#Barcelona Local Experiences

[irisslove]

Travelogue - Ola Barcelona!

[ceesimz]

Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere. 

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods. 

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory. 

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before. 

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from. 

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge. 

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses. 

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market. 

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape. 

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch. 

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard. 

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you. 

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home. 

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?” 

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back. 

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it. 

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it. 

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought. 

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you. 

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes. 

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

[reasonsforhope]

"In the Canary Islands, in Barcelona, and in Chile, a unique fog catcher design is sustaining dry forests with water without emissions, or even infrastructure.

Replicating how pine needles catch water, the structure need only be brought on-site and set up, without roads, powerlines, or irrigation channels.

Fog catching is an ancient practice—renamed “cloud milking” by an EU-funded ecology project on the Canary Islands known as LIFE Nieblas (nieblas means fog).

“In recent years, the Canaries have undergone a severe process of desertification and we’ve lost a lot of forest through agriculture. And then in 2007 and 2009, as a result of climate change, there were major fires in forested areas that are normally wet,” said Gustavo Viera, the technical director of the publicly-funded project in the Canaries.

The Canaries routinely experience blankets of fog that cloak the islands’ slopes and forests, but strong winds made fog-catching nets an unfeasible solution. In regions such as the Atacama Desert in Chile or the Atlas Mountains of North Africa, erecting nets that capture moisture particles out of passing currents of fog is a traditional practice.

LIFE Nieblas needed a solution that could resist powerful winds, and to that end designed wind chime-like rows of artificial pine needles, which are also great at plucking moisture from the air. However, unlike nets or palms, they efficiently let the wind pass through them.

The water is discharged without any electricity. There are no irrigation channels, and no machinery is needed to transport the structures. The natural course of streams and creeks need not be altered, nor is there a need to drill down to create wells. The solution is completely carbon-free.

WATER IN THE DESERTS: 

China Announces Completion of a 1,800-Mile Green Belt Around the World’s Most-Hostile Desert

Billions of People Could Benefit from This Breakthrough in Desalination That Ensures Freshwater for the World

Scientists Perfecting New Way to Turn Desert Air into Water at Much Higher Yields

Sahara Desert Is Turning Green Amid Unusual Rains in Parts of North Africa

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala

In the ravine of Andén in Gran Canaria, a 35.8-hectare (96 acres) mixture of native laurel trees irrigated by the fog catchers enjoys a survival rate of 86%, double the figure of traditional reforestation.

“The Canaries are the perfect laboratory to develop these techniques,” said Vicenç Carabassa, the project’s head scientist, who works for the Center for Ecological Research and Forestry Applications at the University of Barcelona. “But there are other areas where the conditions are optimal and where there is a tradition of water capture from fog, such as Chile and Morocco.”

In Chile’s Coquimbo province, the town of Chungungo is collecting around 250 gallons a day from a combination of locally-made fog catchers and LIFE Nieblas’ pine needle design, the Guardian reports."

-via Good News Network, December 30, 2024

[marysfics]

In the Blur of Sight, I Found You—The One Who Sees Me Beyond What’s Visible

You’ve always lived in the shadows of your own uncertainty, but will she be the one to bring your world into focus?

Word count: 3.7k

Angst, Fluff

This fic has a happy ending.

You were sixteen when you first met Alexia Putellas.

Back then, she wasn’t the global icon of football that the world knows now—just a girl with bright eyes, messy ponytails, and dreams too big to keep quiet. You weren’t much different. A quiet soul with a condition that made life feel unpredictable: some days, you could see the world clearly, every blade of grass sharp beneath the sunlight; on others, your vision was a foggy mess, as if the universe had decided to drape a curtain between you and the rest of humanity.

It was on one of your better days when you first saw her.

Your friend dragged you to a local football game. “You need to get out more,” they had said, nudging you. You remember sighing, reluctant but too polite to refuse. As soon as you settled onto the grass beside the pitch, something pulled your attention—or rather, someone.

“Who’s that?” you asked.

“That’s Alexia,” your friend replied casually. “She’s going pro one day. No doubt about it.”

“Alexia,” you whispered to yourself, tasting the name on your tongue as you watched her effortlessly weave through defenders, the ball glued to her feet.

It was the first time you saw her smile after scoring a goal, and for some reason, the sight rooted itself in your mind. Bright, genuine, almost radiant—a warmth that lingered even when the sun dipped below the horizon.

You never forgot that day.

Your paths didn’t cross right away. It wasn’t until a year later, at a school tournament, that you truly met. By then, your eyesight had deteriorated further. On most days, you could barely make out people's faces unless they were right in front of you. It made connecting with others... complicated.

“Do you want to kick the ball around?”

The voice caught you off guard. You looked up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the figure in front of you. It was her. Alexia. Even in a blur, you would’ve recognized her—the warm, confident tone that was always gentle yet unyielding.

“Me?” you asked, unsure.

She smiled. “Yeah. You.”

You could hear the laughter of others as she pulled you up. You weren’t exactly known for your athleticism. In fact, you had a reputation as “the girl who sometimes stares off into space,” or, worse, “the girl who bumps into lockers.”

But Alexia didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll go easy,” she teased, tossing you the ball.

You missed it entirely.

“I can’t really…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“Can’t what?” Alexia asked, her curiosity genuine.

“See the ball. Or you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, and you braced yourself for the awkward apology or the pity you were so used to. But instead, Alexia just shrugged.

“That’s okay. I’ll make sure you can feel where it is.”

From that moment on, Alexia took it upon herself to pull you into her world.

For her, football wasn’t about what you could see—it was about rhythm, sound, and trust—things you could feel deep inside. When your vision faltered, she was your guide. When you wanted to quit, she laughed and told you to try again. What you didn’t realize at the time was that you were starting to fall in love with the way she saw no limitations in you—only possibilities.

Time moved forward, carrying you both through life’s challenges. Alexia was accepted into Barcelona’s youth academy, and though you cheered her on from afar, you kept your support quiet—scribbling words of encouragement in letters you never had the courage to send. Your condition remained stable, but always unpredictable. You focused on your own passions—writing, music, and art—things that allowed you to experience the world on your terms.

You’d run into Alexia from time to time at the coffee shop you both loved. Every time, she greeted you like no time had passed.

“How’s your sight been?” she’d ask gently, concern in her voice.

You’d smile, always a little tired of answering but grateful for the care behind her question. “Depends on the day. How’s football?”

Her eyes would light up, her face animated as she described her latest matches, the training routines she was mastering, and the goals she was chasing. But, without fail, she always made time to ask about your art.

“I wish I could see what you make,” she said one day, her voice full of longing.

“Maybe one day I’ll show you,” you replied, your heart racing at the thought.

It wasn’t just a promise to her—it was a promise to yourself, because Alexia never treated your vision as something that defined you. She cared about what you felt, what you created. And even as her fame grew, you remained part of her orbit—quiet, steady, and unspoken.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the coffee shop, Alexia looked at you with a thoughtful expression.

“Have you ever thought about glasses?” she asked. “Couldn’t we get you something to help?”

You felt a familiar weight in your chest at the suggestion. Glasses had been offered so many times before, but you knew they wouldn’t help. Not in the way she hoped. The thought of explaining it again felt exhausting, but Alexia deserved honesty.

“They won’t really make a difference,” you said softly, shaking your head. “My vision’s just… not like that.”

Alexia’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gave you a smile that didn’t need explanation.

“Okay,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “Then I’ll just have to keep being your eyes.”

And in that moment, you realized it was enough. For both of you.

Your days started to fall into a quiet rhythm—sometimes steady, sometimes unpredictable. Your eyesight shifted as if it had a mind of its own: some mornings you woke up with a surprising clarity, able to see details that had escaped you for years, while on others, the world blurred beyond recognition. The good days felt like gifts, moments to savor, while the bad days taught you patience and resilience. Alexia, as always, was a constant thread woven into it all.

The coffee shop became your shared place. More and more, you’d find her waiting for you with an easy smile and two cups of something warm. She’d wave you over even if you weren’t sure it was her at first—always loud enough for you to know you weren’t alone.

“You’ll never believe how today’s training went,” she’d say, already launching into a story. You’d listen, absorbing every detail—the way she talked about her teammates, her goals, the highs and lows. But the best part was when she turned her attention back to you.

“What about you? Did you write anything today? Paint something?” she’d ask, genuinely curious.

“Trying,” you’d say with a small smile. “Some days it feels like I see the whole picture. Other days, I just see smudges.”

Alexia tilted her head once when you said that. “Does that bother you?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But maybe the smudges are just part of it. Like I’m supposed to fill in the rest myself.”

She grinned. “I like that.”

And somehow, you knew she understood.

There were days when your vision was clear enough that it caught you off guard—when you could see Alexia’s face without squinting or straining. Her expressions became more vivid: the way her brows pulled together when she was lost in thought, the dimple that appeared when she smiled wide. It made everything feel more… real. More fleeting.

One day, during one of your better mornings, she dragged you out to a park with an old football under her arm.

“I’m going to teach you to play properly this time,” she announced.

“You know I can’t—”

“You can,” she said firmly, passing the ball toward you. “Besides, you can see today, right?”

You nodded. “For now.”

“Then we’re taking advantage of that.”

It was clumsy at first—kicks that missed, laughter that filled the air—but Alexia’s patience never faltered. She ran alongside you, calling out directions and laughing every time you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Okay, okay, try to keep your body over the ball,” she said through her chuckles, gently nudging your shoulder. “You’re practically dancing out here.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to be graceful,” you shot back, earning a snort from her.

By the time you both collapsed onto the grass, out of breath and exhausted, the sun had started to dip low in the sky. Alexia lay on her back, her eyes closed, while you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching her.

“Good sight day?” she murmured after a moment.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “A good day.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, you didn’t want to blink—afraid that when you did, the clarity might vanish.

But not every day was like that.

On the bad days, when your vision was just a haze of color and light, you often stayed home, overwhelmed by frustration. Alexia, however, didn’t let you disappear. She’d text you, call you, or sometimes just show up at your door.

“Don’t hide from me,” she’d say firmly, a teasing edge in her voice as she pushed her way inside. “You don’t need perfect eyesight to sit and talk.”

She’d sit cross-legged on your floor or flop onto your couch, filling the room with stories about her week, recounting goals she’d scored or mistakes she was determined to fix. You’d listen, finding comfort in the familiarity of her voice, even when you couldn’t see her face.

“Are you frustrated?” she asked once, catching you in a quiet moment.

You nodded. “I hate that it changes so much. That I can’t predict it.”

Alexia’s voice softened. “I get that. But you’re still you. On good days and bad.”

Her words settled deep, in places you hadn’t realized needed reassurance.

The more time you spent together, the more your world expanded. Alexia saw you—not your limitations, not your unpredictable sight, but the person you were beneath all of it. She never made you feel like you were less. If anything, she made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before.

And slowly, you realized you were falling for her. The girl who taught you to feel where the ball was. The girl who never let you disappear on bad days. The girl whose laughter made the world seem brighter, no matter how blurry it looked.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not yet. Not when the future felt so uncertain.

For now, you let yourself exist in the moments—good days, bad days, and everything in between. Because Alexia was there, steady as ever, making you believe that even when you couldn’t see clearly, you could still feel.

The years stretched forward, but the two of you remained tethered, no matter how far life tried to pull you apart. Alexia was carving her name into the world of football, rising steadily through the ranks, while you quietly honed your art—writing, painting, capturing the world as you felt it, even when you couldn’t see it clearly. You both grew into yourselves in ways that were both separate and intertwined, like two threads in the same tapestry.

By your early twenties, everything between you and Alexia was still… unspoken. A quiet current ran beneath every interaction, a constant presence neither of you wanted to name for fear of breaking it.

It was late one night when she called you. You could tell something was off the moment you picked up.

“Are you home?” Alexia’s voice was unusually small.

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was on your couch, a hoodie pulled over her head, her knees tucked up against her chest. The sight of her—so small and tired—made your chest ache. She was always so strong, so put together. But not tonight.

“What happened?” you asked softly, handing her a mug of tea.

Alexia stared into the cup for a long moment before answering. “I missed a penalty today. It was stupid, but it mattered. We lost because of me.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and you felt something break inside you.

“You’re human, Alexia,” you murmured. “You’re allowed to mess up.”

She shook her head, frustrated. “Everyone keeps saying that, but it doesn’t change the way it feels. It doesn’t change the pressure.”

You sat down beside her, your knee brushing hers. “It’s okay to feel that. You carry so much, Alexia. But you’re not alone, you know?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe. Her dark eyes were searching, full of something heavy and unspoken.

“You always say the right thing,” she whispered.

“I just mean what I say,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur.

There was silence, but it wasn’t empty. It stretched between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Alexia leaned in just slightly, her face so close to yours that you could see her even on one of your worst sight days.

“Do you ever wish things were… different?” she asked softly.

The question settled in your chest like a stone.

“Different how?” you managed, though you already knew what she meant.

Her gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before she pulled back, as if realizing something too late. She let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening around the mug.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you couldn’t forget. You wouldn’t forget.

That night haunted you in the weeks that followed. The way she looked at you, the way her voice wavered like she was balancing on the edge of a confession. You thought about all the times you’d caught yourself staring at her—her smile, her focus, her laugh that always made your heart race. You remembered every time she reached for your hand without thinking, every hug that lingered just a little too long.

You’d loved her for so long, it felt like breathing—so natural you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

But saying it out loud? That was a risk you weren’t sure you could take.

It was on one of your bad sight days when you finally broke. You’d woken up to a world that was nothing but shadows and shapes, frustration simmering under your skin. You tried to paint, but the colors blurred together, the brushstrokes clumsy.

When Alexia showed up later that afternoon—completely unannounced as usual—you were ready to push her away.

“I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered when you opened the door.

Alexia ignored you, stepping inside and holding up a brown paper bag. “I brought food. You need to eat.”

“Alexia, I can’t—”

She turned to face you, cutting you off. “I know today’s hard. But you don’t get to shut me out.”

Her voice was firm, but her eyes were soft. It was her, always her, and you hated that she could see through you so easily.

“It’s not just today,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “It’s every day. It’s waking up not knowing if I’ll be able to see your face or if the world will just be colors and light. It’s trying to keep up with you—someone who has everything figured out—when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Alexia’s brows pulled together. “You think I have everything figured out?”

“You do. You’re you.”

She took a step closer, her voice quieter now. “And you’re you. Do you think I’d keep showing up if you weren’t the most important person in my life?”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

She took another step, closing the distance between you. Her hand found yours, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“You’ve been here for me through everything. Every goal, every failure, every day I wanted to quit. And you never asked for anything. I don’t care if you can’t see me, because I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

Your breath hitched. The words you’d been burying for years suddenly felt too heavy to hold back.

“I love you, Alexia,” you whispered, the words falling out before you could stop them.

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her face, but it didn’t last. She smiled—a small, gentle smile that melted something inside you—and squeezed your hand.

“I love you too,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it was. Because loving Alexia had never been hard. It had always been there, unseen but deeply felt.

She pulled you into her arms then, holding you close, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that everything—good days, bad days, and all the moments in between—was enough. Because she was there.

And she saw you.

The days that followed felt different—so much closer. It was as if saying the words had changed the way the air moved between you and Alexia. The silences felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. Her touches lingered, her gaze held yours longer, even on the days when you couldn’t fully see it. You were aware of her in a way that made your chest ache, as though your heart had been holding its breath for years and was finally allowed to exhale.

But still, there was a line—blurred and uncertain. You both danced around it, never quite stepping over.

It wasn’t until a quiet evening at your place, weeks later, that everything boiled over.

You were on the couch, your legs tucked under you, while Alexia lay sprawled out beside you, her socked feet resting against your knee. She was talking about an upcoming match, one that carried extra weight for her team, but you were only half-listening. Her voice was soothing, rhythmic, like a song you’d memorized years ago.

“What about you?” Alexia asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You blinked. “What about me?”

She propped herself up on one elbow, tilting her head as she looked at you. “You’ve been quiet tonight. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Alexia’s brow arched. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You sighed, shifting uncomfortably. You could feel her eyes on you, warm and searching, and suddenly the weight of the past few weeks felt impossible to hold any longer.

“Alexia,” you started, your voice cautious, “what… what are we?”

The question seemed to hang in the air, sharp and fragile all at once. You weren’t even sure you wanted her to answer. Part of you was terrified to hear what she’d say.

Alexia blinked, her expression softening as the words registered. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you replied, your voice steadier this time. “We say we love each other, we spend all this time together, and… it feels like more. But we never talk about it. We never… define it.”

Alexia sat up fully now, her knees tucked against her chest as she turned to face you. Her gaze was steady, unshaken, but you couldn’t quite read it.

“I didn’t think we needed to define it,” she said quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Maybe you don’t. But I do.”

She exhaled softly, looking down at her hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not avoiding it. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the words. “I guess I thought it was obvious. That you’re it for me.”

Your heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “I mean you’re the person I care about most. You’re the one I want to see at the end of every long day. You’re the one I think about when I’m on the field or when I can’t sleep. I don’t care what we call it, as long as I’m with you.”

Your breath caught, but something inside you still resisted, still hesitated. “But what does that mean, Alexia?”

“It means I love you,” she said, the words simple but full of weight. “And I want to be with you. Not just as your friend, not just as someone in your orbit. I want us to be something. You and me.”

Her honesty hit you like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. You’d spent so much time wondering if you were imagining what you felt, if you were overstepping. And here she was, meeting you in the middle with the same certainty you’d been too afraid to claim.

“But what if I can’t…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“What?” Alexia pressed gently.

You struggled to say it. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if my bad days—my eyesight, my moods—what if it’s too much for you?”

Alexia’s expression softened, and she reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “Do you think I’m here because it’s easy?”

You stared at her, taken aback.

“I’m here because I want to be,” she continued. “Your bad days don’t scare me. Your moods don’t scare me. I know you, and I love you. Not the idea of you. Not the version of you that’s perfect all the time.”

Her words settled deep, wrapping around you like a balm for every hidden fear and unspoken insecurity.

You swallowed, your voice shaky when you finally spoke. “I love you too. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she said softly, leaning closer. “But we can’t keep tiptoeing around this, can we?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension breaking just slightly. “No, I guess not.”

“So?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Will you be mine? Officially?”

The words were lighthearted, but you could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the hope she was trying so hard to hide.

“Yes,” you whispered, smiling despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I already am, Alexia.”

Her grin lit up her whole face, and before you could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if she were memorizing the shape of you. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks gently, and you melted into her, letting the rest of the world fade away.

When she finally pulled back, she pressed her forehead against yours and whispered, “Good.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt clear.

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

Would you like to read little blurbs about this in the future?

[meazalykov]

its never enough

barca femeni x platonic!alexia putellas x reader

summary: the team had to intervene after seeing the amount of things you own

warnings: overconsumption, financial issues, childhood trauma, angst

you’ve always been a fighter, y/n. 

growing up in a small, cramped apartment with not much more than a kitchen table and a flickering television, you learned early on how to make the most out of little. your world was filled with the sounds of exhaustion: the tired creaks of your mother’s joints as she came back from long shifts, the gentle rumbling of your stomach as you lay in bed at night wondering if tomorrow would bring a meal or just another day of uncertainty. 

when you were younger, you were happy because you didn't know better. there was no one to tell you that many other kids didn't go through the poverty that you had to go through.

there were nights when you would curl up under a thin blanket, feeling the hunger gnaw at your insides, wishing for just a slice of bread or orange juice to ease the ache.

your mother worked tirelessly, holding down two jobs and often coming home with her eyes clouded from exhaustion, but she always made sure you had at least one decent meal a day, even if that meant sacrificing her own. the smell of burnt rice or old beans became an ordinary experience, an echo of sacrifices made out of love. 

she sacrificed a lot, even if you started to resent her after seeing all of the rich kids at your school with no worries about when they're going to eat next.

you remember the days when you would sneak out to the local park, pretending that the kids from the academy didn’t have talking points that revolved around the latest gear or shiny new sneakers. you wore the same worn-out cleats for years that you found in a thrift store, and while those shoes may have drawn odd glances, they also pushed you to play harder, to train longer.

those white colored adidas cleats of yours slowly turned yellow and green overtime due to the grass stains. 

the first time you were signed to an academy, it was through scholarships. you took public transport (sometimes without paying) back and forth from home to the academy from 6am to 9pm.

that’s where it all began—out in the sun-kissed fields—the heartbeat of your journey. every dribble, every sprint, made you feel alive. the coaches quickly noticed your raw talent; your feet danced like a lyrical melody, weaving in and out of opponents with fairy-tale grace. 

they’d call you into training sessions meant for the older girls and suddenly, you found yourself in a world where your poverty didn’t define you.

many of the nice coaches offered to pick you up from your home in the poor neighborhoods outside of your city, knowing that they couldn't afford to not have you on the pitch.

those were the fabrics of the beautiful game that would one day pull you from those struggling days into a life of unimaginable opportunity.

your childhood academy, once you graduated high school, called you up to the senior team. the salary was small but it was enough to finally see breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in the same day instead of sacrificing one or the other. sometimes, you're lucky that you still have muscle and strength for someone who was not eating enough.

fast forward to after you turned nineteen, a year after your first senior team callup from your childhood club.. you were standing in the hallowed halls of barcelona, far away from home.

the weight of your dreams now intertwined with the club’s crest stitched delicately onto your new jersey. barcelona had been keeping an eye on you for years.

the contract you signed with the catalan team was something you could hardly comprehend—it felt surreal, almost like playing in a fantasy. the money you received dwarfed anything you had imagined during those starving nights as a child. suddenly, you had means far beyond what you had deemed possible.

the first time the signing bonus hit your account, you stared at the numbers blinking feverishly on your screen, unable to process it. the world opened up before you like a child’s storybook, each page filled with opportunity. and so, you rented a bright little apartment in the heart of barcelona, sunlight pouring through oversized windows, casting warm hues upon your brand-new life. 

it felt like a fresh canvas; you could paint it any color you desired. and paint it you did—perhaps too much.

at first, it felt liberating. a new superpuff jacket from aritiza? an absolute must. four different colors? obviously, because how could you choose just one jacket? each item in the store beckoned to you like love notes, whispering promises of happiness that you’d long been denied.

body washes in five different scents? a practical necessity because—how could you ever pick just one that felt right? you bought them all, bringing home bags filled with excitement and haste, giggling as you unwrapped each item in your sunny living room, often spilling the contents across your pristine floor in a flurry, and marveling at your newfound abundance.

having a space to yourself where the shelves were always stocked, the floors were always cleaned, and the heater actually working was something that gave you more peace than you expected.

sometimes, looking around your apartment often made you realize that the walls were suffocating under the weight of your possessions. clothes spilled from closets, shoes lined the hallway and your closets, and accessories filled every surface; a delightful chaos really, yet one that made your heart race with a strange sort of anxiety. 

you owned everything you ever wanted, but somehow, it still felt like a little too much.

your relationship with your teammates blossomed, particularly with alexia. she was a guiding light for you; her encouraging words sculpted you into a more confident player, and her laughter felt like a reminder that you were not alone in this world. 

she took you in after seeing how much potential you had for a twenty year old. the way you'd tackle world-class forwards like you had ten years of experience under your belt was something that caught the spanish woman off guard.

at barcelona, you gained the closest companion in your life, esmee, your best friend.

esmee visited your apartment frequently, often gaping at the sheer amount of items you owned, her eyes wide as she stepped over a particularly extravagant pair of heels that you probably haven’t worn once.

“y/n, do you really need all of this?” esmee asked playfully during one of her visits, standing at the entrance as if she were an unwitting tourist exploring a museum filled with ridiculous wonders.

“of course! look at this,” you laughed, sliding on a pair of trendy sunglasses you had bought just that week. 

“i could be a runway model with these prada ones.”

esmee chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief, careful not to trip over the plethora of colorful items sprawled about. 

the dutch places her jacket in her walk-in closet, hoping to not mix it up with all of your other ones. seriously, it looked like a whole family lived in your apartment instead of yourself.

“the fashion runway maybe, but i genuinely wonder how many outfits you have.”

as the months went on, whispers began to circulate amongst the team, drawing a bit of humorous attention. 

mapi once teasingly commented to alexia, “you know, i’ve never seen y/n in the same outfit twice. it’s like she has a new look every single day!”

alexia raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the countless intricate combinations you’d flaunted during practice and the matches that followed. 

“are you serious?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. 

“you think she actually has that many clothes?”

“esmee and i were talking,” mapi continued, her lips curling into a smirk, 

“and we noticed that y/n always has new shoes, new clothing, she's always walking by with a new fragrance scent—it's hard to keep track. i don’t get it.”

the curiosity started to whirl in alexia’s mind. she respected you immensely and admired your skills, but now she felt a tug towards something deeper. the urge to check in, to see if this was just youthful exuberance or something more. 

so, she decided to probe a bit further, casually nudging esmee one afternoon while both of them waited for practice to begin.

“does y/n have, like, spending habits?” alexia asked casually to esmee, pretending to tie her shoelaces, her expression deceptively nonchalant. 

“not that it’s any of my business– nevermind.. who am i kidding, it is because i need to watch out for her.”

esmee looked a bit uneasy, weighing her words carefully. 

“you know, she does get a lot of packages delivered to her apartment,” she admitted after a short pause. 

“it worries me a little. she’s got a lovely place, but, um, some of the things she buys are expensive—like that vintage prada jacket she flaunts all the time.”

alexia nodded, her mind racing at the thought. 

“okay, but how does she really feel about it? do you think she realizes it’s become…well, a problem?”

“i don’t want to start anything,” esmee replied quickly, clearly hesitant. 

“but…i’ve noticed some little things here and there.”

a few days passed. you found yourself bustling through your apartment, obsessively tidying up as you waited for a batch of brownies to finish baking. the sweet aroma was filling the air, comforting and familiar, hard to resist. 

you had always loved experimenting in the kitchen since having your own space. growing up, you had no idea what brownies were until your childhood academy threw an, "end of the season" party for getting top of the league. they were delicious, but you knew that your mother at the time only had enough to feed your rice, chicken, and pinto beans.

a knock broke your reverie. you wiped your hands on a dish towel and opened the door, revealing alexia dressed casually in a simple t-shirt and sweats, looking relaxed yet focused. she stepped in, offering you a warm smile.

“hey, y/n!"

"ale!!" you say, hugging her before leading her into your apartment.

"whats that smell? are those brownies?” ale asked, stepping over a pair of athletic shorts you’d carelessly discarded near your living room. 

“mind if I grab one?”

“sure! they’re almost ready!” you chirped, feeling a bit of giddiness wash over you.

as you neglected the untidy piles around you to shuffling around the kitchen, you could feel alexia’s gaze wander.

she noticed your open closet door by your front door, she didn't notice the amount of jackets and shoes you had stored in there when she first walked in.

alexia knew that you didn't have a roommate, you or esmee would've told her. all of those items belong to you.

the older woman turned to you, her expression turning serious. 

“y/n, listen,” she began slowly, 

“i wanted to talk about something.”

you froze for a moment, piecing together the gravity of her tone. the brownies, still cooling, were suddenly secondary to her serious demeanor. 

“what’s up?” you asked with a slight frown, putting the tray down on your kitchen island to focus on her.

“i’ve been meaning to bring this up,” she said, taking a deep breath. 

“i heard some things about your, uh, spending habits, y/n. i think it might be good for us to talk about it?”

you instinctively shook your head, the edges of denial creeping in. 

“my spending habits? what do you mean?” you asked, your voice suddenly edged with defensiveness. 

you hoped that your bedroom door was locked, you thought inside of your head. that would’ve gave away all of your issues that alexia is concerned about. 

“it’s not like i’m, you know, drowning in debt or anything.”

“i—I know that,” alexia kept her eyes locked with yours, her gaze gentle yet unyielding. 

“but y/n, it’s a lot. i want to make sure you’re okay. i mean, it’s easy to go a bit overboard when you’ve finally got the chance to buy things you’d never dreamed of.”

“what do you mean? it’s not overboard,” you insisted, crossing your arms. 

“i grew up fine, really, i am not–” 

“y/n, please don’t lie to make yourself feel better.” 

“alexia–i–i just…i like looking nice, and it’s not just about the clothes. it’s—you know, it makes me feel good.”

“trust me, i get that, really.” alexia's voice softened, understanding behind her words. 

“but don’t you think all of this,” alexia points to all of your shoes in the hallway leading to your bedroom. 

“could be something more? an underlying problem?”

your heart suddenly felt heavy. 

“underlying problem? what are you saying, alexia?” the defensiveness you felt turned to an urgent need to protect the parts of yourself that had been so fragile for so long—the parts that still whispered fears of never being able to escape your past.

“i know how you grew up,” alexia said gently, the weight of her words settling like a blanket between you. 

“almost everyone on the team knows, y/n. and it’s okay. we all love you but you don’t have to be afraid of going back there—I promise, you’re safe now.”

you shifted uncomfortably, grappling with the urge to retreat, but alexia’s words were like a balm, soothing your frayed edges. yet, discussing your financial problems felt almost impossible.

“it’s hard for me,” you finally admitted, almost a whisper. 

“i’m scared, okay? scared that i’ll get back to being that poor little girl who was always hungry ale…i don’t want to be that person again, even if it was years ago.”

alexia stepped closer, her eyes radiating kindness. 

“y/n, you don’t have to live in fear anymore. you can have the nice things you’ve always wanted, but maybe you should think about getting a financial advisor? someone who can help you save, invest, and still enjoy life? you really can have both.”

you pondered her words, the idea gently pulling at your heartstrings, unsure of how you could intertwine the idea of safety with spending. 

“i don’t want to give everything up,” you breathed. 

“i just…I don’t want to feel like i’m back there—not again.” 

“you won’t,” she assured you. 

“you have the power to change, and you did. you can still get nice things, you deserve that since you work hard on the pitch with us– but maybe focus on less quantity and more quality? your childhood doesn’t have to dictate your future, y/n. believe me. you can have the nice things you still want.”

you nodded slowly, feeling a sense of warmth envelop you. 

“maybe that’s true,” you whispered.

“you don’t need to hide your past either, y/n. many of us did not grow up with a lot of dinero either. aitana’s family suffered while she was growing up, same situation as you but you didn't have the politics involved.” alexia lightly smiled, hoping to see you less scared of the conversation. 

“oh,” you said, leaning your arms against the kitchen island across alexia sitting on your stool. 

“i am just saying that all of this stuff and the idea of buying it will only last temporarily. you do not want to spend so much money to the point where you’re broke. i have an idea on how much your salary is at barca and with adidas, its a lot and you should not blow through that much money in one month.” alexia and you giggled at her last sentence. 

“i know, and i’m sorry.” 

“don’t apologize to me, you didn’t do anything to me. i’ll set you up with the financial advisor i have and we will put you on the right track okay? maybe a therapist at barca too?” 

“anything you think will help me, capi.” you leaned against alexia for a hug. 

masterlist

[argyrocratie]

"How will people get healthcare?

(...)

During the Spanish Civil War, Barcelona’s Medical Syndicate, organized largely by anarchists, managed 18 hospitals (6 of which it had created), 17 sanatoria, 22 clinics, 6 psychiatric establishments, 3 nurseries, and one maternity hospital. Outpatient departments were set up in all the principal localities in Catalunya. Upon receiving a request, the Syndicate sent doctors to places in need. The doctor would have to give good reason for refusing the post, “for it was considered that medicine was at the service of the community, and not the other way round.”[40] Funds for outpatient clinics came from contributions from local municipalities. The anarchist Health Workers’ Union included 8,000 health workers, 1,020 of them doctors, and also 3,206 nurses, 133 dentists, 330 midwives, and 153 herbalists. The Union operated 36 health centers distributed throughout Catalunya to provide healthcare to everyone in the entire region. There was a central syndicate in each of nine zones, and in Barcelona a Control Committee composed of one delegate from each section met once a week to deal with common problems and implement a common plan. Every department was autonomous in its own sphere, but not isolated, as they supported one another. Beyond Catalunya, healthcare was provided for free in agrarian collectives throughout Aragon and the Levant.

Even in the nascent anarchist movement in the US today, anarchists are taking steps to learn about and provide healthcare. In some communities anarchists are learning alternative medicine and providing it for their communities. And at major protests, given the likelihood of police violence, anarchists organize networks of volunteer medics who set up first aid stations and organize roving medics to provide first aid for thousands of demonstrators. These medics, often self-trained, treat injuries from pepper spray, tear gas, clubs, tasers, rubber bullets, police horses, and more, as well as shock and trauma. The Boston Area Liberation Medic Squad (BALM Squad) is an example of a medic group that organizes on a permanent basis. Formed in 2001, they travel to major protests in other cities as well, and hold trainings for emergency first aid. They run a website, share information, and link to other initiatives, such as the Common Ground clinic described below. They are non-hierarchical and use consensus decision-making, as does the Bay Area Radical Health Collective, a similar group on the West Coast.

Between protests, a number of radical feminist groups throughout the US and Canada have formed Women’s Health Collectives, to address the needs of women. Some of these collectives teach female anatomy in empowering, positive ways, showing women how to give themselves gynecological exams, how to experience menstruation comfortably, and how to practice safe methods of birth control. The patriarchal Western medical establishment is generally ignorant of women’s health to the point of being degrading and harmful. An anti-establishment, do-it-yourself approach allows marginalized people to subvert a neglectful system by organizing to meet their own needs.

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, activist street medics joined a former Black Panther in setting up the Common Ground clinic in one of the neediest neighborhoods. They were soon assisted by hundreds of anarchists and other volunteers from across the country, mostly without experience. Funded by donations and run by volunteers, the Common Ground clinic provided treatment to tens of thousands of people.

The failure of the government’s “Emergency Management” experts during the crisis is widely recognized. But Common Ground was so well organized it also out-performed the Red Cross, despite the latter having a great deal more experience and resources.[41] In the process, they popularized the concept of mutual aid and made plain the failure of the government. At the time of this writing Common Ground has 40 full-time organizers and is pursuing health in a much broader sense, also making community gardens and fighting for housing rights so that those evicted by the storm will not be prevented from coming home by the gentrification plans of the government. They have helped gut and rebuild many houses in the poorest neighborhoods, which authorities wanted to bulldoze in order to win more living space for rich white people."

-Peter Gelderloos, "Anarchy Works" (2010)

[sayruq]

"I did not expect that the fact that I am an Israeli who visited Israel a few weeks ago would be a red flag that requires questioning," Neriya Ashwal told Walla. Israeli student Neriya Ashwal landed at an airport near Nottingham last Friday and was detained for questioning by the anti-terrorism unit, according to Walla. Neriya is an Israeli student studying in Barcelona. Last weekend, he had an unpleasant experience when he went on a short visit to Britain for a few days, landing at the small East Midlands airport outside Nottingham on Friday. During questioning at the border control, he was asked if he had recently visited Israel, and he answered yes. He was then forced to undergo a more in-depth questioning by no less than the anti-terrorism unit. After the border control officer asked the usual series of questions, Neriya was asked if he had recently visited Israel. "I answered yes and said I had visited family and friends three weeks ago. The border control officer called someone on the phone and reported that they had an Israeli who had visited Israel recently," Neriya told Walla in a phone call from Barcelona. "He nodded, hung up, and asked me to sit and wait on the side. The passport remained with him. "He continued, "After about a quarter of an hour, three uniformed police officers arrived, talked to each other, looked in my direction, and after another five minutes, two more people in civilian clothes arrived and escorted me to an interrogation room. "The most senior of them told me, 'We are from the anti-terrorism unit. You have nothing to worry about. You are not detained. We just want to have a short conversation. You may go if you choose, but if you choose to go, we will detain you.' "They started by asking the usual questions again: Who am I? Where did I come from? Why did I come? Where do I plan to stay? What exactly do I plan to do? But then it took a left turn. "They started asking, 'Were you in the army?' Were you a combat soldier? 'I told them that I had diabetes and that I was not a fighter but in intelligence." They continued: 'Were you in the field?' I answered no, while it seemed to me that I already understood what they were looking to hear and what they weren't. They continued with questions about the visit, 'When you were in Israel, did you have any role in the army?' I answered 'no' to that as well." Neriya says that at the end of the questioning, they asked for proof of all his plans for the weekend, a return flight ticket, booking a place to stay, and a bus ticket to London. "They tried to be nice, and when the most senior of them left the room, the junior said to me: 'We don't have a problem with you, but because you come from this region, we just want to make sure. There are simply others who come here with other intentions, you know.' "The senior officer then returned to the room and said that I was allowed to go but that they wanted to check my bag first. Another policeman arrived and completely turned my bag over from end to end. He found nothing. Of course. In good time, after an hour, I was free again." Following the incident, Neriya addressed a letter to Israel's current ambassador to the UK Tzipi Hotovely and mentioned the similar case of Nova survivors, the Sharabi brothers, who were detained at Manchester airport about a month ago. He also mentioned that he is bringing his case from last week to the attention of the Foreign Ministry because, according to him, "If there is an instruction/policy/or even a local initiative by the border control officers to detain and interrogate any Israeli who is leaving military service or an Israeli who recently visited Israel. This is a disturbing phenomenon that Israeli officials need to recognize and deal with through the official channels."

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 62

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5K

Masterlist

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Friday, February 26; 9:00 AM - Zoo.

"Come on, hurry up," my brother urges next to the car.

"Joan," I tease. "Stop it, please, and stay here."

"If you don't listen, we'll turn back," Lucy scolds him.

That threat earns a grumpy response from my brother. He turns his back on us, crossing his arms. I smile, keeping an eye on him in case he seriously considers walking away. Meanwhile, Lucy grabs our backpack, which we prepared last night while Joan was already asleep. Since we couldn't go yesterday, we rescheduled the zoo for today. Joan was over the moon once he figured it out. We didn’t talk about it at all yesterday. We were too busy. We ended up at a small fair with our friends after visiting the local market. My brother had completely forgotten about the zoo because of that, and in the evening, when he asked, we pretended we weren't going anymore to surprise him. It worked quite well. He's very excited now. I hope today will be better than the fair. We came home late, in the late afternoon. We offered to have our friends stay for the evening, but they politely declined, likely feeling awkward about being invited again. Perhaps it was for the best. Joan was so exhausted that he fell asleep right after dinner. We managed to get him to sleep in the guest room thanks to that. Sure, he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and squeezed in between us, but we couldn't hold it against him. At least we almost got an entire night to ourselves. Joan sulked all morning, but it seems like his bad mood has vanished. Now he’s beaming with anticipation.

"Alright, we’re good to go," Lucy announces, shutting the trunk.

Joan spins around excitedly at the news. His smile brightens, and he looks at me, waiting for my go-ahead.

"Go ahead, but stay in front of us, okay? I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He nods and takes the lead. I smile, following him with my hand in Lucy's. Lucy sighs softly, probably relieved that we’ve finally arrived. Joan was unbearable the whole ride. I've seen him impatient before, but never like this. It felt like he was deliberately trying to annoy Lucy, and he succeeded. I had to keep him entertained, or else Lucy would have lost her mind.

"I hope today goes smoothly," she says.

"There’s no reason it shouldn’t. Though, there are more people here than I expected," I remark. "I didn't think it’d be this busy."

"It's Friday, the last day of school vacation before the weekend. Of course, it’s packed," Lucy replies. "At least the weather is warming up a bit. It’ll be more pleasant."

I nod. It’s still a bit chilly, but unlike what one of Lucy’s neighbors told us earlier this week, the icy wind has finally died down. The snow has also melted, and in a few weeks, the temperature should finally rise. I can’t wait for that. In Barcelona, we rarely experience bad weather, if ever. It’s the complete opposite here. It’ll be tough at first, but I think I can get used to it. There are perks to the snow and cold. First, you can have fun in different ways, and with the cold, you get way more cuddles. Not that we don’t cuddle in Barcelona, but it’s much more enjoyable here, under a blanket. We reach the ticket booths. We wait a bit before it’s our turn. I handle the tickets, not giving Lucy a chance to argue. It’s about time she lets me contribute financially, even though I’m not working yet.

"I could have paid," she says once we pass the security gates.

"No," I reply cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No, and that’s the end of it. Today, it’s on me."

She rolls her eyes with a small smile before Joan reminds us of his presence by tugging on my jacket sleeve.

"Come on, Ona! We need to keep moving!"

"The animals aren’t going anywhere, you know," I say with a small laugh. "Come on, give me your hand. There are a lot of people here."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," she complains.

"That’s not the point. I just said there’s a crowd, and I don’t want to lose you."

I accompany my words with a stern look. He’s been arguing nonstop since we got here, and I’m starting to lose patience. He sighs and eventually gives me his hand. In the meantime, I turn toward Lucy, but I notice she’s no longer beside me. A brief moment of panic sets in until I spot her at a nearby map stand. I sigh in relief before dragging us over to her.

"Hey, if I tell Joan to give me his hand so I don’t lose him, it’s not an excuse for you to run off."

She laughs softly, leaning her head toward me.

"Sorry. I saw the maps and thought they might be useful."

"Haven’t you done the zoo before?" I ask, surprised.

"No. It’s a first for both of us," she says with a little smile.

I return her smile. She finally takes a map and stops when she sees my hand extended toward her. She laughs but takes it without protest.

"Alright, let’s go."

"What should we start with?" Joan asks, looking around with excitement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, let’s check the map."

As I speak, Lucy unfolds the map. Everything is super organized. They’ve laid it out by zones based on the animals’ origins. My attention lingers on the penguins. Knowing Joan, that’s what he’ll enjoy the most.

"I’d save that for last," I say, pointing to that part of the map.

"Okay, well, let’s start here then," she points to the opposite direction.

"Should we join a tour group?" I ask, noticing one gathering beside us with a guide.

"No, that’s boring," my brother groans.

"Looks like you’ve got your answer," Lucy says.

"Alright, alright," I reply with amusement. "Just us, then."

"Can we start with the lions?" he asks.

"That’s actually over that way. Let’s go."

We move forward through the crowd to start with the African animals. Joan might be excited, but so am I. I love these kinds of outings, just the three of us. I also love animals. We linger at some exhibits and pass by others more quickly. It’s our first time here, but the layout is really well done. I’m sure we’ll come back, just Lucy and me. The zoo is organized like small villages at various points along the path. They’re often animated by staff, and they even offer activities in certain spots. We managed to get Joan to participate in one of them. He didn’t really want to at first, but in the end, he seemed to enjoy it. Then, we had the chance to feed the zebras. We were lucky to arrive at the right time. That was definitely Joan’s favorite part. Of course, the activity was supervised by staff, but they weren’t obligated to involve the visitors. The African section ends with the lions, which he kept talking about the entire time, even after all the things he got to do. I mentally note that my brother is becoming more and more spoiled and that I need to talk to our mom about it. I’m not the one responsible for his upbringing, but it’d be good for her to keep an eye on this not-so-pleasant change.

"What’s the next section?" I take advantage of my brother’s distraction to ask Lucy.

"The Asian animals. Then the Australian ones. But I think it’d be a good idea to grab lunch before that since we’ll be near a restaurant."

"Okay, that works for me," I reply with a smile.

We’ve been walking for two hours now, so that sounds like a good idea. By the time we finish the next section, I imagine we’ll be ready for lunch just before noon. It seems less busy than the one we just completed, according to the map. That’s good news, considering the crowd around us. Lucy was right earlier. The weather is mild, and it’s the end of vacation, so people are making the most of it. We’ll have to consider these factors next time if we want a more peaceful visit. Lucy kisses me and then wraps her arm around my shoulders. I keep an eye on my brother, who’s been ahead of us for a while now. He’s captivated by the lions. He’s holding onto the railing, looking down as if he never wants to leave this spot. Unfortunately, I have to burst his bubble if we want to see everything.

"Come on, Jo, let’s go."

"A little longer, please," she pleads, pouting.

"No, we’re moving on," Lucy jumps in. "Otherwise, you won’t be able to see everything. There are other animals like leopards and jaguars."

"Tigers too?" she asks excitedly.

"Of course. We’re getting to them soon, but we need to keep moving. »

Finally, without further resistance, he complied. He walked ahead of us. From the start, he had been negotiating to stop holding my hand. It must have been torture for her to see the other children running around while he couldn't. I agreed on the condition that he stayed in front, didn't run, and didn't stray too far. I also didn’t want to spend my day holding his back. So far, he had respected my terms, which was a first since this morning. Lucy had gotten so fed up with his behavior in certain situations that she left him to me to handle. She was probably right. I had noticed that the more Lucy got involved, the worse his behavior became. I imagine it will take some time for him to adjust to having someone else in my life. After all, he had never really seen me with anyone before. When I was with Mapi, he was too young to remember, which was for the best. He would probably have made a fuss about us no longer being together, given how much he adores my best friend.

With these thoughts in mind, we continued along, taking our time to observe everything. The scenery was beautiful, a peaceful place where you almost forget the disrespectful kids shouting everywhere. Almost. Lucy might complain, but at least we didn't have to deal with that with my brother. As someone who dislikes drawing attention, I appreciated this.

Finally, it was time to eat. As planned, we arrived just before noon. There was a bit of a wait, but not as bad as it could have been.  

“I’m not hungry,” my brother mumbled. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You’re not alone, and knowing you, you'll be hungry as soon as we leave.”

“But there’s still so much to see!”

“And we’ll have time to see it all.”

“But—"

“Joan, that’s enough,” my girlfriend interjected with a stern look. “My threat from this morning still stands.”

“Oh, stop. He’s been good all morning.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at me, and I pressed my lips together. Last night, she’d told me it would be a good idea to support her when she said something to Joan, to avoid making her look like the bad guy. Admittedly, apart from a few grumpy remarks, which I had managed so far, Joan had behaved well this morning. My girlfriend sighed softly and turned back to Joan.

“We’re eating now. If you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat, but don’t complain later.”

In response, my brother groaned, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. It seemed like his favorite thing to do since he arrived, and it was pretty funny to watch.

“Come on, move along,” I guided him with a hand on his head as we advanced in line.

“But I’m really not hungry,” he insisted, looking up at me. “My stomach hurts,” he added, rubbing his belly.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes filling with tears. I sighed and glanced at Lucy, who shrugged. I knew she was aware, just like me, that this was probably a lie.

“Well, I suppose you can take some medicine beforehand. We brought those dissolvable sachets, just in case.”

In reality, we only had tablets. I would have crushed one if she truly needed it, as he can’t swallow them whole. It’s not like I don’t know how to do that. I also knew he hated it, which was clear when he grimaced at the idea.

“No!” he whined.

“Well, what? You’re feeling unwell, aren’t you?”

“I-I think I feel better now.”

A small laugh escaped me. I shook my head. So the negotiations were working after all. Lucy wasn’t wrong to have me handle this. It seemed effective. We finally reached the buffet, which reminded me a lot of a school cafeteria. I grabbed a tray for Joan and myself, while Lucy took care of hers. We helped ourselves to the food. Lucy and I got chicken cutlets with fries and a green salad, while Joan chose spaghetti Bolognese. For dessert, we picked cookies. I think I also slipped a few snacks into the bag in case we got hungry later. We finished with drinks—iced tea for Joan and me, and water for Lucy. Once everything was ready, I paid, and we found a table. The place was somewhat crowded but not so much that we had to wait for a table to free up.

The meal passed peacefully, with Joan chattering nonstop. It was the first time he’d talked so much, so we let him. He had just started his first year of primary school, and since I no longer lived at home, the change was pretty drastic. Not just in personality, but intellectually as well. This morning, he had fun reading all the signs to me, showing that he could read now.

“And then Paul got a new dog. It’s so cute! I wanted to go to his house to see it, but Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded with her mouth full. “I wanted to have a sleepover, but we already had plans that day.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

“When are you guys going to get a dog?”

Lucy, who had been silent until now, nearly choked. I stifled a laugh. That question caught me off guard too. I’d forgotten how unfiltered Joan could be. If anything, he talks more now than before.

“Why do you think we’d get a dog?” I asked, once I composed myself.

“Well, I already asked Mom, but she said no. So now I’m asking you guys. It’d be great! I could take care of it when I visit.”

This time, I laughed out loud. It wasn’t like he would be spending half the year with us. Besides, knowing him, even if we had a dog, he wouldn’t actually take care of it when he was here.

“We’re not getting a dog, Jo, I’m sorry.”

“But why?” she pouted.

“Well, we’re hardly ever home right now. It just wouldn’t work.”

"Home." The word slipped out before I realized it. It didn’t seem to bother Lucy, though, as she kept watching us with a faint smile. I cleared my throat and continued, giving a more realistic explanation that Joan could understand.

“Don’t you think a dog would be miserable, locked up in an apartment all alone? And dogs require care, which we wouldn’t be around to give since we don’t live in the apartment during the week.”

“Or on weekends when you don’t have leave,” Lucy teased, continuing to eat as if nothing happened.

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She had said that on purpose. The worst part was that she was the one who enforced this “punishment.” It was funny, though, and I appreciated that she still saw me as the person I was before we got together. It meant she hadn’t labeled our relationship or changed how she viewed me. Now that I think about it, our behavior toward each other hadn’t changed either. Joan’s voice brought my attention back to her.

“But yeah, not now, duh! You could get a dog once you’ve finished school and have a house. You said you love Lucy, so that’s what will happen, right? You could have a dog then, and you wouldn’t even need a baby!”

Lucy burst into laughter—literally. Meanwhile, I died of embarrassment, hiding my flushed face behind my hands. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say that in front of my girlfriend. I could feel Lucy’s eyes on me from across the table, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I forced myself to, though, and saw her smiling at me with amusement, clearly expecting me to respond.

“You’re really talking nonsense. We don’t know yet. And who says we won’t have a baby, huh?”

“Well, I’m already here. You don’t need one. And besides, you can’t have one anyway. I’ll just move in with you.”

Once again, Lucy snickered softly. Joan, who seemed very sure of what he was saying, pouted and crossed his arms. I bit my lip to hold back my amusement. He was definitely giving me plenty of stories to remind him of later.

“All that, huh?” I asked.

“Isn’t it a good idea?”

He was sulking. I recognized the tone in his voice when he did that.

“Where did you get all these ideas, huh?”

“Well, my friends say two girls together can’t have a baby.”

I ran a hand through my hair. He must have talked to them about me. I knew he often mentioned me to them, so it wasn’t impossible. Poor thing must have a lot of questions if he’s already discussing this with his friends—or anyone else, for that matter. It must be tough for him to understand everything at his age. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, if only to understand this better.

“They’re right,” Lucy said. “But there are other ways.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “Like adoption, for example.”

I gave him the simplest version of the truth, something he could grasp. Lucy and I hadn’t had the chance to talk about it yet; it was way too early for that. But if I were to give my opinion, adoption wasn’t something I’d want to prioritize. Joan seemed to latch onto the idea instantly, and his reaction caught me off guard.

“Then you can adopt me!”

I rolled my eyes playfully and grabbed a napkin to wipe the tomato sauce covering his face. A few more seconds, and it would have dripped onto his clothes.

“And why would we adopt you, huh? You have a home with two parents. Adoption is for children who don’t have that, you know?”

I can see through his eyes that all the hopes he had thought so much about have evaporated. I don't like seeing that glimmer. I feel bad for him.

“So, you don't want me?”  

“We didn’t say that,” Lucy responds. “You can come see us as often as you want, and we’ll visit you in Barcelona too.”  

“But… I want to stay with you! You’re way too far from home, and Mom and Dad aren’t around much anyway.”  

I give him a sad smile. I know what that’s like, unfortunately. I run my hand through his hair before pulling him into a hug. He lets himself go without any fuss.

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t do any better. It’s not that we don’t want you, but you can’t just leave home like that. Besides, Lucy and I will probably have another busy year ahead. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t take you in permanently.”

I think about the opportunity at the Art school for me and the opening of the gym for Lucy. This upcoming year will be just as busy and complicated as this one, if not more. I dread it as much as I’m excited to see what the future holds. I’m still waiting on a phone call, and I’m starting to worry that I haven’t heard back yet. Lucy says it’s normal, and I hope she’s right.

“Hmm… I would have preferred to live with you anyway,” he admits.  

I don’t know what’s going on at home, but there’s clearly something wrong. I think I’ll call my mom when I get the chance. If Joan isn’t feeling comfortable there anymore, I need to know so I can get my mom to react. There’s no way I’ll let him go through what I went through. I know how that ends, and if we don’t find the right person to help, things can go very wrong.

“Alright,” Lucy interrupts. “We should finish up quickly if we still want to do everything.”

This news brings a small smile to my brother’s face before he quickly resumes where he left off before our conversation.

“Slow down, please. Otherwise, you’ll really get a stomach ache.”

He nods but doesn’t slow down, which makes Lucy and me laugh as we exchange a glance. She may not have said much at the table, but I know she heard everything. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it all when we’re alone. We finish dessert, then head off to explore another area. Even though Joan claimed he wasn’t hungry, he still ate well. The day goes on, and surprisingly, Joan has become calmer than before, which delights my girlfriend. It’s understandable. As much as he pushes her limits, it’s annoying to have to constantly put him back in his place when we’re supposed to be having a good time. He must have realized that his tantrums don’t work with us. Maybe I should call Sofia as well to see how she reacts to his. Unlike my mom, I don’t doubt Lucy knows how to manage him as I do. It’s just that my mom doesn’t have patience for this sort of thing, so it’s very hard for her to react calmly. She loses her temper rather than defuse the situation.

“Hey,” Lucy calls out after a while. “Stop worrying. It can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know,” I admit with a small, anxious smile. “We’ll see. I’ll call my mom tonight. I need to know what’s going on.”

She nods understandingly before giving me a soft kiss. Unfortunately, it’s the moment Joan turns around. His new habit is to let out disgusted noises whenever he sees us. But it seems he didn’t hear the rest. We change the subject as we finish this park, which Joan seems particularly fond of. It’s true—it’s very well done. We’ll definitely come back.

Friday, February 26th; 9:00 PM – Lucy’s apartment.

We’re back home. Everything is peaceful. It was six o'clock when we got back. The day was good. We all enjoyed it, especially Joan, who has already showered, eaten, and even gone to bed. He fell asleep in the guest room without even protesting. In fact, he went there on his own with his new penguin plush. We managed to finish the park, and it seems I was right—Joan loved it, and I couldn’t resist buying him a plush when he asked for it. He earned it with how well he behaved in the afternoon. As for Lucy and me, I had just settled on the couch with Netflix on in the background. I had already showered, and Lucy should be joining me soon. I hadn’t heard the water running in the bathroom for about five minutes. Now that everything is calm, I wanted to call my mom. Joan’s behavior wasn’t normal. I knew he had behavioral issues, but now we needed to figure out why. Nothing ever happens for no reason. It seems like everyone’s already forgotten what happened with me. I’m not going to let them forget. Just as I was about to call, an unknown number appeared on my screen. I don’t recognize it, but it seems to be from here, from Manchester. I frown, intrigued by the late call. Could it be Feli? Would she really come here? How would she even know where I am? The thought makes my stomach knot. I inhale slowly, glancing behind me to check if Lucy is around. Not yet. She’s still in the bathroom. After the fifth ring, I force myself to pick up.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously, my voice uncertain.

“Miss Batlle?” a voice asks.

“Yes...?”

“Hello, this is Bennett Fields! I’m sorry to call so late. I lost track of time,” he says with a small laugh. “Am I disturbing you?”

Bennett Fields, Bennett Fields... Oh! He’s the gallery director. I immediately sit up straighter on the couch, as if he could see me from afar.

“No, no! I’m at home,” I tell him.

“Good.”

If he were in front of me, I’m sure I’d be able to see his smile. It’s amazing how you can read him so well.

“How are you?”  

“Well, I’m pretty nervous now that you’re on the line,” I admit, which makes him chuckle. “And you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I had a rather busy week. I know I said I would get in touch with the person who sent me your drawings, but I preferred to speak with you directly.”

“No problem.”

In any case, I would’ve gotten the answer tonight since the other person is also in this apartment. I now understand why he asked for my number at the end of our meeting. He seems to like dealing with people directly, which is completely normal.

“I’m calling to follow up on our meeting.”

“I figured,” I reply with amusement.

I like the way we talk. I should be stressed, but he puts me at ease. His laugh is contagious.

“You impressed me a lot, Ona. Certainly not by your lack of experience, but by your undeniable talent.”

Blushing, I feel flattered to hear that from a professional.

“So, here’s the thing. I have a proposal for you. Of course, as we discussed, it would mean going back to school. Are you still okay with that?”

“Of course!”

We haven’t discussed next year much with Lucy yet, but we both kind of know what to expect.

“Good. However, the offer wouldn’t be for the Manchester gallery…”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit worried.

“Well, here’s the thing. My gallery is expanding. I’m developing new locations in the region. I’m about to open one in Cardiff, and I’m putting together a team. I think you’d be a great fit there, under the direction of my new manager.”

Cardiff? The news leaves me speechless. What should I say to that? I definitely can’t accept such an offer on the spot. My lack of response prompts him to speak.

“I know it’s a big decision to think about. You’ve already traveled a lot, but this would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

“It definitely requires some thought…” I murmur.

“I didn’t expect an immediate answer. I’ll give you time to think it over. Just so you know, there’s also an Art school there, and the program can last two to three years, depending on the student’s choice.”

Two to three years? My vision blurs. There’s no way I’m staying away from Lucy for that long!

“If you’d like, we can schedule another meeting in two weeks. Do you think you could get some time off from school for a weekday meeting?”

“I-I’ll have to check.”

“Well, call me when you know. That way, we can set up a time to meet and talk face-to-face. Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can do that. I’ll call you then.”

“Great! Well, I wish you a good evening. Talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon, Mr. Fields.”

I hang up, completely overwhelmed by the conversation. Damn it! I think I’d have preferred if he’d just rejected me rather than making me face such a decision!

“Who was it?”

I jump, not having noticed Lucy’s presence. I turn toward her as she slowly approaches to sit beside me.

“Ona?” she calls gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I think we need to talk…”

Concern flashes across her eyes. Oh yes, she has reason to be worried. If she only knew how I’m feeling inside right now... I almost feel like crying.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

You look so alive - M.H x Reader // pt4

A/N: Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? Matty finally gets some. Almost. TW: Hard drugs, please take care of yourselves! Also very NSFW, minors dni. Ilysm @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff my one and only. I was concerningly high writing most of this, sorry if there are any spelling mistakes of any sort. Enjoy yourselves my loves❤️

wc: 5.5k

part five

June, 2008

Saturday morning, the sun is shining brightly through your curtains. The clock reads 8:32am. You’re awoken by a harsh knock on your window. Matty. You smile

Today is a particularly good day. It's your Birthday, your 18th, to be exact. You get up, and you can already hear the metaphorical birds chirping outside of your window. Slowly walking to your window, you're greeted by Matty grinning at you through the glass. 

“There's my birthday girl,” he says, pulling you in for a hug. The ‘my’ makes your heart skip a beat, but you inevitably push the feeling down. ‘Not now’.

The hug lasts a few seconds too long as he buries his face in your hair, taking a deep breath. Your hands trail down the expanse of his back, lingering around his waist. He releases you, climbing into the room. 

You get dressed. A black dress, lace and frills adorning the edges. Matty is wearing his blue Barcelona shirt. He managed to get the stains out of it, you notice. His favorite pair of skinny jeans cling to his legs, even if just a bit looser.

Watching you do your makeup, he smiles at you endearingly. It had been two months since he hung up on you. You didn't talk about it, you never did. What was the point? It would just bring up more confusing feelings you weren't ready to deal with. Things were better the way they were, and they stayed like that. Until they didn't. 

You finish rather quickly, turning to look at him. He knows that look.

“You got any on you?” you ask. 

He nods, grinning as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a red cigarette case, opening it slowly as you sit down next to him. In it, were two pre rolled spliffs. Next to them, was the thing you were actually asking about. A baggie filled with white powder. 

Ever since that night, you’d wanted to experience what you felt again. Over and over. Matty already knew a few good guys who had set decent prices. He started picking up for the both of you, always splitting the sum. You reached into your pocket to pull out the cash for your portion, but he pushed your hand away. 

“It's your birthday, darling, I can't let you pay for anything, it wouldn't be right.” he winks at you. Darling. You nod, laying back onto the bed, watching him. 

He searches your room for something to cut the lines with, settling on your Hollister members card. Grabbing your bio notebook, he shakes just enough of the substance onto the surface for both of you. 

You snort yours first, moving out of the way to give Matty his go. The both of you stare at each other before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter, falling into each other's arms. You lay like that for a bit, before Matty gets up. 

“C’mon, we’re taking you out for your birthday. The big one-eight!” he laughs, clearing off the surface. He rubs the remainder on your gums. The feel of his fingers in your mouth is strangely erotic, you involuntarily let out a soft moan. He looks at you funny, and you shake your head, brushing it off. He tucks the cigarette case back into his jeans.  

You go through the front door this time, knowing your mother was at the office. On your 18th birthday, your own parent had decided work was more important. Fuck her, honestly. You don't lock the front door, knowing you wouldn’t be able to find your keys later. 

The two of you take the short walk to the local corner shop, Adam, Ross, and George already standing there with… balloons? 

A giant pink balloon floated over Hann’s head, and he grins at you as you walk towards him.

“For the birthday girl– a pretty pink balloon.” you can hear the other three boys sniggering behind your back. With a roll of your eyes, you take the balloon from him, holding it awkwardly.

The bell rings as you open the door to the shop, greeting Becca, the woman behind the counter, with a smile. She waves back, already turning around to grab a pack of your favourite fags for you. The two of you were friends, having met at a party a few years back. She sold you whatever you needed, ignoring the fact you were underage for years. 

Her eyebrows raise as she notices the balloon. “It's my birthday today!” you say, louder than expected. She shook her head, immediately noticing something off. Placing the bottle of vodka on the counter, you hand her your I.D with a toothy grin, and she scans it. 

“It's on the house, darling, but..” she trails off, leaning into you. You do the same, listening intently. “Lay off a bit, your pupils are fucking huge and its 10 in the morning” her words take you by surprise. Taking a look in the mirror of the shop bathroom, you confirm her statement. 

Splashing some cold water onto your face, you shake off the feeling of dread. Today was a good day, nothing was going to ruin it. You take a pair of sunglasses out of your bag. They were pink with a black rim, complimenting your outfit. 

You make your toward the exit, fags and vodka in hand, waving goodbye to Becca. She smiles at you, but it looks off. You ignore it, pushing the door open with your shoulder. Matty greets you with a smile, taking the bottle off you. 

You look to your left to see George welding what looked like a Sainsburys shopping cart. Cocking an eyebrow, you walk toward him. George takes the balloon, tying it to the shopping cart before opening his mouth to speak. 

“Go on, get in birthday girl,” you give him a skeptical look, before you feel hands gripping your waist. Flailing in the air, you realize Ross had picked you and was now placing you into the cart. Inside was a 6 pack of beer, and various food items. 

You flip Ross off, cursing him out for basically throwing you into a metal shopping cart. The five of you spend the day like that, riding around. You cruise down highways, and at some point, Matty gets in with you. You're both pressed up against each other, legs intertwining.

A blue ferrari whizzes past you, honking aggressively. Neither of you was sober enough to care, throwing beer bottles after the car, narrowly missing it. Adam was paranoid that the driver was going to call the cops, but he was promptly ignored by the rest of you. 

For some reason or another, you end up in a McDonald's parking lot. It's dirty and fairly empty, tire tracks marking up the pavement. George had paid for your food, and you were all munching away happily at your burgers. Matty was moaning into his chicken burger like it was heaven as a food item.

“Jesus mate, I'm not sure I want to hear your sex noises while trying to enjoy my food, tone it down, will you?” Ross says, pulling a face. Matty responds by letting out a loud groan, licking the sauce off of his fingers. 

“You love my sex noises, don't lie. Remember that time I was shagging Ava in the loo at George's party and you were standing outside the whole time?” he says with a full mouth. Ross shakes his head, whispering quiet words of denial. 

Matty shoots you a look, and you nod. “I need a piss,” you say, getting up. “Matty?” 

He gets up, wiping his hands on Hann’s shirt, and he smacks him across the face. Matty just laughs, turning to leave with you.  

“Why do you always go piss together? A bit weird, innit?” George comments, cocking an eyebrow. “We’re going for his hourly blowjob, George, didnt you know?” you joke, nudging Matty in the ribs. A collective “Ewww” sounds from the group as you leave. 

The bathroom is a borderline health hazard, the sinks covered in a type of grime you can only describe as slimy. Matty swipes it off as best he could, taking the red cigarette case back out. He goes through the routine, cutting up two lines with that same Hollister card. 

“D’you have any cash on you?” he asks, giving your frame a once over. You nod, taking out a tenner from your bra. 

His eyes linger on you, and you feel naked, exposed. He knew. He knew why you had gone out that night. He knew about the dream, you were sure of it. 

He chuckles as he sees where you’d been keeping the money before rolling it and handing it to you, ever the gentleman. 

This line felt different, stronger. You assume he cut more than last time. Taking a sip from the sink, you fix your hair in the mirror, wiping under your nose. Matty does his line. He gathers the loose powder onto his middle and index fingers, his other hand cupping your face. Rubbing onto your gums, you can feel them start to go numb. He holds eye contact, as if he were waiting for something. He got what he wanted when you let out a soft groan, your eyes never leaving his.

His hand leaves your jaw, instead running through his air. He doesn't put the cigarette case away just yet, taking one of the zoots out. Handing it to you, you tuck it away in your pocket. 

Making your way outside, you notice the streetlamps were already on. Was it that late already? The guys had already finished their food, wrappers littering the inside of the cart. They were standing next to each other, like they were waiting. You walk up to George, cheekily pulling out the joint from your pocket. 

“Sweet! But before that, we have something for you,” you look confused. Adam then takes his hands from behind his back, revealing a square velvet box. You take it, glancing at Matty. He nods, signaling at you to open it. 

Inside is a silver necklace, in the shape of a star. Not any star though, it was the same shape as the tattoo you had on your hip. Before you could stop them, tears welled up in your eyes, dripping down onto the metal. 

“Fuck you– did you really?” you ask, your vision blurry. They all nod, taking a step closer, giving you a half-awkward group hug. Matty stroked your hair, taking the necklace out of its box. His fingers are like electricity against your skin as he moves your hair out of the way, undoing the clasp of the necklace. 

“Thank you so much– fuck i’m crying,” your hand wipes at your face, taking some of your mascara with it. “God, I'm so pathetic.” Your heart filled with love for your friends, and you gave them each an individual hug. Ross lets out a deep chuckle, wiping more of your tears. Fucking hell.

Mattys hug is long, once again burying his face into your hair. He squeezes you, his hands resting on your waist when he pulls away. You fight the urge to kiss him. No, not now.

Forcing yourself to get your shit together, you walk toward the giant, half-drank bottle of vodka, taking a swig. 

You hear the others talking amongst themselves, with Ross raving on about the latest Macclesfield town game and how much they sucked.

“They played like the ball had been invented 15 minutes before they were set to play,” he scoffed, finishing his beer, smashing the bottle on the floor, the shards scattering around him. No one knew why he did that, he just did. 

Matty was stood next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours, headphone wires between you. The sun was starting to set, the purple light making Matty look ethereal. You really, really wanted to kiss him. But you don't, instead opting to pick at your freshly manicured nails. 

The two of you sat there, next to each other, neither daring to move. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“You have to sanitize everything so you dont cause some sort of gnarly infection, yeah?” Rome explained, wiping down the needle with a disinfectant wipe. You watched intently, making a mental note. 

He had agreed to teach you how to pierce people when you vaguely mentioned having an interest in it. Rome wasn't the best, but he had done your bellybutton pretty well, so why not?

The needle looked intimidating, your hands shaking slightly as you gripped the base. He was letting you pierce his ear for practice, on the condition you promise you won't completely fuck it up.

The jewelry he had picked was a silver cross with red details that shimmered when you held it to the light. You had commented on it, and he mentioned he had some similar jewelry for your type of piercing. Humming in response, you thanked him as he gave it to you, even going so far as to switch it out. 

Rome was calm, trusting you fully. “Just slowly push it in, and thread the jewelry through the top part. After that, just pull it through. It's simple really, just don't fuck up.” he shoots you a grin, and you laugh at him sarcastically.

With laser focus, you pierce the needle through the marked skin in one go, ignoring his pained hiss. The jewelry went in without a hitch, and Rome got up to admire your work. 

“S’not bad for your first time,” he said with a wink, and you roll your eyes, thanking him for letting you do this. 

You say goodbye, giving him a peck on the cheek, slamming the front door shut. 

Matty had called you earlier, asking if you wanted to come over to his. His parents were gone, and he had the house to himself. 

Your bag clinked as you slung it over your shoulder, walking the short distance to his house. The setting sun shone into your eyes, and you take out those same sunglasses you had worn on your birthday. 

Knocking on the door, it's not long before Matty answer. He's wearing a dark green zip up, black sweatpants hanging low on his waist. The skin of his chest peaks out from underneath the thick material. You swallow, hard.

He lets you in, and you make your way to the wine fridge (yes, wine fridge), pulling out an unopened bottle of Merlot. He takes two fresh glasses out of the cupboard, and you pour a healthy amount into them.       

You and Matty spent most of your time getting hammered and talking nonsense and watching nonsense TV. Nothing seemed to make sense around him. Your heart was beating against your ribcage as if it was trying to break out of your chest. You sit down, laying your head down onto his chest. 

The telly was turned up, some cartoons playing. You just couldn't focus on anything. You nudge Mattys hip, giving him a look and he knew. Getting off him, you sit down onto the floor next to the posh crystal coffee table. He came back, holding a baggie filled with more blow than you had ever seen in your life. 

“Where'd you even get that much? Christ Matty, that's like 400 quid worth of the stuff in one bag.” he smiles at you.

“My parents are rich, remember? 400 quid is a dinner date for them.”

You can't help but grin, scooting closer to the table. He cuts two lines for both of you, and you do yours straight off the table, not even caring. 

The two of you return to your previous position on the sofa, with you pressed up against his chest. You've abandoned the glasses, decided to just drink from the bottle. Who was watching? 

His heart was beating in his chest, you could hear it. Your hands wander to his waist, pulling him close. 

He loses a hand in your hair, scratching your scalp in the way he knew you liked. Your breathing is shallow, you feel lightheaded, all because of fucking Matty. You attempt to convince yourself there is nothing there, spending endless nights pondering, trying your hardest to get him out of your head. 

His hand moves down to your jaw, playing with your earrings. His skin feels hot. You feel hot. 

Matty turns your head, angling it toward him. You were looking at each other now. The look in his eye indiscernible as they darted all over your face, landing on your lips. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and he sucked in a deep breath before connecting his wet lips with yours. 

Gripping the back of your neck, he maneuvers you on top of him. Both of your legs were on either side of his, straddling him. He moaned into the kiss, tilting his head slightly to the left. 

You take over the kiss, biting down onto his lower lip, hard. He's breathless, gasping for air as he pulls away. You stare at each other, out of breath and sweating. 

“What are yo-,” you start,

“Shut up, just– be quiet.” 

He pulls you back in, your lips crashing against his. His hand travels down to cup your chest through your shirt, tweaking your nipple. He groans, the noise turning into a high-pitched moan as you dig your nails into his scalp. 

“You like that?” you ask, giving his hair a tug. The whimper that comes out of his mouth is all the confirmation you need. 

You stop again, and your eyes meet his. His chest moves up and down in rapid succession, and you can feel his heart beat even quicker. 

“I don't- just please– fuck, don't stop.” he pleads with you, his hand trailing down your lower back. The look on his face is delicious. He's begging. A bead of sweat runs down his face, disappearing into his hair. 

Your lips connect with his neck, biting down into his skin. The noises that escape him can only be described as pornographic, his voice reverberating through the room, the high ceilings amplifying them. 

Continuing your attack on his throat, you listen to the sounds he lets out, drinking them in. It was music to your ears, hearing him like that. Because of you. 

Matty presses a hand to your chest, making you stop.  

“Maybe we shouldn't- I mean, wouldn't it be weird?”

You nod in agreement, sitting up on top of him. It would be weird around the others. You try to seem unbothered, it's not like you felt anything for him. Of course you loved him, as a best mate, and all of this had been a horrible mistake.  

A nervous laugh leaves his lips, morphing into a genuine one. “Can you imagine? Us? Hann’d lose his mind.” you crack a smile, imagining Adam's reaction to your current position. 

You slowly get off of him, turning your attention to the abandoned bottle of wine laying on the table. Picking it up, you gulp the rest down, wiping your mouth clean. Clean of Matty. You know it's wrong to want him like this, to want to feel his skin against yours. You ignore every primal instinct telling you to get back on him, to kiss him again, instead, you make yourself comfortable on the floor.  

He turns the telly up, switching to a news channel instead. You didn't dare look at him, afraid of what you’d see. You feel a tap on your shoulder. “Y’know, just because we stopped.. doesn't mean you can't like, lay on me and stuff.” he gestures to himself before patting the space next to him. 

“Lots of people would pay good money to be able to touch me, so you better make the most of it,” a grin spreads onto his face as you get up. 

You lay back down, settling into him completely. This is fine. This is totally fucking fine. Sucking in a deep breath, you turn your attention to the TV in front of you, losing yourself in the colors. 

His hand searches for yours, intertwining your fingers with one another. What was he doing? A million thoughts run through your mind. One thing was clear, you definitely needed another drink. 

Time passed, becoming more and more irrelevant as the hours ticked by. The two of you had moved to his bed, lying next to each other. Bon Jovi’s ‘Vienna’ played softly through your headphones, his voice piercing your thoughts. Despite what he might tell other people, Matty loved Bon Jovi. He would rave on about his music for hours, and you would listen to every word, a familiar warmth spreading through you. Adoration.

Matty had already fallen asleep, softly snoring into the pillow. You turned off the music, slowly taking out the headphone from his ear. He stirred for a second, muttering something in his sleep, but didn’t wake up.

You look at him, hair falling over his face in loose curls. The soft sound of his breathing filled the air, acting as a sort of white noise for you. You lay down facing him, and stroke his face lightly. He was beautiful like this, peaceful. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

Morning came slowly, the sun gradually peaking through the blinds as it came up. Matty woke up before you, getting ready quietly before shaking you awake. You borrowed some of his clothes, pulling on a black and yellow striped shirt over a pair of his jean shorts. He opted for just layering a black tank top underneath the outfit he already had on.

The walk to the bus stop was quiet, the sound of chirping birds filling your ears. It was a Monday morning, so both of you were sober and ready to learn (ugh). Once again walking arm in arm, you had gotten to the stop earlier than intended, sitting down on the metal bench. 

Neither of you spoke about the previous night. It was better that way. Matty got out a pack of cigarettes, pulling out two. One for you, one for him. He lights yours. 

You spot the bus, throwing your half smoked cigarette to the ground, and he does the same. He leads you to the front of the bus, giving you the window seat. Matty loved the window seat. 

His head is once again in your lap, acting like the past 12 hours simply hadn't happened. You were content with that, softly stroking his hair, curling and uncurling it with your grown out nails. “Let's skip last lesson,” he suggests “George is at his nans anyway. What's the point?” you nod in agreement, leaning your head against the glass. 

Neither of you had bothered bringing anything today, both your bags only filled with lighters, makeup, and maybe the occasional notepad. The halls are unusually empty for this time of day, but you just brush it off. You and Matty trudge to the classroom, flinging open the door to be met with a very angry looking Mrs. Sexton  

She has a go at you, yelling about how it's ‘incredibly disrespectful’ to come 15 minutes late to her class again. You offer her a shrug, sitting down at your usual table. Matty is quiet today, hungover and way too sober to say anything to the insults being strewn at him from a few tables back. The group of boys won't let up, chatting shit the entire lesson. You ignore them.

Class ends, and you’re walking down the halfway arm in arm, talking about how much Mrs. Sexton fucked you off. 

“Look at him, fucking fairy, isnt he? Even his little girlfriend wont snog him. Disgusting,” They spit at you, laughing in their little group. The comment made about you makes Matty turn around.

“D’you know why i'm not snogging her, mh?” he stares daggers into the guy whoever dared to utter a word at you, running his hand through his hair. “I’ve been too busy fending off your girl, talking ‘bout ‘oh please make me cum Matty, my boyfriend never touches me right-” A punch to the gut punctuates his sentence, making him fall to the ground. 

Matty doesn't stay down too long, getting up and throwing himself at the bloke who hit him, tackling him. He starts hitting him properly, throwing punches at his head. In turns, the guy smacks him across the face, making Matty roll off of him. 

Eventually, the guys' mates pull them apart, spitting more insults at Matty and you. Matty spits on the ground infront if him, giving him a wink. The two of you then book it down the hallway to the nearest loo, locking yourselves in. 

The moment you both look at each other, laughter fills the space. “You're mental, you know that?” you say through giggles, wiping the tears from your eyes. “He could've actually hurt you!- Fuck, your eye.” you see a gash underneath his left eye, it was bleeding. 

Grabbing as much toilet roll as you could, you hold it to the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. “Oh, bugger off, it's nothing.” he says, wincing as you press down harder. “Don't even try to do your ‘oh i'm so masculine’ schtick with me, I swear to god.” your hand holds his head, making it easier for you to press the paper against his cheek. 

Thats when you realise how fucking close your face is to his. He’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, and you're on your knees, of all places. Last night was really, truly, messing with your mind. His leg twitches slightly, eyes peering down at you. You can see him take a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

You feel a blush creep onto your cheeks as you look up at him. Silence fills the room, the only sound being your knees shuffling against the tile. His legs spread slightly, allowing you to scoot toward him. This is so fucked up.

“Can I kiss you?” his voice comes out meek and non-committal, eyes avoiding yours. 

“Only if you look at me, Matty.” you answer, straightening your knees, making yourself taller.

He forces himself to meet your gaze, pulling his lip in between his teeth. You nod, bringing your face to his, but not letting your lips touch. That was his choice. 

His eyes bore into yours, as if he was trying to peer into your soul. He probably was. 

“You're so beautiful,” he says, sounding confident, sure. He closes the gap between you, his hand grabbing at the base of your neck. You moan into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck. The blush that was previously confined to just your face spreads all over your body, making you feel as if you were on fire. Matty lit your skin on fire. 

Then, he did something you didn't expect. He got up, taking you with him. With a force you didn't think he had, he pushed you up against the wall. Your mind couldn't comprehend what was happening. His whimpers fill the bathroom stall as you rake your nails down his back, digging them into it.

You gasp when he brings a knee up between your thighs, pushing up further. Breathless, you pull away, gasping for air. His hand traces up and down your jawline, nails scratching the skin. He places a peck onto your cheek, then your chin, making his way down your neck. You have no choice but to moan whenever his lips make contact with your skin, silently begging for more. 

The bathroom door slams open, a group of girls piling in. Matty slaps a hand over your mouth, stifling your noises before anyone could hear. They start talking, and all you could do was focus on trying to not make a sound as Mattys knee moved up even higher. You look at him, panic in your eyes. You desperately didn't want to get caught.

He listens to your silent pleas, lowering his knee from its position. His mouth catches your lips in another kiss. The two of you stay like that until the girls decide to clear out, closing the door behind them. He tastes like cigarette smoke, then again, so do you. He interlocks his fingers with yours, pressing them up against the door. His tongue dances with yours, and you feel sparks of electricity travel up your spine.

He moans your name, your hand gripping at the roots of his hair, pulling tightly. He seemed to respond most when you did that. He responded to pain. Your nails digging into his back, your teeth biting his lip. Everything suddenly made sense, especially the time you had cut his hair. Those sounds he had disguised as coughs weren't cries of pain, but of pleasure. 

You file away that information for another time, if there would even be another time. “Let's get you home,” you say, pressing a hand to his chest. His expression caused you physical pain, looking down at you like a kicked puppy. 

You didn't want to want him like this, but your body and mind had apparently made a different decision. You lead him out of the stall, out of the bathroom and down the hall, making your way to the parking lot. The air was thick, but somehow still comfortable. You could feel his eyes on you for most of the walk to his house. For the first time since you had met, you were the one walking him home. 

Hugging him at the door to his house, he leaned in to kiss you. You let him, his hands gripping your waist like it truly was his anchor to reality. This goodbye felt different, it felt hard. 

 

// Matty //

Picture a scene: A darkened room, the only light coming from cracks in the curtains. The sheets are cold against his skin, giving him a sense of comfort. 

His hands trace down his chest, grazing the skin lightly. He repeats the movement, sighing as his fingers linger over his nipples. The room is warm, or maybe that's just him. Regardless, he takes off his shirt, throwing it into a corner somewhere in his room.

He thinks about the kiss. The way your bodies moved against each other as if it were second nature. It felt right. Your lips against his, moans leaving his mouth involuntarily. He broke the kiss first, not wanting to go too far. He so desperately wanted to.

He couldn't hold back in the bathroom, with you looking up at him like that, eyes full of worry for his well being. He had fought for you, trying to defend your honor like some sort of disney prince. It did work, but he didn't like to fight. It wasn't who he was as a person. It wasn't who Matty was around you. 

He palmed himself through his boxers, a groan tearing itself from his throat. He imagined it was your hand instead of his, the mental image of you with him, in this position, made all the blood in his head rush to his cock. The pressure was almost too much. Almost.

He imagined you above him again, your eyes never leaving him, always looking at him. His body yearned for your attention, for your touch. The shuffling of his boxers down his thighs is incredibly loud in the near silent room, the bed creaking beneath him. 

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, the tip leaking precum. Tugging at himself, he closes his eyes, picturing you. The way your neck cranes to look at him when he's laying on top of you. The way your lips wrap around the opening of a wine bottle, the liquid sloshing down your throat. The way you kissed him, taking complete control of the action. Taking complete control of him. 

He can feel himself getting close, teetering on the edge. His noises get louder, echoing through the room. Attempting to muffle himself, he shoves his head into his pillow, biting down. It's useless, he starts helplessly rutting into the mattress, begging for release. He imagines your voice, telling him to ask you for permission. 

“P-please– fuckkk,” he stutters out.

No one can hear him, he knows that well enough. He just can't stop himself. He comes, hard, spilling into his hand. 

He lays there, sweating, panting. The only thought in his clouded mind: You.   

[the-great-tiger-of-mumbai]

//Other things you can headcanon around your favorite boxers besides their favorite cereals, video games, shoe sizes, trans and gender, ships, Pokemon, etc:

Their favorite places to go within their birth cities.

Their favorite locally made movies (as in made in their country).

Their favorite local celebrities (from their own countries).

Their favorite local dishes (from their own countries).

The foreign country they want to go and why.

What other languages they can speak (that is not English or the featured language in the game).

Yes, there is a pattern here.

Part of why I absolutely love Punch-Out!! as a game series is how the boxers are internationally represented, even through national stereotypes. But national stereotypes can be fun and even embraced--as a Californian, I embrace Super Macho Man with all my heart. And you can indulge in stereotypes WITHOUT being racist.

I love Great Tiger in particular of all the Punch-Out!! boxers is because his stats and character themes suggest a very interesting background--no Hindu or Vedic imagery, even WITH clones (no multi-heads or arms imagery; the closest you get is Tiger connecting with nature and space), the building he was floating out of appears to be a gurdwara, the composer of his music is Punjabi, and though he comes from Mumbai, he speaks Hindi (when he could have spoken Marathi or Punjabi instead). Not to mention in the NES, Doc Louis has told Little Mac that Tiger's father was a magician. So there is SO much material to work with beyond just his clones.

I know folks are not willing to go the extra mile to do their research, or that research bores them to tears, but I still recommend going that extra mile on your headcanons of your favorite boxers. Glass Joe is not a 15 year old American high schooler, he's a 38 year old Frenchman. Von Kaiser is 42 and from Berlin. Soda is 35 and from Moscow. The headcanons are there, waiting, open for the filling.

It's an invitation to explore, not to avoid. It may feel like much, but trust me on this. Consider this your excuse to visit Madrid with Don Flamenco, who'll be more than happy to take you to other parts of Spain like Zaragoza, Sevilla, Pamplona, and Barcelona. Let Glass Joe talk your ears off on the beautiful fields of Province. Take in the sobering experiences of Von Kaiser living in post-WWII/Cold War Berlin.

If this doesn't help you fall more in love with your favorite boxers, then.... I don't know. You do you. You make your own fun. I'm just sad and lonely in my old people corner, lmao.

[exhaled-spirals]

« Only recently, reading Anna Funder’s “Wifedom,” did I discover a new fact (or perhaps a new theory) about “Animal Farm”: Orwell wrote it in collaboration with his first wife, Eileen. “The form of the book itself — as fable, novel, satire — was Eileen’s idea. She steered him away from writing a critical essay on Stalin and totalitarianism.” Funder cites Orwell biographer Tosco Fyvel: “If Animal Farm is a tale so perfect in its light touch and restraint (almost ‘unOrwellian’), I think some of the credit is due to the conversational influence of Eileen and the light touch of her bright humorous intelligence.”

[...] Early on, Funder tells us that “Orwell’s work is precious to me. I don’t want to take it, or him, down in any way.” But it’s hard to imagine a more ferocious takedown than the one Funder launches with her catalogue of Orwell’s appalling misdeeds. In Morocco, he asked for (and apparently received) Eileen’s permission to sleep with a very young local prostitute. After years spent attempting to seduce Eileen’s friend Lydia Jackson, he crawled into Jackson’s bed. She recalled trying to “ward him off from forcing himself on me.” He appears to have taken a rather lighthearted view of sexual assault and of his own attempts to “pounce” on women who resisted him. And he consistently undervalued Eileen’s contributions to his domestic and professional life: typing manuscripts, dealing with editors, nursing him through bouts of illness, cleaning out the latrine that overflowed, disgustingly, in their yard.

[...] The book’s most interesting section concerns the time Orwell spent fighting against Franco’s army during the Spanish Civil War — an experience he wrote about in “Homage to Catalonia.” Eileen was also in Spain at that time, leading a busy, challenging and frequently dangerous existence, working at the Barcelona office of the British Independent Labour Party, outwitting Stalinist spies, trying to help friends and co-workers who were arrested and, in some cases, executed. When Orwell was wounded at the front, she rushed to his side, but her presence there — like most of what she did in Spain — went unremarked in his book. “Orwell spends over 2,500 words telling us of his hospital treatment without mentioning that Eileen was there. I wonder what she felt, later, as she typed them.” »

— Review by Francine Prose of Anna Funder’s ‘Wifedom’ in The Washington Post

[ollieflopkins]

Was going through some of my important possessions today (all centralized in a big rubbermaid) and all my football scarves are housed there so thought I’d do a football scarf tour! Going through them makes me so grateful for all of the football experiences I’ve been able to have and brings up so many great memories for me 🥹

(photos below the cut)

[left] My most important football scarf, the Liverpool scarf I bought when I officially decided to be a fan 10+ years ago. It has gone everywhere I’ve gone.

[right] The scarf of my local MLS team, the Columbus Crew. My college roommate got this scarf for me when Crew were in the MLS cup playoff in 2015 and I cried. We did not win that MLS cup lol.

[left] The scarf I bought at the Euro 2024 opening match. We were rooting for Scotland and that did not work out lol but it was still incredibly fun and was so special to be there. Feel so nostalgic for Germany.

[right] The scarf I bought at the other Euro 2024 match I went to. We were rooting for Italy and that ALSO did not work out haha. The Arena Aufschalke is so beautiful.

[left] The last scarf I have from Euro 2024, which I also got in Gelsenkirchen like the Spain/Italy scarf.

[right] A FFF scarf I got from the Stade de France when I saw a national team friendly there in either 2016 or 2017. I lived in Paris (“lived” is an exaggeration - I exhausted my savings scraping by there working an English teaching job) after graduating college. Too much of the little money I made there went to football.

[left] The scarf I got at the Camp Nou when I went to see Barcelona play in 2016. I went all by myself and it was so magical. Songs were sang and tears were shed

[right] I went to the Women’s FA Cup final in 2016 randomly - my dad and I were visiting London and went to see wembley the day of the match and decided to stay to see the match! It was arsenal v chelsea so we picked arsenal.

[left] I got this scarf when I went to MetLife Stadium to see Bayern v Real Madrid in 2016. I don’t like Bayern lol but fuck Real Madrid so I rooted for Bayern and also Xabi was there at the time ❤️

[right] This was a surprise to me because I didn’t remember my Dortmund scarf had the ynwa lyrics on it! Got this when I saw Dortmund v Leipzig (I think?) at the Signal Iduna in 2017.

Not pictured bc I could only add 10 pictures lmao: The West Brom scarf I have bc my husband supports Liverpool but also follows West Brom!

[lying-hawk]

⎯⎯ Biographie de Kayron.

Kayron Linnort Beckham d'Sáez, born in Barcelona, Spain, is a prominent casino mogul in Monte Carlo, renowned for his innovative vision and the creation of luxurious experiences. He is the son of Spanish fashion icon Aaliyah Khair Beckham and Portuguese footballer Andrés Beckham. Kayron is of Spanish descent and part of the illustrious Beckham family, inheriting a significant fortune that he shares with his older brother, Jaden Beckham. Growing up in an environment of wealth and opportunity, he developed an early interest in the gaming and entertainment industry.

Currently, Kayron resides in Monaco, where he has transformed his casino into one of the world’s most sought-after destinations, attracting both tourists and elite players. With an approach that blends tradition and modernity, he continues to expand his influence in the gaming world, solidifying his family legacy while shaping the future of entertainment in Monte Carlo.

Professionele Geskiedenis. ⎯

Kayron always dreamed of being a successful businessman, and his life changed when he acquired the Monte Carlo Casino. Since he was a teenager, he has admired the glamor and sophistication of this iconic place. After years of hard work and smart investments, he finally managed to buy the casino, becoming its owner.

Soon, Kayron began implementing his innovative ideas. He modernized the games, introduced interactive tables and created a welcoming atmosphere, without losing the classic charm of the place. The casino became known not only for its games, but also for gala events, classical music concerts and theme nights that attracted tourists and locals.

As his popularity increased, Kayron decided to use part of the profits to invest in social initiatives in Monaco. It created a scholarship program for young talent, offering education in areas such as arts and entrepreneurship. The community began to see the casino as more than a place to gamble; it became a symbol of hope and opportunity.

Kayron's reputation spread, and he was invited to attend conferences on business and social responsibility. He always talked about how success is not just measured by profit, but by the positive impact on people's lives.

The Monte Carlo Casino flourished under his management, attracting celebrities and visitors from around the world. Kayron, now a respected figure, continued to dream, planning new projects to keep the casino relevant and inclusive.

Thus, the Monte Carlo Casino was not only an entertainment space, but also a legacy that reflected the vision and heart of its dedicated owner, Kayron.

⎯⎯ Stokperdjies Bykomende.

In addition to all the wealth that Kayron has, he is deeply passionate about adventures and adrenaline that involve nature. In his spare time from his responsibilities as a casino mogul, Kayron seeks out exciting experiences, such as mountain climbing, diving into crystal clear waters and hiking through lush forests. This connection with nature not only revitalizes you but also inspires you to bring new ideas and a fresh perspective to your business. This passion for adventure reflects his audacious spirit and his desire to live life to the fullest, balancing opulence with experiences that connect him to the natural world.

Given all of Kayron's adrenaline and achievements, he still has time to be a father to Elena Sáez, his loving and dedicated 4-year-old daughter that he is so proud of. The little girl is always by her father's side and is the heir to all his riches. This family is pretty rich and it's not just about money.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 3. Economy

How will people get healthcare?

Capitalists and bureaucrats see healthcare as an industry — a way to extort money from people in need — and also as a way to appease the population and prevent rebellion. It’s no surprise that the quality of the healthcare often suffers. In the richest country in the world, millions have no access to healthcare, including this author, and every year hundreds of thousands of people die from preventable or treatable causes.

Since poisonous working and living conditions and lack of healthcare have always been major grievances within capitalism, providing healthcare is generally a chief goal of anti-capitalist revolutionaries. For example, unemployed piqueteros and neighborhood assemblies in Argentina commonly set up clinics or take over and fund existing hospitals left defunct by the state.

During the Spanish Civil War, Barcelona’s Medical Syndicate, organized largely by anarchists, managed 18 hospitals (6 of which it had created), 17 sanatoria, 22 clinics, 6 psychiatric establishments, 3 nurseries, and one maternity hospital. Outpatient departments were set up in all the principal localities in Catalunya. Upon receiving a request, the Syndicate sent doctors to places in need. The doctor would have to give good reason for refusing the post, “for it was considered that medicine was at the service of the community, and not the other way round.”[40] Funds for outpatient clinics came from contributions from local municipalities. The anarchist Health Workers’ Union included 8,000 health workers, 1,020 of them doctors, and also 3,206 nurses, 133 dentists, 330 midwives, and 153 herbalists. The Union operated 36 health centers distributed throughout Catalunya to provide healthcare to everyone in the entire region. There was a central syndicate in each of nine zones, and in Barcelona a Control Committee composed of one delegate from each section met once a week to deal with common problems and implement a common plan. Every department was autonomous in its own sphere, but not isolated, as they supported one another. Beyond Catalunya, healthcare was provided for free in agrarian collectives throughout Aragon and the Levant.

Even in the nascent anarchist movement in the US today, anarchists are taking steps to learn about and provide healthcare. In some communities anarchists are learning alternative medicine and providing it for their communities. And at major protests, given the likelihood of police violence, anarchists organize networks of volunteer medics who set up first aid stations and organize roving medics to provide first aid for thousands of demonstrators. These medics, often self-trained, treat injuries from pepper spray, tear gas, clubs, tasers, rubber bullets, police horses, and more, as well as shock and trauma. The Boston Area Liberation Medic Squad (BALM Squad) is an example of a medic group that organizes on a permanent basis. Formed in 2001, they travel to major protests in other cities as well, and hold trainings for emergency first aid. They run a website, share information, and link to other initiatives, such as the Common Ground clinic described below. They are non-hierarchical and use consensus decision-making, as does the Bay Area Radical Health Collective, a similar group on the West Coast.

Between protests, a number of radical feminist groups throughout the US and Canada have formed Women’s Health Collectives, to address the needs of women. Some of these collectives teach female anatomy in empowering, positive ways, showing women how to give themselves gynecological exams, how to experience menstruation comfortably, and how to practice safe methods of birth control. The patriarchal Western medical establishment is generally ignorant of women’s health to the point of being degrading and harmful. An anti-establishment, do-it-yourself approach allows marginalized people to subvert a neglectful system by organizing to meet their own needs.

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, activist street medics joined a former Black Panther in setting up the Common Ground clinic in one of the neediest neighborhoods. They were soon assisted by hundreds of anarchists and other volunteers from across the country, mostly without experience. Funded by donations and run by volunteers, the Common Ground clinic provided treatment to tens of thousands of people. The failure of the government’s “Emergency Management” experts during the crisis is widely recognized. But Common Ground was so well organized it also out-performed the Red Cross, despite the latter having a great deal more experience and resources.[41] In the process, they popularized the concept of mutual aid and made plain the failure of the government. At the time of this writing Common Ground has 40 full-time organizers and is pursuing health in a much broader sense, also making community gardens and fighting for housing rights so that those evicted by the storm will not be prevented from coming home by the gentrification plans of the government. They have helped gut and rebuild many houses in the poorest neighborhoods, which authorities wanted to bulldoze in order to win more living space for rich white people.

[ketylevi]

Beginners' guide to Kasalsa.

The Essence of Kasalsa

Before diving into the steps, it’s essential to understand what Kasalsa is all about. The dance combines the infectious beats of salsa with the fluid, rhythmic movements characteristic of Caribbean dance forms. The result? A dynamic and energetic style that’s as much about self-expression as it is about following the music.

Kasalsa is often danced in pairs, but solo dances are not uncommon. The dance's core lies in its syncopated rhythms, smooth transitions, and the ability to improvise while maintaining a connection with your partner or the music. Whether you’re swaying to the music alone or with a partner, Kasalsa is all about feeling the beat and letting it guide your movements.

Tips for Kasalsa Beginners

Start Slow:Don’t rush through the steps. It’s better to move slowly and correctly than to speed through and miss the rhythm.

Practice Makes Perfect:Like any dance, Kasalsa requires practice. Dedicate time each day to going over the basic steps until they become second nature.

Feel the Music:Kasalsa is all about rhythm. Listen to the music, and let it guide your movements. If you feel the beat, your body will naturally follow.

Stay Relaxed Dance

The Best Kasalsa Dance Floors: Top Venues Around the World

Now that you’ve got the basics down, it’s time to take your moves to the dance floor. Kasalsa is celebrated worldwide, with venues that cater specifically to this energetic dance style. Below are some of the top spots globally where you can immerse yourself in the Kasalsa experience.

1. Havana, Cuba

Venue:Casa de la Música

Why It’s Great:Havana is the birthplace of many Latin dance styles, and Casa de la Música is a legendary spot for live music and dance. The atmosphere is electric, and the crowd is always ready to dance the night away.

2. New York City, USA

Venue:Copacabana

Why It’s Great:The Big Apple is a melting pot of cultures, and Copacabana has been a staple in the city’s dance scene for decades. With its diverse crowd and top-notch DJs, it’s a must-visit for any Kasalsa enthusiast.

3.Barcelona, Spain

Venue:Antilla Salsa Barcelona

Why It’s Great:Known for its vibrant nightlife, Barcelona is home to many dance clubs, but Antilla Salsa stands out for its dedication to Latin music and dance. The venue offers lessons and hosts regular dance nights, making it perfect for both beginners and seasoned dancers.

4. Cali, Colombia

Venue: Zaperoco

Why It’s Great: Often referred to as the world’s salsa capital, Cali is a city where dance is a way of life. Zaperoco is a hotspot for locals and visitors alike, offering a true Colombian Kasalsa experience with live bands and an energetic crowd.

5. London, UK

Venue:Salsa! Soho

Why It’s Great: London’s multicultural scene embraces Kasalsa with open arms. Salsa! Soho is a lively venue where you can dance to the best Latin beats in the heart of the city. The club regularly hosts dance classes, making it an excellent place for beginners to learn and socialize.

Join ‘We Love Kasalsa’ for Local Event Updates and Meet-Ups

Learning Kasalsa is just the beginning. To fully enjoy the dance, it’s important to immerse yourself in the community. ‘We Love Kasalsa’ is more than just a dance group; it’s a vibrant community of dancers, instructors, and enthusiasts from around the world. By joining, you’ll gain access to local event updates, meet-ups, and a network of like-minded individuals who share your passion for Kasalsa.

Why Join ‘We Love Kasalsa’?

Stay Updated:Get the latest news on Kasalsa events, both locally and globally.

Meet Fellow Dancers:Connect with other Kasalsa enthusiasts in your area and around the world.

Learn and Improve:Take advantage of workshops, tutorials, and tips shared by experienced dancers within the community.

Share Your Journey:Whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned dancer, ‘We Love Kasalsa’ is a platform to share your experiences, challenges, and successes.

Conclusion

Kasalsa is more than just a dance; it’s a celebration of life, culture, and rhythm. By mastering the basic steps and joining a community like ‘We Love Kasalsa,’ you’ll not only improve your dance skills but also become part of a global movement that’s all about connection and joy. So, lace up your dancing shoes, hit the dance floor, and let the music guide you. The world of Kasalsa is waiting for you!

[wolfliving]

Ex-Designer Project Bar in Barcelona

via e-flux

Martí Guixé’s Ex-Designer Project Bar, an exceptional project that turns a digitally designed interior, produced entirely using full-size 3D printing techniques into a standalone object, will be on display at the Disseny Hub Barcelona (DHub) from May 23 to August 25. 

The project was born in November 2015, when Martí Guixé, one of Barcelona’s most internationally influential 21st century designers, set out to design and 3D-print, independently and without help, all the components of a bar on Barcelona’s C/ Entença in collaboration with architect Pau Badia. The bar, an empty commercial unit with minimal structure, was gradually redesigned and built over a period of almost five years, using three on-site printers while still in operation. Thus, all the bar’s components were gradually printed: everything from the tiles on the walls and the furniture down to the smallest utensils, such as glasses of different types, plates and cutlery. 

According to Martí Guixé, the process itself is what matters, so the project became something performative, incorporating coincidence in a natural way.

The use of the establishment as a bar—where concerts, presentations, talks and other events were also held—was just as important as its role as a laboratory for experimenting on the possibilities of additive printing, and the utopia of digital autonomy. The project explores the true potential of digital fabrication technologies to achieve the dream of self-sufficiency for local production, without having to rely on large global manufacturing systems. 

Just as the bar was finished, with the grand opening scheduled for February 2020, the pandemic and subsequent lockdown forced it to close. It then underwent a process of “deconstruction”, which was carried out behind closed doors and in an orderly manner, like a work of archaeology, in order to preserve it in full. The Ex-Designer Project Bar thus ceased to be a bar or a work of interior design to become a standalone “object” adapted for other possible uses.

Martí Guixé’s Ex-Designer Bar is a reflection on the potential for democratising industrial production and the industrial process: “The use of 3D technology makes artisans redundant and unifies materials. The world is made up of ideas, not of people’s energy”. He also said that “bringing the Ex-Designer Bar to a museum turns it into an object, a ruin and an archaeological site of the future”.

The first full-size reconstruction of the bar With Ex-Designer Project Bar, the DHub is exhibiting this monumental object in its original format, after assembling the walls and other various components: A total of 30 wooden panels measuring 122 cm x 150 cm, plus over six thousand 14 cm x 14 cm tiles. The result is an installation that measures 8.75 x 3.56 m and is 5.02 m high, whose component parts have been 3D-printed in full size using polylactic acid (PLA), a biodegradable polymer made from 100% renewable resources, such as corn or plant starch. 

The interior walls include the front of the bar, which features figurative motifs from other projects by Martí Guixé, the side bars with experiments with bas-reliefs and pseudo-geometric figures in various sizes and thicknesses, and unsuccessful attempts to create a series of bag and coat hooks. There is also a notice board with backlit tiles for posting information about events and food and drink prices, as well as a front panel in which the main figure represents Artificial Intelligence, a representation of all the 3D printers used, including the one for printing food.