rested on Gavi’s shoulder. You opened your eyes. -Let’s get you up to your room.- he said. You got out of the car and grabbed his hand as he led you.

-Buenas noches.- you said to his parents as you walked past them in the kitchen. They smiled and said goodnight. As you Ana Gavi were walking up the stairs you heard his mom in the back.

-Pablo, if Y/N is more comfortable switch her stuff to your room.- he turned over to you and smiled.

-They love you.- he said.

#pablo gavi #pablo gavira #gavi fluff #gavi imagine #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi requests #gavi

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

about that guy I met on my European vacation--

OK, don’t get too excited, nothing that crazy or illegal happened. But I learned a few things about myself in the process that I thought I’d share. GET READY BECAUSE SHE A LONG ONE

So here I am on my 35 day European tour of a lifetime, starting in Barcelona and ending in Greece. When I get to Barcelona I have to meet my tour director after driving from the airport because he has the keys to our rooms. I knew he was Greek beforehand in the group chat--I’ve seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding about a million times and also I’ve played Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, and his accent confirms it. “I like your name,” he says when I introduce myself, and it’s from this point onward that I have two missions for this trip. Number one: have an amazing time. Two: avoid this man at all costs, except when necessary for the tour. 

Avoiding him is simply about survival, even if he seems personable and truly wants to get to know all of us on the tour. I know I’m not that interesting a person and he is quite good looking and also really charming. If I’m not careful, I’ll catch feelings. I know me. He’ll just be doing his job and I’ll mistake it for attraction. I’ve lived through this song and dance before. It’s the curse you wear when you’ve grown up in a body that society doesn’t deem as good enough. Even if time has made me what society would call “prettier,” old thoughts of you’re not pretty enough for him are going to linger, lines forged by the likes of my grandmothers and casting directors. I am the funny side character, not the romantic lead. Hell, in college I wasn’t even on the stage. I remained in the backstage area as the helper. The funny side character stays on the sidelines. She provides funny banter, not the romance arc. She has to protect herself. 

Yet there’s a moment after Barcelona before we head to Paris where he ends up having dinner with me and my friend, myself terrified when he plops down at the same restaurant we’ve chosen. I don’t do much of the talking, my friend does, asking him all sorts of questions about his life I wish I could have asked, and some brazen ones in my mind anyway like are you married or attached? he’s not, come to find out. I glean he’s sort of a wayward traveler and content with that, but he admits he’s getting a bit too old for this tour directing thing. He also lets me try his food. It’s a small kindness I wouldn’t have expected from an American man. I feel brave. I tell him I like the way he says my name. 

“That’s what I said,” he says, twinkle in his eye. (No, it’s not. I let it be. I like the way he says it. To Europeans I even begin introducing myself via his pronunciation.)

Time passes without incident. I follow my promises in Paris, London, and Amsterdam. I know my other friend L likes him a lot and says she danced with him in Paris where they connected. It’s probably true, but I don’t know--I also can’t help but feel there’s something in the way he looks at me. A glimmer of something or other that some part of me recognizes, but doesn’t think can be the case. Not for me. I know my place. Then Prague happens. 

A lot of things happen in Prague. The morning of our tour through the city I get an email asking if I’m still interested in joining the company I applied to before my trip. I can’t believe it. I’m in Europe, and when I come back there is now the possibility I won’t have to go back to teaching. The day goes on, a terrible heat wave in the city. He takes the group out to a medieval dinner--sort of an interactive renaissance fair. We’re all as a unit, very drunk and ready for more drinking and dancing. It may be one of the best days of my life. Here I am in Europe, a world away from last year in the deepest pits of my depression and anxiety, drinking beer with an amazing group of travelers who I get to call my friends. We hit one bar, and then another, an Irish pub where he is, of course--he loves his Irish pubs and makes no secret of it. He flits around and some of my friends chit chat with him, but I of course don’t say anything. Of course we want to keep the party going--so we head out to this eighties dance club where he follows. I admit my eye is on him during the night--he helps out one of my friends who gets so drunk she can’t walk. (And he avoids her attempts to hit on him as well) but mostly I dance and I dance and I dance and I drink and I let loose in a way I don’t think I ever have. I feel beautiful. I feel free. And hell, when I see myself in the mirror--I am beautiful. Later, my friend tells me how cute I was drunk. I let loose. She’s right. Everything is perfect, except for the nagging realization I have to pee.

Upon what I call the pee test, wherein you get to see how drunk you are in the bathroom, I am moderate. I can stand but things are a little wobbly. Not the drunkest I’ve been, but pretty drunk. I emerge from the bathroom. There he is. 

He grabs my hand. He doesn’t let go. He stares into my goddamn soul. One of my friends is prattling on about going to another bar, I think, but it’s so loud because “Here Comes the Rain Again” or something is playing. He is insistent I come along too to this other bar with them all, still looking into the depths of my soul and holding my hand. In my drunken, yet still somewhat lucid state, I ask him why on earth he’s standing outside the girl’s bathroom. No answer, but my hand is still in his, and his eyes are still looking into the depths of my goodman soul. I feel really fucking pretty. So pretty, part of me realizes a good looking man is holding my hand. I hold on tighter.

We don’t end up going to another bar, we end up staying, but still holding my hand he takes me away from the girl’s restroom, finally, and eventually a tentative arm is places around me, something I reciprocate until more people crowd around. Shots are bought. We take a shot together before back to the dance floor we go. He dances with me, our backs turned in this shoulder-to-shoulder sort of shimmy, and I am vaguely aware of my ass grinding against his. When it’s over I am horror-stricken. People definitely saw me grind with our hot as hell Grecian tour director. But I’m in it too deep. I want to dance with him again, and I throw out some joke as I shake my hips about how they are going to hurt tomorrow--to which he laughs. It’s at this point another girl notices and literally throws herself on him. I watch with my mouth agape as he fights off her advances, and watch as he eventually untangles himself and leaves. 

I can’t sleep that night. Number one there’s a heat wave and I’m on the top bunk, and two, I’m swimming with thoughts of what the hell just happened. He started it, but why? The funny side character shouldn’t be treated like the romantic lead. The morning comes and the girls in my room mention his behavior from previous cities after noting how the other girl danced on top of him. They mention behavior I haven’t seen, and are concerned about his professionalism and if tour guides should go out dancing with tour groups. “I think I danced with him,” I say. “You did,” my friend replies. I  can’t help but feel judged. 

We move on from Prague in our trip. In Switzerland I decide to accept the new job. I see more glances from him here and there. He watches me get hit on in Venice. Then there’s this one particular look he gives me before we drive to Florence that I can’t shake away. I tell him good morning and the way he replies, you’d think I made his morning. 

Once in Rome I end up crying. We are deep into the trip and I want to talk to my Mom about my new job and also what happened. It’s confusing and I don’t get it and is this lack of professionalism true or something that should bother me? My friend L tells me a rumor he kissed a girl in Barcelona in our group and confessed his life story to her--and she says she doesn’t like him anymore, albeit for different reasons. I never ask. But there’s something ingrained within me that senses shenanigans will happen, even that night after I kiss an Italian boy. 

I’m right. It’s the second night in Rome. I go to a bar with two other friends. Apparently this is his favorite Irish bar in the whole of Europe, and of course he’s there. He plops beside me, deriding my choice in drinking Heineken when I should get an Italian beer. He asks me what I’m going to do when I come back to the states. I joke about ice water. He teases me. I tell him the truth, that I want to talk to my mom about a few things. I think about Prague, but leave that out and tell him about my new job, and how it’s everything I wanted but I’m nervous to leave teaching and also take a decrease in pay, but it’s also exciting because my head will be clearer to write more during the day, and I get a foothold in a career that’s interesting to me. He’s happy for me. 

From there, we talk, and we talk, and we talk and do occasional shots with the others I came with. The night is a blur, I can’t say everything we talked about--movies for one where he’s impressed I know who Laurence Olivier is. (”Of course I do! I’m a Shakespearean!”) and places he’s been to. he loves architecture, and tells me I could pass as Italian, and even Greek. (He’s right, I get mistaken for Greek a lot a little later) I show him a picture of my grandparents, and when my friend next to me starts showing pictures of the various colors she’s dyed her hair, I casually mentioned I stopped dyeing my hair. “Why would you?” he asks, “it’s a pretty color.” Once, he offhandedly mentions he’s self-conscious about his accent. I tell him I like it. Rather bashfully, he thanks me.

He takes a picture of us in the bar and posts it to the group chat. More people arrive. We kind of remain by each other’s side. He buys me a beer separate from the rest of the group. At some point I have to pee. On my way back from peeing I end up smooching another Italian man. He uses too much tongue too quickly for my taste. On my way back, he follows me. You know who sees this whole exchange and is very amused I got hit on, apparently. I think I mention something or other about my therapist telling me to kiss boys in Europe. Then he’s gone--gone without saying goodbye, and I’m a little upset but mostly I’m elated. I talked virtually all night with a man I find attractive, and not once did I run away. My good mood is only spoiled by the fact that I learn when I call home that my grandma was placed in the hospital.

The next day after the Vatican I’m eating with my friend L and a few others, and she casually mentions how he tried to get her to party with him yesterday. Driven by tiredness and also my news from the previous night, I go to my hotel room and cry. I don’t feel like he played me, but more so that I played myself. I’m just the funny side character after all. Why would I think I’m special? We’re going to Greece in the morning, and my body is just so tired I have no desire to go. 

But go we do, and once in Athens I just feel very, very happy. I can’t even really describe why the city makes me so happy. but I feel safe there. I feel like maybe the past life reader I emailed back in April was right, Greece was once my home in a time before. One thing is sure, I am not wasting my time on my tour director anymore. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the trip. 

Except he’s eating lunch the same place me and my friends decide to eat at. We leave him be but he’s as amiable as ever. And then later that night when me and another group of girls decide to go for drinks at a rooftop bar---he tags along. I don’t really speak to him much, other girls in the group dominate the conversation, but I try my best to look wistful and unbothered. He lets me sip from his beer, and when I ask my smoker friend for a cigarette puff  he beats her and gives me a puff of his. He mentions the Irish bar in Rome and how I was there with him. I feel a sort of electricity when he plops by me to smoke and he’s pointed toward me. 

The next day at the Acropolis he gives me this sort of playful, dreamy look I don’t see him give anyone else, and I ask if he thinks I look silly in my hat. “Yes,” he says, and I laugh. Another dreamy look in Paros when we’re by ourselves by the sea for the briefest moment. He looks at me like I’m a revelation. It makes me laugh. It makes me feel like the romantic lead. One last wistful look the next morning before we return to Athens when he tells me “good morning.” Again, I feel a sort of revelation. My friend tells me later there’s a rumor he slept with a girl in our group. I kind of don’t care.

At our last dinner in Athens before we all must leave, I give him his tip. We embrace, we take a photo. He wants me to send it to him. I do, and he gives it a little heart. He comes out dancing with the group, one last time. I don’t see him for a bit, but when he bumps into me in the club he asks me where my drink is. I ask him if he’s going to buy me one to replace it. He teases me before agreeing, and then more people crowd around and suddenly we’re taking shots. It’s at this point I see the rumored girl he slept with in our group cuddle up near him, to which he doesn’t reciprocate. I give a certain look of disgust, one he mirrors. “What happened to the Irish bar?” he asks me. I am possessed. I put my hand on his cheek and I tell him I’ll always remember it. He will too, he says. That’s his favorite in all of Europe. 

I remember that souvenir I bought in Athens a few days ago, my name on a necklace in Greek. He’s supposed to give it me at some point, and when I ask he says he’ll just keep it if he forgets. YOU’RE GOING TO KEEP A NECKLACE WITH MY NAME? I ask, and he just looks sheepishly at me. I know I have to leave soon, so I say my goodbyes. “If I don’t see you, when I leave in the taxi to the airport,” I tell him, “I will kill you.” And then I embrace him again. I kiss his cheek. 

Such a simple thing, a kiss. I always thought I would have to be deliberate about it, because I imagined kissing his cheek in parting before. I wasn’t so. I was possessed, automatic. When he kisses me back on my cheek, an immediate response, it feels like an I see you, you were beautiful, I enjoyed my time with you. It feels romantic. 

So we part a few hours later with an embrace--nothing too crazy. But when I’m home, I message him because he asked us to let him know when we’re home safe. I thank him in Greek, and thank him for everything. I tell him I’m glad I stopped waiting around for someone and did what I always wanted to do. He thanks me. Am I going to leave it there? He lives in Greece, I live here. He told me he wouldn’t live in the US. Fuck, I’d move to Europe for true love, though the chance of him being it for me are very, very slim. I do know he said he’d mention if he was in the US, and asked me to mention if I was in Europe. Of course I’ll go back to Europe. I’ll always return. And I may need to message him. Some of my stories take place partly in Greece. I need research help.

In my therapist’s chair upon my return, she tells me who cares if the rumor about him sleeping with someone is true or not, I know what happened between him and I. He’s a tour director and he probably lied when he said he would never do something like that in Athens. At the end of the day, he’s European, and Europeans have different sensibilities. Good for me for kissing him, and after all, it’s not really about him. It’s about how I felt confident, I felt beautiful, and I held a man’s attention. She’s right of course. She’s always right. This story isn’t about a romance, it’s about the funny side character coming into her own, and knowing she can be the lead. It’s about how I got to know this amazing, incredible woman, and now I know I can’t be without her. And, my therapist says, it’s time for me to write my book. 

I used to be sad I didn’t have a partner, how I would look at pictures of my cousin’s family and be jealous. But I see them now, and I see how beautiful it is, but I also see how that’s not what I want. Not quite yet, I still want to travel. I must, for me. For my soul. For the art that I will make. 

And as for my tour director, I waffle back and forth now that I’m home. I know I can live without him. I’m ready for the man I will marry, but I also don’t want him yet, weirdly enough. There are things I have to do. I learned that in Europe. I learned that with my tour director, talking with him, exchanging heated looks with him he didn’t give anyone else. I was careful to observe that. I admit, there are parts of me that have this knowing that there’s more and I haven’t seen or heard the last of Nikos.  

I guess time will tell. I’m happy either way. I’m still the lead.

#personal #DO NOT REBLOG PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY #FUCK WHY DID I WRITE AND PUBLISH THIS #this is long #warning

[stilltravels]

Paris, Barcelona and Rome

PARIS, BARCELONA, AND ROME

11 Days

Pastries, tapas, and spaghetti alla carbonara are waiting on this tantalizing nine-night journey to France, Spain, and Italy. Guests will arrive in Paris, where they can stretch their legs in the Tuileries Garden, admire the interior of Sacré-Coeur, or take a day trip to the stunning Palace of Versailles. From there, it’s on to Barcelona—home to the magnificent La Sagrada Familia and the bustling pedestrian thoroughfare of La Rambla. Guests can browse the artworks on display in the Picasso Museum or stroll through whimsical Park Güell before heading on to explore the ancient wonders of Rome. After they’ve toured the Colosseum and marveled at the masterpieces in the Sistine Chapel, they can sample street food at Testaccio Market or rent a bike and pedal along the Appia Antica—one of the oldest roads in the Roman Empire.

Date - Aug 22 - Sept 1, 2024

What's Included

Seine River Cruise from Eiffel Tower

Paradis Latin - Dinner and Show Gustave Eiffel

Lunch at Eiffel Tower + Cruise + Paris City Tour PM

Private Full Day Barcelona Sightseeing - Car and Driver

Shared Tour: Sagrada Familia plus Artistic-The Best of Gaudi Half-day Tour

Flamenco Show with Dinner at Tablao Flamenco Cordobes

Shared Tour: Gothic Quarter Walking Tour

Private Cooking Workshop with Boqueria Market Visit Afternoon Tour in Barcelona

Small Group: Exclusive Cooking Lesson & Grocery Tour in Rome

Small Group: Cooking Class in Mazzano

Private Morning Half Day Rome Tour with Car & English Speaking Driver

Total Package Price - $2,517.00 (per person)

Call or text 6784691977 or email [email protected]

www.stilltravelsllc.com

**Prices and availability are subject to change

#france#parisfrance#barcelona#spain#rome#italy#italygram#slowtravel#slowtravelling#travelling#travellingram#travellingtheworld#travellife#luxurylife#luxurytravel#luxury#vacations#travels#travelinspiration#travelagent#travellovers#traveltheworld#stilltravels

#luxury hotel #luxury lifestyle #luxury living #luxury travel #luxury vacation #romantic vacation #slow living #slow travel #still travels #vacation #travel italy #travel #travel agency #travel ideas #travel in style #travel in time #travel industry #travel influencer #travel inspiration #travel inspo #travel itinerary #travel lovers #traveling #travel blog #destination #barcelona spain #rome italy #paris france #trending

[villa-kulla]

Hi yes, aware I haven't posted on tumblr in months, but June was just busy, and July was my first proper Eurotrip!! Went around Portugal, Spain, Italy, Austria, Belgium, and then back out again through Spain! ~Momentous~ Highlight reel that is in no way comprehensive:

Favourite food(s): Topfenstrudel in Salzburg, prosciutto/mozzarella in Venice, chili/lime plantain chips in Barcelona, fresh anchovies in Cinque Terre, raspberry donut in Lisbon, churros in Madrid, seafood paella in BCN, and honestly just some plain old hangover bacon/eggs in Venice while I slowly woke up after the festival going on (but yeah topfenstrudel was #1, when I took a bite I think I said something to effect of "are you kidding me")

Favourite drink: Love a bitter orange cocktail, so Italy was all about aperol spritzes, negronis, and americanos <3 Bonus points for the liter-sized beer steins in Salzburg too

Favourite hike: Cinque Terre with @enbouton! I just tried to keep up. Our Toledo hike was a close second though! Don Quixote realness

Most exciting moment: sitting in a square in Venice waiting for my best friend from when I lived in Korea to arrive, literally vibrating with excitement at seeing her again after 8 years omg (she lives in Australia but was in Europe too around the same time, and we made it WORK!)

Best tour: did a Sound of Music bike tour in Salzburg and it was an absolute delight. So was the beergarden date and [redacted] with my tour guide lmao heyo (context, we were extremely clickety from the get go much to the amusement of the rest of the tour group so it was like 'let's meet up when you're not literally at work lol'. He took me to a proper Austrian beer garden the next night and honestly, date for the ages lol, yay for fleeting love in foreign countries ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Most serendipitous planning/non-planning: booked my first night in Venice completely unaware at the time there was a huge festival happening, and was on the right island for the fireworks. Also my timing worked out that I got to do Barcelona with a friend from home so that was fun too

Best museum: this glorious cathedral in Toledo, and also the Hergé museum just outside Brussels

Best restaurant: first proper dinner out with my friends in Venice at this restaurant by the Ponte dell'Accademia. The pic 3rd down on the left was the view and we ordered everything. *Runner-up was this fantastic little diner in Madrid that had churros and horchata and we ended up going twice lol

Travel bloopers: Italian rail strike and heat rash in Spain lol #attractive Oh and got screwed by one booking website lol but I'm hoping to get that refunded. Also my flights out to Europe were screwy!

Best travel eavesdropping: I overheard a waiter in Brussels speaking to an older woman who was very anxious about ordering something a specific way I think, and he replied in French "Madame, this is your house, order how you like" and I just thought that was a very classy thing to sayyyy

Most relaxing day: had a picnic/laundry/shopping/movie day in Padova and it was just the ticket. Also by the time I hit Barcelona I was pretty wiped out and made the executive decision to wait in no lines or do any busy tourist attractions in favour of beach time, and that was WISE

Travel tears: Saying goodbye to Aussie friend before my train to Vienna and watching her disappear back into the Venetian throng

Favourite outfit bought: your girl was backpacking so space was Limited, but got a little orange dress in BCN, a white/green blouse in Padova, and some silky trousers in Toledo I'm still summoning up the nerve to wear here. Oh and a raincoat my Brussels airbnb host offered to sell me for 20 euros and I'm pretty sure it was worth a LOT more than that lol but it was very chic!

Wardrobe win: this lightweight long black skirt with convenient leg slits for walking. Came in clutch many times

Wardrobe fail: My sneakers were great at first but the 5 terre hike cracked something in the soles and and I started getting agonizing blisters. By the time I hit Salzburg I hobbled off the train right into an h&m, bought the first affordable pair of sneakers I saw, and tossed the old ones out

Prettiest city: maybe Florence just because there seemed to be something unreasonably beautiful everywhere you turned your head. This could apply to most of Italy though.

Best vibes: Something about Salzburg!!! Mountains, opera, amazing food, cute tour guides, and misty skies...I'd have stayed longer if I could have instead of pushing on to Brussels, but my next bookings weren't refundable. Brussels was cool in its way but honestly just reminded me a lot of Montreal lol. Also Toledo had a nice relaxing atmosphere, I'd like to go back and spend more time in Spain for sure

Best miscommunication: the guy across from me on my train to Padua who saw me reading Moby Dick and asked "Are you reading that because of the whale?"... After some confusion he explained that the book apparently features in the movie The Whale lmao but I thought he was asking if I was reading it for the character of the whale?? asdfgh. I was like "...yeah I've heard the whale is great" lmao.

Best sleep: hand to god it was my party hostel in Barcelona lol. Rowdy downstairs, super quiet and comfy bunks upstairs.

Favourite city: Venice is going to win this one. Fireworks, festivals, seeing one of my best friends after 8 years, postcard views on every street, and late nights catching up and drinking wine listening to the water lapping at the canals? Absolute dream.

All around lovely trip and so glad I planned something instead of rotting away all summer! I hadn't travelled properly in aaaages, and it was a good mix of solo travel + travel with friends, and saw a solid amount of places too. I'm convinced the best way to travel is to talk to the people, eat their food, and just wander around and soak up the sights, and I feel like I got to do all those things and then some 🎉

Anyways I'll probs post a little more before work starts back up, but then I'll probably be taking another tumblr break! It was very nice to unplug and I also have some creative projects I'm working on, so I'm hoping to focus more on those this semester!

#shares #why do i have to go back to work #oh yeah so i can afford to travel in the first place lol

[umichenginabroad]

Week 5: Groceries, Madrid Musts, and Barcelona

The thing no one tells you about moving to a different country is that grocery shopping is exhausting. There are no brands you recognize, everything’s in different packaging, and even if you know the language, your food vocab probably isn’t extensive enough to know the difference between different types of milks or oils. Now in my fourth week of grocery shopping here. I thought I had the hang of things, but it still takes me like an hour to get two weeks worth of groceries. I have to walk around and figure out where what I need is, then sift through the twenty different options of the same thing by turning each item over and pretending that I understand the ingredients list enough to help me make a decision. I guess one perk of not knowing anything about the grocery store is that you get to discover new foods. Back home, my family’s always gotten the same bread, milk, eggs my whole life. So I have no idea if there’s a better brand out there. But here, I get to pick and explore. Last week, when buying cheese for sandwiches, I picked a random one and oh my gosh it’s the best cheese I ever had. Maybe when I get home, I’ll start being more adventurous with my grocery shopping. But yeah, mini rant over, and to summarize, if you’re going abroad and reading this, get mentally prepared to go grocery shopping.

In other news, this week, I went to see the sunset at Templo de Debod and also went to see Museo Sorolla. Both are musts in Madrid. Templo de Debod is an Egyptian temple that was moved to Madrid in order to be preserved. It’s a super cool piece of Egyptian history with a small museum inside, and it’s on top of a hill, so it makes for one of the most popular sunset spots. I really enjoyed watching the sunset here this week and will definitely be back! 

Even if you’re someone who doesn’t quite enjoy the big art museums (like the Prado), I can almost guarantee that Museo Sorolla will still be enjoyable. Joaquin Sorolla is a famous Spanish Impressionism-esque painter. His house in Madrid is turned into a museum, so you get to walk through his house while looking at his original paintings, furniture, gardens, etc. It really feels like more of a tour through someone’s life than an art museum. And it’s a small museum, so you can finish in about an hour, or two with the audio guide (which I loved so much and definitely recommend). I loved the gardens out front and how beautifully everything was preserved in the house. It really is a lesser known gem in Madrid. 

Another rather unconventional must in my opinion is Flying Tiger. Flying Tiger is a Danish chain of stores that sell things I can only describe as “things you didn’t know you needed until you see them”. I think it’s pretty aptly named because you’ve probably never thought of a flying tiger before, but now that I’ve said it- how cool would a flying tiger be? That’s exactly what everything in the store is like. Little knickknacks that you don’t really need, but are so interesting you’ll just need to have it. One of my favorite things were these little balloon clips that let you reuse the balloon instead of tying it. Like how cool is that??? It’s a dangerous shop to go into for sure, and you’ll probably end up buying something. But embrace it and go visit Flying Tiger for yourself. 

This weekend, I took a quick trip to Barcelona. Having already been there with my family back in 2019, I took the time to walk around, explore the more artsy districts, re-visit the Sagrada Familia since it’s just that beautiful, and went to the flea market. We also went to the Bunkers of Carmel which had gorgeous 360° views of the city. I remember liking Barcelona better than Madrid when I first visited with my family, but now that I’ve been living in Madrid for almost a month, going to Barcelona has made me realize how much I appreciate Madrid. Both are beautiful cities, but there’s just something about the liveliness and deep history and culture in Madrid that’s unmatched. 

So…you probably noticed there’s no drawing of the week today. Basically, I got my first Fluid Dynamics homework assigned and the time I would’ve spent drawing was spent on that. But I’m going to go ahead and say maybe there’ll be two drawings next week. 

You’ll have to wait and see :)

Isha Venkatesh

Mechanical Engineering

Comillas — Madrid, Spain

#umichenginabroad #IPEComillas #IshaVenkatesh #IPEWinter24 #Spain

[moorishflower]

Hey! So I’m OBSESSED w Little Histories. I’ve read each chapter multiple times. It is just so good! And that ending!!! JFC

I [feral noises] your work! 🖤

I have a bit of a weird/ convoluted question, so feel free to ignore this if you’re not in the mood.

I understand why thematically and narratively it was important for Hob not to put his work on the back burner and go on sabatical w Dream.

That being said, just as a thought experiment I’d love to pick your brain about this:

If due to [reasons] Hob would have found convenient to take a Sabbatical, How do you imagine that year would have gone? Where do you think Hob would have loved to take Dream to if he wasn’t so tied up w work?��

Hello anon! Thank you so much, for reading and for your lovely comment!!! <3

I think that if Hob had taken a sabbatical, he and Dream wouldn't have stayed in London. Or, they would have, but not for long. I think Hob, as old as he is, has definitely been a world traveler, and there is SO much to see and do, he wouldn't be able to resist taking Dream on a whirlwind tour of the world. I think he probably would've taken him to Wales to start, because it's close and I have this headcanon that Hob is at least part Welsh, and from there they'd probably do the Europe Tour i.e. Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Venice and Rome, Barcelona and Madrid...They'd definitely head to Greece, and Dream would debate for a LONG time about introducing Hob to Orpheus at Naxos. I think he wouldn't do it at that point in their relationship, but I think they'd go back later on and visit. They'd probably spend at least an entire month in East and Southeast Asia, but I think that Dream would have trouble with more hypermodern cities, and so Beijing and Tokyo would be short stops for them. Then an Americas tour! Hob would want Dream to see all the very silly, very American things that are scattered across the US (Blucifer, the Bean, world's biggest ball of twine, Cabazon Dinosaurs, etc.)

Basically, it'd potentially be an even longer fic sorted not by events, but by locations! Because there'd be food and fairs and unique things to enjoy at each place!

Honestly, it IS something I can see Hob doing, probably when it's time for him to retire himself! He might take a year off from work just to take his boyfriend on a tour of humanity <3

#ask response #little histories

[trans-lykanthropie]

I was tagged by @anartchism, thank you so much friend! ^_^

Relationship Status: Been in one for about nine years now

Favourite Colour: Something like Carmine or Madder Red, although the former hews a smidge too purple for my liking. Cadmium Red can take a flying leap

Last Song Listened To: Jigs by Steeleye Span

Three Favourite Foods: Nachos, toast and peanut butter (the ultimate comfort food), and honestly anything in the nice curry sauce I make

Last Thing I Googled: Krapprot (because I couldn't remember the English name)

Dream Trip: See this is tricky because there's a few, if we're allowing multiple destinations I'd either say Paris-Barcelona-Madrid-Florence to do a really great tour of art museums, or a trip around the US to visit all my friends there

Anything I want now: To be back home, nachos

Tagging: don't feel obliged, but I'll tag @hella-nonbinary-witch-punk @sweetpuddincake @dentalhickory @queereldritchgalaxyprincess @vulpes-aestatis @nova-remnants @ossifer-bones @loudobjectprincess

#also fun fact i wrote out all the user names and questions because i couldn't copy them all over

[jow99]

Barcelona

A bit of a sleep in and a breakfast of yoghurt and fruit in our room (time to rein our eating in) and we were off for the morning. The next few days are all about more baby steps in the process of my citizenship. So this morning we collected from our lawyers some documents that have been sent from Australia and tomorrow we head to Madrid and the Australian embassy to get an Apostille stamp on them.

After the lawyers we headed over to the Eroica cafe, which has been renamed. After a coffee we then headed off for a look in some shops, including a couple of bike shops.

Empty handed we then went in search of lunch as I was now starving. It’s going to take a little while to curb the hunger after all the eating on tour.

This afternoon I did some accounts and we watched today’s stage of the Dauphne. Late afternoon Jose went for a much needed massage while I did some Spanish homework. 6 weeks of not really speaking Spanish, I need to get back on top of it.

Tonight we went to a great restaurant that does like a Japanese/Spanish fusion. The food was delicious, we’ll definitely return. Now we’re watching the French Open on tv and avoiding packing for our trip to Madrid tomorrow 😉

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

What did you do in Europe?

Uh oh you opened up the floodgates friend. See, I suffer from "post europe syndrome," wherein I will talk about it every chance I get. I'm sure my European followers are scratching their heads right now in confusion that the crazy lady is so happy she got to go over, but as a kid who religiously watched Passport to Europe with Samantha Brown on the travel channel it was a dream come true. It was the most transformative experience of my life, for more reasons than the obvious that I got to live my dream.

In short, everything I wanted to and much, much more.

I do want to preface it by saying I went with a travel group because it was my first time traveling alone and I wanted the safety net of a group/tour director to haul us from one place to the next. It's also a great way to meet people because a lot of people actually go alone. I feel comfortable going by myself now, but at that time I was lured by the safety net of a group, and it also admittedly kept my parent's mind at ease.

I did their big European tour and I was away for over a month. In Barcelona I saw a flamenco show, went to the local market, and wandered through Park Guell. From day one I wanted to party hard because to be frank I was a goody two shoes in college and was obsessed with being "the good daughter," who didn't party and get involved in anything questionable so I knew I wanted to explore and party overseas. Yep, did just that in Barcelona, a city whose night life goes hard. It was magical. Cramped, sweaty, but something I'll never forget. I did everything I could dream of in Paris, my second time there--the opera house, the louvre, getting rained on in Montmartre. The Moulin Rouge. Having my own solo day by going to the Orsay and the Richelieu library. Walking the city by myself. London: everything I wanted and more. Saw three shows, including my favorite, Phantom of the Opera. Met the phantom. Went to the Globe, saw Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh's first house, the whole journey feeling a bit illegal because I was in a rich residential neighborhood. Worth it. Rossetti Exhibit at the Tate--meeting one of my oldest moots Jen. Perfection.

Amsterdam, Went to the Anne Frank house. Got drunk on a river cruise. Laughing my butt off as me and a few friends wandered the city. French fries. Prague, I went to the opera, partied again at an eighties club and had one of the best nights of my life dancing with no fear or inhibitions. Munich, meeting another internet friend zuendwinkel... drinking beer and going to a local biergarten/festival. Switzerland: climbed a mountain, wandered through nature, did ziplining. Wine tasted in Venice. Saw Birth of Venus in Florence, and had a day at the Cinque Terre. Rome. Oh Rome. My first city international when I was sixteen. Meet some interesting Italian men in Trastevere. Went to an Irish bar and had another amazing night. topped it with a four AM trip to the Trevi Fountain.

And then in Greece, in Athens I fell in love with the city. The food, touching our ancientness in a way I had never felt before. Sitting at a rooftop bar and feeling like you can touch the Parthenon. Then sailing in Paros, jumping into the Mediterranean sea. Being looked at like I was a revelation, like I was more than myself. In meeting so many amazing people I not only got to enjoy their company but I also saw myself in a completely different way. Writing feels different now for so many reasons, because I am different. And lust, I have learned, isn't like fire. It's earthen. When I want I am ancient as Athens.

I love my story. I love who I met. Thank you for asking.

#replies #not naming the tour group publicly but if you are interested please DM me I can give you more info #the story of the TD is a whole story in itself but since I covered that saga I will spare you LOL

[kokiafans]

KOKIA in flashback - 2010

KOKIA has caught the travelling bug ahead of 2010, which is the year her album REAL WORLD comes out. For the concept of this album, she travels to the Sahara, Tunisia in November 2009, getting inspired by the sceneries she comes across. The promotional video for her song The woman is recorded in the desert, and her journey also results in a photobook and photo exhibition later that year.

It inspires her Japan concert tour oto no tabibito ('sound traveler') in April, selling out the Tokyo Bunkamura Orchard Hall on the final day of that tour. She uses lights and sounds more whimsically than before, taking her audience on a journey through the heart. As a fun tidbit, one of the dresses she wears in this concert is dyed with curry!

However, her 2010 travel doesn't end there; for the fifth year in a row, KOKIA returns to Europe, spreading her wings even further than before. Her REAL WORLD tour in October takes her through 8 different countries for 12 performances: Hungary, Russia, Poland, Austria, Germany, Spain, England and France.

In between it all, KOKIA still manages to release the final chapter of her Life trilogy (with the title tracks of all 3 singles ending up on the REAL WORLD album) and her first ever cover album, Musique a la Carte. This is also the year when For little tail, her song that preceded her actual debut, gets an official release with the digital single Road to Glory ~long journey~.

◆ Lives and events ◆

February 28-March 1 KOKIA Live in Naeba Prince Hotel white notes Vol.4 (Naeba Prince Hotel Chatelaine)

【KOKIA concert tour 2010 oto no tabibito ('sound traveler')】 April 12 - Fukuoka, IMS Hall April 19 - Aichi, Telepia Hall April 24-25 - Osaka, Osaka Business Park round hall April 30 - Tokyo, Shibuya Bunkamura Orchard Hall

April 17 Dragon Nest full presentation party (Shibuya O-EAST)

June 29 SPLASH SUMMER in Otodama: OTODAMA SEA STUDIO (Kanagawa, OTODAMA SEA STUDIO)

July 11 Concert sponsored by the Yamagata Block Council of the Junior Chamber (Yamagata prefecture, Higashine city comprehensive insurance welfare facility, Sakuranbo Tantokuru Center)

July 27 KOKIA 2010 Summer Tour (Kashiwazaki Industrial and Cultural Center Cultural Hall) ※ Kashiwazaki municipal government enforcement 70th anniversary support project - event concert to commemorate 3 years of recovery from the Niigata-Chûetsu offshore earthquake

August 1 Song for you (Zepp NAGOYA)

August 7 UNITED EARTH Studio Alta (Shinjuku Studio Alta)

August 15 Hangame summer festival (Belle Salle Akihabara) ※ Release event for the mini album Road to Glory ~long journey~

August 28 ~Magokoro~ tanshin festa ('~sincerity~ from the heart') (Hyôgo, Tanba Forest Park) ※ Mini live at the food festa of the 43rd membership meeting of the Japan Junior Chamber's Kinki District Hyogo Block Council

September 4 (September 5/September 11) tokai no kakurega concert 2 ('hideout in the city’) (Tokyo, sonorium) ※ Event exclusively for members of the KOKIA fanclub, club ancoro, 5 performances total

September 20 Musique a la carte release event (Tokyo, Printemps Ginza)

September 23 KOKIA Musique a la Carte Special Live (Roppongi STB139 Sweet Basil) ※2 performances, Irish live with Irish guitarist Seán Whelan

September 25 Travel exposition 2010 (Tokyo Big Sight) ※Mini-Live as an event of the Embassy of the Republic of Tunisia

【KOKIA REAL WORLD Tour 2010】 ※ European tour, amounting to 12 performances in 8 countries October 2 - Extra performance (Budapest, Mondocon) ※event attendance October 8 - Moscow, Koncert October 9 - Poznań, Blue Note October 12 - Vienna, Haus der Muzik October 13 - Munich, Feierwerk October 15 - Marseille, Le Poste a Galene October 16 - Barcelona, Sidecar October 17 - Toulouse, la Dynamo October 20 - Brest, la Carene October 22 - London, Islington Academy 2 October 23 - Cologne, Cafe Lichtung October 24 - Paris, Theatre Michel

November 6 Kyoto School of Computer Science November festival (Kyoto School of Computer Science)

November 13 Sagami Lake Illumination lighting ceremony (Kanagawa, Sagami Lake Resort, Pleasure Forest) ※ Mini live and lighting ceremony broadcasted on November 16 by FM Yokohama as Sagami Lake Illumination SPECIAL

December 11 KOKIA 2010 Winter Rose Concert (Tokyo, Suntory Hall Blue Rose) ※ 2 performances in 1 day

December 21 Marunouchi Bright Christmas 2010 KOKIA Special LIVE (Tokyo, Maru building, Maru Cube)

◆ Releases ◆

March 17 Release of the iTunes Store exclusive digital EP Kodoku na ikimono/ano hi no watashi ni ('Lonely beings/To the me of those days’) (Victor Entertainment) ※ Chapter 3 in the <Life Trilogy ~inochi no 3-busaku~> ('trilogy of life’). Mini album with 4 tracks

March 31 Release of original album REAL WORLD (Victor Entertainment) ※ Release of the French edition on April 7 (Wasabi Records)

August 1 Release of DVD 2010 OTO NO TABIBITO KOKIA CONCERT TOUR (anco&co)

September 15 Release of cover album Musique a la Carte (Victor Entertainment) ※ First KOKIA cover album (includes songs recorded in Ireland)

◆ Other releases ◆

January 27 Release of the soundtrack for PlayStation 3 game Ar tonelico 3: Sakiya rumei ('blooming night') ~Ar tonelico III hymmnos concert side. Aoi ('blue') (Frontier Works) ※ Performed EXEC_REBIRTHIA=PROTOCOL/., EXEC_COSMOFLIPS/. and Hikari no naka ni ('Into the light')

May 26 Release of the single Fate (Lantis) ※ Opening theme of the animated movie Break Blade

July 7 Release of mini album 'Bungaku shoujo' Memorial Soundtrack I - yume miru shoujo no zensoukyoku  ('Book girl: the dreaming girl’s overture’) (GloryHeaven) ※ Wrote and performed Koto no ha ('literary words'), the ending theme for the animated series 'Bungaku shoujo' Memorial I - yume miru shoujo no zensoukyoku (prelude) ('Book girl: the dreaming girl’s overture’)

August 11 Release of the digital ESCOLTA single SANCTUS ~Voice Of Peace~ feat.KOKIA ※ Also included on the ESCOLTA album GLORIA SIRENA, released on November 24

August 18 Release of mini album Road to Glory ~long journey~ (Voice Records) ※ Theme song of the online game Dragon Nest, Road to Glory~ for Dragon Nest White Version

December 8 Release of the Yuki Kajiura soundtrack album The Works for Soundtrack (Ariola Japan) ※ Performed the main theme song Rainbow ~Main Theme~ and insert song Lost Home for the movie Rainbow, which was theatrically released in July 1999

◆ Books ◆

March 31 Release of the album concept photobook REAL WORLD PHOTO BOOK

April 12 Piano and voice sheet music collection otonami book (anco&co.) ※ Includes a bonus CD with Nukumori (piano self-accompanied version) ('warmth')

◆ Other ◆

Springtime Music video broadcast at Astrovision in the atrium of Osaka Business Park Twin21 (spring) ※ First screening of the music video The woman for the album REAL WORLD

June 17-June 20  ~shashin kara fureru KOKIA no oto no sekai~ ('the musical world of KOKIA touchable from photos') KOKIA × photographer Yutaka Nakamura (Paris, L'Atelier Gustave) ※ Photo panels on display at the gallery (masterpieces, signed, lot numbered) are sold at the venue

September 23 TV Tokyo's 45th anniversary program: Fuuin sareta sanzou houshi no nazo ~ Silk Road 30,000 kilo ni idonda otoko ('The mystery of the sealed Sanzo monk ~The man who took on the 30,000 km Silk Road~') ※ Wrote and performed the theme song Toki no tabibito ('time traveler')

#KOKIA #25 years of kokia in flashback