#Ciudad Real Madrid

[cristinabcn]

Noches del Botánico: Farru, Michel Camilo y Tomatito

Botanical Nights: Farru, Michel Camilo and Tomatito Cover Photo: Michel Camilo y Tomatito. TERESA FERNANDEZ HERRERA Directora General de Cultura Flamenca. Periodista – Prensa Especializada Primero el recinto. Un lugar de ensueño para conciertos de verano. En plena Ciudad Universitaria de Madrid, en la avenida Complutense, el Real Jardín Botánico Alfonso XIII, es ajeno a la terrible ola de…

[moviestarmartini]

ella es mi fiesta — jude bellingham x hispanic!reader

es la favorita, la mujer más buena / la que más me gusta de todas las nenas / es la mamacita, se me agua la boca / que no más las miro y todo me provoca.

summary: jude has completed his move to madrid, and while you watch him shine, you've got a wedding to plan.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: wedding!! tried not to specify much so it adapts to everything (methinks), good mother/daughter relationship lol, short nsfw but still 18+, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex (not endorsing it!!!), lots and lots of sappy crying, smau at both the beginning and the end, sentences in spanish, a paragraph in spanish will be translated at the end hehe

previous part

A bigger, brighter spotlight started to shine on your fiancé. 

You knew Jude deserved that and more, and you were more than satisfied with his success. If college wasn’t occupying your nights, you saw him at the Bernabeu whenever you could, preferring to sit outside than inside the VIP boxes to feel la afición you grew up with. Feel that passion and support surrounding you, coursing through your veins. 

Nothing had really changed; you still supported him through thick and thin. You cried when he scored a brace against Barcelona, and held him close after the endless recovery hours when he was injured. The fact he was physically closer only improved your relationship further. 

You never knew how much you needed to have him close by. 

But being at Real Madrid had its disadvantages. You barely got to hang out around campus to avoid people asking too many questions, wanting to know more about your relationship with the golden boy. But most of this chatter wasn't even questions about you or him, they were directed towards your relationship. 

The same comments you’d read on Twitter and his Instagram Posts— not yours, considering you decided to keep your account private for the time being. Things ranging from your age, the time you’ve been dating before the proposal to downright wishing you wouldn’t even make it to the wedding and just cancel the engagement. 

You’d discussed these comments with Jude, and his reassurance was more than enough to keep you at peace about your relationship. But the criticism only made your body burn with the necessity to prove everyone wrong. So you kept your head down, concentrating on your studies and planning the wedding on the side. You had bimonthly reports to Jude about the progress of everything, though Denise had been a godsend this whole time. Any decision you needed an opinion on, she was there to provide the most helpful insight when Jude wasn’t able.  

As he settled into the team, the teammates he grew closer to got to meet you, all of them absolutely adoring you and the pair you made with the englishman. 

“When are we getting our wedding party ask? Cama here wants to be the flower man.” Tchouameni joked, elbowing his fellow french national on the ribs as the group exploded with laughter. 

During one of the international breaks Jude surprised you with his return by joining you during a cake tasting. He wasn’t fully recovered from the injury and was sent back, having taken a few hours off to be with his ‘best girl’— he said himself. 

“Shoo, or I’m going to report to the mister that you’re playing hooky.” You stuck your tongue out while dropping him off at Ciudad Real Madrid for his recovery training. The truth was, you had a dress fitting that afternoon. Your mom, Denise, your cousin and your best friend were in attendance. 

You’d find your dream dress at a boutique in the city center, the streets crowded enough for people to recognize you and snap a few blurry pictures entering the shop. None of those wearing the dress, thank goodness, but by the time you found out people started to realize you and Jude were actually getting married that year, you were too elated to care. The dress fit like a glove, and your mom couldn’t help but sob by seeing you in it. She bought it on the spot without much consideration, and considering you were the only girl in your nuclear home, your mother was going all out for her little girl’s wedding. 

As the temperatures dropped, the planning became more frantic. You had fifty calls to make every single day confirming everything, keeping Jude updated and checking one last time for the RSVPs. As November edged in, you only felt more and more nervous. 

“Are we too insane for this? We should’ve waited for two years from now maybe…” You wondered out loud to Jude as you finished the engagement photoshoot. Brunch was your thing, so it was a playful twist on the theme. 

“Look at me,” He incited, taking your face in his hand. His eyes were full of reassurance, and it always surprised you to see how he never doubted anything for a second. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you want to delay it for fifteen years I’ll wait patiently.” The photographer was already packing up his things, but perked up when he noticed the intimate moment going on. He didn’t interrupt, just taking a few candids. 

His understanding just melted away any doubts instead of reinforcing them. You scooted closer in your chair. “I’m not moving anything. The wedding’s in a month, and I couldn’t be happier.” You cooed, your fiancé humming happily as he kissed your forehead. 

When you received the pictures you came to notice those candids turned out to be your favorites. Not that the others looked bad— on the contrary, you both looked stunning— but they transported you back into that moment full of reassurance and love. 

Before you knew it, the last game of the season transpired, along with your last class before exam season took place in January after your Winter vacations. 

After your wedding. 

For your bachelor and bachelorette parties respectively the two of you decided to celebrate during the day so that night the rehearsal dinner could take place at the same cozy chateau the wedding was taking place the next day. It was more of a mixer than anything else, considering Jude had guests come from all over to the event. All of them you knew, since you both agreed to keep it tight knit on both sides. There had also been a sworn secrecy, you’ve giggled for hours reading Twitter threads speculating when your wedding was taking place when it was literally happening right under their noses. 

It had been an hour or so since the last of the guests either drove home or crossed over to stay at the boutique hotel nearby. Both of your families were sleeping in the other rooms in the venue, but the matrimonial bedroom was left for your solitude. 

“Can’t sleep either, eh?” You turned to Jude’s husky voice from the bedroom door. You got up with a nod, watching as he closed the door behind you. “Anxious?” 

“Definitely.” You agreed, pulling him down and into a hug. “Young bride was not something I ever pictured in my resume but that was before I met you.” You muttered, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. 

Jude observed your movements slowly, feeling the cold white gold against his cheek. He turned his face and kissed your palm before taking it in his hand, kissing your fingers, never breaking eye contact. He inched in, nose brushing against you and you knew well enough his intentions. 

“In twenty-four hours we’ll consummate the marriage, Belli-bear; don’t.” You warned him with a playful smile, noticing how he leaned down and kissed your neck slowly. You couldn’t resist, tilting your head back. With all the planning involved, you barely got to see anything of each other, even less intimately. 

“I don’t care.” He grumbled, sliding his hands on your thighs as you stumbled over to the edge of the bed. He sat first, drawing you over to his lap. “I’ve barely seen you in the last two months.” Jude linked your lips together, and you melted right into his lap. It was slow, taking your time. He pulled down the straps of the soft cotton pajamas, letting the top roll down and pool at your waist. 

Your bare chest heaved against his clothed one, and he removed the shirt before his hands cupped your breasts. The tension building up in the room was something you’ve never experienced before; it was mind numbing, almost. 

“I love you.” You muttered something you’ve said so many times previously, but it felt like the first time. You noticed how he swallowed hard, his eyes looking up at you with utter admiration. Instead of replying right away, his hand sneaked under the matching shorts, past your underwear. Your breath hitched, his middle fingers drawing circles slowly. 

“Yo también te amo.” He replied, licking his lips. You slightly raised your brows in surprise; it was usually the other way around. You said it in Spanish and he replied in English. Now his tongue spoke your language with ease each day. Your mouth twitched lightly into a smile, interrupted by a moan as he gathered the slick pooling around his fingers. 

“Let me take you, please.” His begging was sincere, knowing you could easily decline and follow traditions. Not that you hadn’t done it before, but maybe right before your wedding was pushing it. “I’m too eager… I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow. 

You have been feeling his boner pressing against your thigh for a while now, yet again adding to his honesty. Your thoughts were racing a hundred miles per hour, but you concluded there was nothing traditional about this in the first place. The two of you were bending the rules over backwards from the day you met. A smile still rose to your lips, pulling him into a kiss and pushing him onto the bed. 

“Take me now. Tomorrow you’ll do it forever.” You brushed your nose against his, and he switched places to lay on top of you. Without wasting any time he pulled your pajama shorts and underwear down, his own following soon after. 

“Uh, fuck— I forgot,” He looked around the room, trying to figure out if you’d brought any condoms. You pulled his face towards yours, cupping his jaw in your fingers. 

“I’ll take a pill tomorrow.” You noticed how his eyes shone in a way you’d never noticed before, and he caught your lips in his once more, brushing his tip against your entrance. You mewled, feeling the stretch and embracing it warmly. Your fiancé held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“You feel so warm,” He practically whined, starting to draw out long thrusts. You could barely reply to the praise, trying to keep your moans muffled by hiding your face in his neck. “So perfect for me, my girl.” 

He knew those strained moans like the back of his hand, the kind where you seemed to be choking on air. The way your cunt squeezed him was enough indication. “Yes, baby. Do it, cum for me.” You exhaled in a way it was apparent the permission lifted a weight off your shoulders. He held you closer to his body, allowing your moans to leave your mouth more freely without escaping those four walls. 

The stutter of his hips that came soon after, followed by a string of curses gave away that Jude was close too. You kissed his strong shoulders, giving him words of encouragement as he perched your legs over his shoulders and started a painful pace to find his release. Still, he looked down at you with a fondness that made your heart melt, leaning down for a final kiss as he pulled out and shot ropes of white to cover your lower tummy. 

“How about a warm bath?” He proposed tenderly, and you couldn’t have said no, even if you wanted to. Without even noticing you fell asleep curled up in his chest, the light steam surrounding your bodies. 

You woke up the next day to the empty bed, haven’t felt so well rested in a while. There was some chatter going on downstairs, and you peaked from the bedroom window to notice staff being led by your mother and soon to be mother-in-law assembling the ceremony venue in the vast backyard. The reality soon dawned upon you, and you wanted to throw up from the nerves and scream in glee. 

But that was the last time you were left alone with your thoughts, as a soft knock rang through the room. “Coming! Denme dos minutos!” You sprung up from the bed, quickly fixing the bed and slipping into the silk slip dress you bought for the whole ‘getting ready’ part of it. The house had a great heating system from the dropping temperatures, but you still got a matching bolero in cashmere. Upon opening the door you were greeted by your small wedding party, consisting of your cousin and best friend. Your other female family members were getting ready with you with the same team of hair and makeup. 

The greeting hugs everyone gave you were so different. They were full of warmth, positivity. You had to hold back tears when your mom hugged you, easing up all your nerves. It was as if they were confirming to you that they were there for you, sending all the well wishes for the years to come with a simple embrace. 

You had your favorite breakfast with mimosas before getting ready. Music was blasting, everyone was chatting it up and helping each other. It felt as though you were getting ready for a regular party, until your brother came knocking at the door. “Delivery for the bride.” He smiled, and the room full of women squealed. You were done with your hair already but you were going to be the last to get your makeup done. 

With a smile you kissed your brother on the cheek before ushering him out the door, taking a hold of the large box and placing it on the bed. Upon removing the lid, you gasped at the delicately placed bouquet, the one you were going to be walking down the aisle with. 

“You like it? I helped him choose. He assembled it himself last night after everyone was gone.” Denise came up to you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t help but give her a tearful nod, setting the flowers aside to give her a tight hug. You figured this whole thing was a big change for her, considering how much of a mama’s boy Jude was. 

But that embrace felt just like the others; full of support and well wishes. 

In no time your makeup started and the women got dressed, only leaving your mum to help you with the dress and the veil. “Ay mi princesa.” She exhaled, fanning her eyes as you took a step back to look at yourself in front of the mirror. You took a deep breath in, having to hold back the need to start crying. Your dream wedding dress fit you as perfectly as it did on the first fitting, and the lacy veil was as perfect as it was on your mother all those years back. 

“I think we should head downstairs. Get some pictures of our family together. Jude should be waiting outside already, so there would be no peeking.” She laughed, carefully cleaning away the tears right at the edge of her eyes. 

The following reactions were similar. Your father looked as though he was about to pass out, and your brother was left speechless. But you only cared about one reaction, and you stood perfect for the family pictures as you could only imagine how Jude would react. 

Still the anticipation couldn’t have prepared you to see him shedding real tears as you walked down the garden, unable to stop looking at you. And for a second there, you swore it was just you and him in the entire planet. 

You couldn’t stop looking at each other throughout the whole thing, no matter if you were supposed to look at the officiant. You said your vows first, eyes brimming with tears. “Most importantly, I love how you make me think I’m the brightest star in the world, no matter how bad either of us are feeling. And I promise I’ll drive you everywhere for the rest of our lives, don’t get that license, amor.” You finished with a bitter sweet chuckle. But you couldn’t have expected what Jude had to say next. 

“Uh, I’ve been practicing my vows for the past six months. If there’s any mistakes, just… keep it to yourselves.” The audience chuckled lightly, but they were as intrigued as you were. He started out by saying your name, almost breathless, “Siempre te he dicho que eres la razón por la que creo en el amor a primera vista.” You choked out a sob, as people in the audience gasped. 

Jude had written and learned his vows in Spanish. Without telling a soul. 

He apparently grew more confident, sucking a big breath in. “Y hoy, puedo decir con toda certeza que creo en el amor sincero y eterno. Todo por ti, preciosa,” His bottom lip quivered, noticing how you were made a mess, eyes full of tears. 

“Eres la estrella que alumbra mis días. Mi chauffeur que me lleva a todos los lugares sin que se lo pida.” He cleared his throat, inhaling the tears in. “Gracias por confiar en mí y en nuestro amor para llegar aquí hoy. Te amo.” 

You smiled at him warmly, and knew he would tease you later for having matching vows without knowing. The rest of the ceremony flew by, and Jude really took the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part too seriously. 

“I can’t believe you copied me…” He huffed as you made way inside the mansion, waiting in a separate room for your entrance. “…Mrs. Bellingham.” He practically giggled, and you laughed from the mirror as you were retouching your makeup.

“You’re the one that copied me! I said my vows first, idiot!” You joked, finishing the lip combo before getting to his side, holding his hand to do your entrance to the dining hall. The nerves filled you up and he noticed from the way you shifted your weight from one side to another. 

He kissed your hand and winked, and you knew everything was going to be alright. 

You found out that night most of your guests were hefty drinkers, or at least they had decided to be so for that particular occasion. But you also found out later that night that thank God you ‘consummated your marriage’ the previous night, considering you had to ask for a few of his fellow athlete friends to carry him up to the newlywed couple’s bedroom. You later laid there staring at the ceiling, stomach churning from… anticipation? The drinks? 

But even as Jude was snoring right next to you, you knew deep down everything was going to be alright. 

For the rest of your lives together.

judebellingham mr. and mrs. b 🤍

tagged: yourusername

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A/N: my bf still says we can't get married so enjoyyy this delusion i'm using to cope KFDSKLSDFKLV lowk did my dream wedding here but it wasn't at the same time. hope everyone enjoyed this sappy sappy short series !! the translation to jude’s wedding vows are in that lil note in the smau !!!

[gavisimmaculaterizz]

— bother II / jude bellingham.

summary: after a long tortuous night, jude finally decides to apologize. (part 1 here)

special thanks to @stephiii29 for the inspiration 🤍

warnings: none

masterlist

jude was not the type of person to be confrontational, and so were you. the night was cold and aloof, it felt heavy and suffocating to say the least.

jude couldn’t sleep knowing he messed up real big, which was letting his anger out on you. he knew that he shouldn’t project his anger out on you, but your question made him snap, losing his consciousness and not thinking straight. all night he twisted and turned, hoping the sun rose soon to apologize to you.

he knew it’d be difficult to apologize, knowing you were not the person to express feelings. so he put his mind to think on ways to make you forgive him.

meanwhile in the comfort of the living room, you laid in the couch, still sad over the mini “argument” you and jude had earlier. you knew it wasn’t your fault, but you still felt a guilt in your stomach for causing him to snap at you. you really missed his touch, his scent, everything. it was like you were deprived for his touch. when you and him slept together, you felt like he protected you,

like your personal bodyguard.

you shook your thoughts away and checked your phone. you looked at the time and realized it was still early for your liking.

3:49 am

jude usually gets ready at 7, so you forced yourself to sleep, taking meletonin. you knew you were being a brat by trying to avoid jude, but it was the best decision you could make at the moment. you didn’t want to anger jude more, so you thought it’d be better to leave him alone to marinate in his thoughts and go to sleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

7:15 am

jude was awoken from his short slumber with an obnoxious alarm, signaling it was time to get ready. he did his usual routine which was showering, changing, brushing his teeth, and combing his gorgeous locks. during his whole routine he couldn’t stop and think how he left you last night, he deeply regretted what he said knowing it hurt you more than him.

he left your shared apartment disappointed. before he left he stopped by the living room and noticed you knocked out. he noticed the little details in your face, especially the dried tears on your face. his heart shattered seeing you broken, all because of his words.

on the way to the ciudad deportiva del real madrid, jude stopped by a local flower shop, placing an order of your favorite flowers to give to you when he came back from practice.

thoughout the training session, his teammates couldn’t help but notice the way he was training. this wasn’t like the jude they knew, did the loss in the bernabéu last night really affect him?

“tío, are you still angered over the loss yesterday?”, asked modric.

jude couldn’t help but stare deeply into the croatian’s eyes, shaking his head, signaling it wasn’t about that.

the croatian took it as a sign to not further bother the british.

as practice finally ended, jude quickly got ready and stopped by the flower shop to pick up the flowers he got you. he couldn’t also forget to stop by your favorite fast food restaurant. he knew you like the back of his palm, he knew every nook and cranny about you that it felt like you two have known each other since birth.

1:05 pm

apon arriving at your shared apartment, jude prepared his apology, making sure to not forget why he’s apologizing.

he fixed his shirt nervously, slowly opening the door to your shared apartment, trying not to make any noise.

you were in the kitchen, cleaning up the remaining mess you left from last night, forgetting to clean the dishes up from when dinner was served. you heard his footsteps behind you, your heart beating faster than ever.

“hi my love.”, jude said softly. you couldn’t help but mentally fold because he called you my love, you always fell more in love with him when he used that pet name.

“hey..”, you said softly, copying his tone, trying to sound put together. upon your words, jude immediately hugged you.

“please forgive me for what i caused you last night y/n. i let my emotions get to me, i never meant to make you feel sad or guilty over what happened last night. please just forgive me…”, he said nervously. you couldn’t help but smile at his apology. immediately accepting it by giving him a kiss.

“apology accepted.”, you said sheepishly. he immediately gave you a kiss, later then showing you what he bought you.

you couldn’t lie, he was such a sweet person when it came to apologizing. you could apologize to him right on the spot because of his gorgeous looks.

after all you weren’t a bother to him..

a/n: ty guys so much for the support on my first fic! i really appreciate it 😞❤️!! also this is really rushed bc im kinda busy 🥲

[miseta]

Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking 

Starting over In Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

After moving to Madrid as the new Real Madrid photographer, Nicky's eyes can't look away from the pretty face of Misa Rodriguez. But how is she going to handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her working contract's strictly forbidding her to date players?

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope

Holà, this is chapter 3. Not sure about the trigger warnings but I don't think it needs one. I think the way I want to tell my story works better by leaving some suspense. Let's say it's a slow burn and obviously and they will make out one day, so at a time there will be some explicit but not crude scenes. Reminder: I'm french. Don't hesitate to tell me if there there's very strange sentences or things you don't get. Sorry I hope to get better by writing.  

3K words

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

"That one’s actually very good, Hayley !" The camera screen displayed the goalkeeper in the air, her jumping body suspended as she grabbed the ball in her gloves. Droplets of sweat nimbed her forehead and spread all around her. Her thick brows were frowned in the effort. In addition to her beauty, what made the photo stood out was the technically tricky to capture action of Misa s’moving body. 

Things were surprisingly going well at the Ciudad. Nothing had changed between Misa and I and as I was getting very fond of my job so I had commited for it to stay that way. We were having photo lessons almost every day after training sessions, occasionally joined by the northern girls Sofie, Freja and Caroline. But most of the time, it was the three of us that sat in a pitch corner, talking for hours until the staff would finally kicked us out of the stadium. 

"Thanks Nicky! I’m thinking about buying a camera, I love photography for real!." Boasted Hayley. 

"You should, teacher says you’re ready". Hayley had indeed proven herself an implicated student. She had applied my technical advices but she had also been willing to experiment on her own. As a result, she showed a taste for moving models and lights effects. Sometimes she would take neat actions with sharp details, sometime she’d rather set the presets to create blurry scenes where the bodies outlines melted in the background. 

As to Misa… well Misa’s photos were Misa’s. She was having a hard time to concentrate and her taste level was really questionnable. She would put too much grain or contrast. Every shots were oddly framed. When I tried to guide her toward subtler artistic choices, she had said "Pero me gusta el efecto !" or "Vale Nicky, but I am the artist" with her now well known over the top manners. Misa was much: pretty, athletic, funny, goofy… and stubborn. She was doing everything at a hundred per cent, perhaps except listening.

So, I was rather irritated when she sat on the grass, ostentatiously sulking because I had not complimented her own work. Hayley, of course, wasn’t helping. "Maria Isabel hasn’t done her homework but wants to be praised!". 

"I did but teacher doesn’t like me !" She moaned. 

"Maria Isabel should be in detention." I said calmly. 

"Por qué !? No !" She shot me an offended look and grumpily crossed her arms on her chest. 

"Porque no escuchas nada and teacher is fed up." I was clearly enjoying myself at teasing Misa with the most calm. 

"You don’t like my style, that’s all." She laid on her back, arms still crossed. Hayley walked over her, bent and angled the camera into her face and started taking pictures of the moody girl. "It’s because you don’t have one sweetie" She said. Misa opened her mouth wide, outraged. She rolled over on her belly, hiding her face from Hayley unceasing photoshoot. "Come on Misa! I’m sure you can do better, you’re not even trying!" 

"I may have one last idea to help Misa get it…"Both head turned to me." There is a photo exhibit at Matadero Art Center just now. Maybe we should give it a try. And Misa will find what she likes." 

"That would be great !" Said Hayley. She had stopped taking pictures and was now sat besides the goalkeeper. Misa moved to the side. "I already know what I like" she said frowning. We stared at her, eyebrows raised. "All right, we’ll go to your museo…". She sat up still pouting. "But before…" She stood up and reached out to me with an incredible speed. She easily heaved me in her arms and had me laying on my back before I got to know what was happening. "Misaaaa what the fuck ?!"

Misa, on all four over me, smirked and pined me to the ground with her strong hands. "Let’s switch roles ! Hayley come over and take some silly photos of Nicky for a change !" I was laughing hard and… getting aroused by Misa topping me. Her firms grasp and her weight were burying my hands into the grass. A naughty smile appeared on her beautiful face. "Let me go !" I shouted. I was breathing hard from struggle against her and from growing frankly excited. Hayley clicked madly on the camera trigger. She couldn’t see Misa’s penetrating gaze. Was it me or was she breathing harder too while keeping me lying down didn’t seem to cost her in the slightest? I closed my eyelid, too aware of the lens focused on me to look Misa in the eyes. Too turned on by everything that was going on… appart from the oppressing clicking noise and Hayley’s presence. 

"I think we’re good and that it will be ugly, I promise" I heard Hayley. I felt the pression of Misa’s hands disappeared. I opened my eyes to find she had straighten up. Her legs on each side of my waist, she was peering down at me intensely. "I think you deserved that" she said, satisfied. 

"I don’t think I deserved that much" I responded, catching my breath. 

"You two, go get a room it’s becoming embarrassing ! Cuidad is closing, we have to leave". I had almost forgotten Hayley. Her voice was taking me back to reality. We both smiled nervously. 

Misa got up, held out her hands to help me standing. As I took them she pulled me a bit too strongly, I lost balance and landed against her. My mouth touched the base of her neck only a second. She smelled a mix of sweat and perfume. She steadied me in her arms an instant. "I just saved the teacher, does it mean I’m no longer in detention ?" She released me. She hadn’t lost her smirk. 

I composed myself again and took my authoritarian tone at once. "You are grounded for a month, both of you ! And in detention at the museum without question!"  

***

I called Angela on the evening. I felt the urged to talk. Not especially about me. I just wanted to feel the connection with my best mate again but surely the conversation topic went on my new footballer friends. 

"… and you’ve given them photo lessons almost every day ? Wow, Nicky I didn’t know you had that kind of patience !" 

"How you would you know Angela, Madrid is changing me. I am a much more sensible and patiente personne." 

"Still hard to believe… Anyway, I’m glad you hang with them. I like this Hayley, fuck the clause I would have seen you getting together. She has a sensitive fiber like you and seems fun !"

"humm, no Hayley’s a friend." I was laying down in my bed, calling Angela for at least an hour and a half now. I pictured Hayley in my mind. In derry, she was the total package and the two of us were really getting along well. But as pretty as she was, I wasn’t attracted by her. I was, despite all my efforts, always caught up with my attraction to Misa. Her poor photographer skills and moody behavior were so endearing to me and I felt more and more charmed by the goalkeeper’s whole personality. 

"Nicky are you there ?" I didn’t realized I had stopped listening. 

"Sorry ? What ?" 

"I was saying I admire you, just being friend with such hotties ! I couldn’t !

"Yeah, incredible right ?! I closed my eyes, I was sure Angela had heard the nervousness of my tone.  

"Oh no Nicky! Which one ?!" I smiled. It felt good she knew me so well.

"You won’t believe me…" 

"Spit it out !"

"It’s Misa…" I was gazing at the celling, my absent smile widened as I spoke her name. 

"Misa?? But she seems… I mean you don’t seem to have a lot in common."

"I know, anyway I shouldn’t even think about it…"

"But you do… ?" 

I heavily sighed. Misa’s smirking face appeared in front of my eyes. "Yes… but I also think about the clause, the fact that I’m bound to it, that my working visa depends on this job that I love, and so is my lease…"

"Ok ok Nicky it’s alright, calm down. You’re finding a girl cute, what a big deal? You’re at least allowed that ! You are not doing anything wrong, you’re not doing anything at all, relax !" 

"You’re right" As usual, Angela had found the words to reassure me. "But still, fucking clause !" I sweared. 

"Fucking clause…" echoed Angela. 

***

I received a message from Hayley on the morning before the exhibition visit. 

My family are paying me a surprise visit just now. They came from Sidney I had no idea !!! This is crazy sorry for the museum I really wanted to go but I’ll spend the day with them. Im so happy 

I answered it was ok and to enjoy her family time. Then I texted Misa. 

"Hayley’s family’s just showed up and she can’t come. Do you still wanna go ?"

Misa’s text bubble appeared and disappeared a few times leaving me wondering what answer I was wishing for. 

"Do I have the choice ? I thought it was my punishment…" 

I grined, loving her playful side. Or was she … flirting ? 

"You’re right but teacher would rather you go to your detention willingly." 

"huh teacher wants a lot. What else teacher wants from me ?" 

I gasped. She was flirting ! My mind ran wild, imagining the numerous things I craved from Misa. I breathed out deeply, tried to focus again as I pictured myself fiery kissing her. I had to take control of my brain again. I had to bury the surging wave of desire I felt at the simple idea of Misa wishing to give me what I wanted. 

"Teacher wants you to have a good time" was the most diplomatic and sober answer I could come up with. I quickly added "See you then" to put a stop to that dangerous conversation. 

"I’d say let’s see what’s going to happen. See you Nicky"

Wow, she was going for real ! How the hell was I going to survive the afternoon ?! 

***

I was gulping down hard when I joined Misa at the entrance of Matadero Arts Center of Madrid. I felt so tensed when we hugged but Misa appeared to be her usual self. Once again, she gave no sign that something was going on between us and once again I wondered if I hadn’t misjudged her intentions. 

We headed inside. The center was formed by many huge bricked houses which happened to be old slaughterhouses. None of the previous gloomy functions of the place has remained, it was now very pleasant to walk in the large aisles between the red buildings. In the middle of the afternoon, the sun was knocking hard on our heads. Misa was looking all around us, her hand above her dazzled eyes. "It’s a shame I’ve never been there before, living all these years in Madrid" 

We reached the exhibition hall a few minutes later. I bought the tickets. Misa was following me closely. She clearly wasn’t in her element as we moved forward inside the vast hall. The exhibition was called "Deportes: fotografía en movimiento" and shown various approaches of taking picture of athletes. I was surprised to see Misa very focused. She looked at each photo, paused a long time when she seemed interested or intrigued by something. 

"Misa, look at this one" The framed picture was showing gymnasts doing incredible acrobatic tricks. "Look at the geometric composition, that's what I was trying to explain about framing." Misa shook her head with enthusiasm. "I think I get it now, yes. But I have found what I want to do." 

She took my hand and led me to a more hidden corner where another series of photos were displayed on the walls. "Wait, what ?" I let out. There were cats and dogs on every pictures, and even a baby pig. "They are the athlete’s pets" She said happily. She hasn’t let go of my hand. "I think I want to photograph animals, or nature." She came to face me with the cutest smile, and thought I had severe doubts this was going to help Misa progress technically, I replied "Yes! Ok! Let’s give a try on naturalistic photography!". 

She smiled more widely, her hand still in mine, and her fingers softly stroked my palm while she loosened her grip. I started to panic. Her lips wore a more discreet smile as she watched me unsurely. She took a step forward. I had to react quickly but I didn’t want her to feel rejected. 

"Come on, I’m taking you to the park along the river. There is plenty of birds and plants for you to shoot." I grasped her hand back to take us out of the hall and out of the prickly situation. 

However, as we arrived at the park, I realized I had put myself in an even more perilous condition. The sun was setting. A light breeze was blowing in the trees. Birds were melodiously twitting nearby. An empty bench shield from the view was waiting for us at the end of a very lovely flowery path. I tried hard not to look at Misa. She was walking close to me, unusually quiet. I dared to take a look at her. She caught my side-eye and a shy smile appeared on her lips. What did I do? She was probably getting all wrong, imagining I had picked such a romantic place on purpose! 

We reached the oh so welcoming bench. None of us spoke as we sat. I starred at the distance. I was feeling my heart pounding hard in my chest. Misa was looking at her laps, timid all of a sudden. I had to say something. 

"You should try to shoot those flowers for a start" I tried as a diversion. "The red and bleu ones that look like the Barça kit. See, I’ve learnt about football." I added wanting to diminish the growing tension. "Oh no Barça please…" She rubbed a hand across her face. I had clearly said the wrong thing. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you" I put my hand on her shoulder. Her long hair was partially hiding her face. "Do… do you want to talk about it ?" I said hesitantly. She tensed. 

"You don’t know about the Clasico. We keep loosing against them every times and honestly, I’m used to it. It’s ok even though I’m doing my best but…" her voice trailed down as she took a deep breath. "Next Clasico is one week away and that’s the finale of the Copa de la Reina." She lifted her head to look me in the eyes. "I don’t know if I can take the pressure this time..." She was talking so openly to me. The fierce and funny goalkeeper was allowing her unsecured part to finally surface. And that was when I realized I cared for her. 

I took Misa into a hug. She sighed and buried her face in my neck. "You can do it Misa. I don’t know you for very long but I am certain that you can." She stayed there, her heavy breathing gently blowing my hair. "I really want to win!" She almost cried. "We keep doing better but we haven’t won any Spanish championship! Quiero ganar ostia!" She lifted her head again and I stopped hugging her. I was glad to see a frustrated grin back on her face. "You can do it! Hala Madrid! I feel part of the family now." I genuinely said to boost her up. She let out a soft laugh and ran her fingers through her hair. She took my hand again. "Gracias" she muttered. Her brown eyes found mine again. Her expression was so soft at this very moment. Her gaze went down to my mouth. I wanted to kiss her so bad. Her slightly parted lips quivered. My chest was about to explode as I slowly moved my face closer to hers.

At that precise moment, a loud buzzing sound came from Misa's pocket and had us both jump in fear. Misa straightened herself and took her phone out. I sled appart on the bench, breathing out a mix of relief and deep frustration. 

"Holà Jenni" Misa answered in a slightly irritated voice. "no, no conozco las noticias…" She rolled her eyes at me. I was too shaken to be amused by the situation. Misa and Jenni kept on talking on the phone. In fact, it was more like Misa was listening to an unstoppable Jenni. I wasn’t getting much of the quick flowing Spanish of Misa. Besides, I was once again buried deep in my thoughts. My heart and reason were battling heavily against each other. Misa was getting seriously annoyed the call wouldn’t finish. She was founding hard to even speak a world between the endless sentences of her best friend. She turned for me to read the word "Perdón!" on her lips several times as I scrolled mechanically on my phone. 

Minutes went by and night started to fall when Misa finally hung up. "I’m so sorry I should never have taken that call !" She sighted. I got up quickly "No prob. But it’s getting late, we should get going". Reason had won over heart for now. Or at least, chance had buy me time to really sort things out. Misa looked up at me, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. This time I didn’t dared to even take a glimpse at her. As I gave her no reaction, she let her head fall down in her hands. I heard her taking a deep breath before she finally stood up and started following me. 

Lulled by the light swing of the train, a part of me had cooled down. An other part was going crazy for real. Misa was wanting me. A calm, almost pleasant panic was filling me entirely on the way home. 

Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clasico

[viejospellejos]

La habitación que ha preparado el Real Madrid para Kylian Mbappé en la Ciudad Deportiva en Valdebebas:

QUÉ BARBARIDAD

[notasfilosoficas]

“La abundancia de las cosas, aunque sean buenas, hace que no se estimen, y la carestía, aun de las malas, se estima en algo”

Miguel de Cervantes

Fue un novelista, poeta, dramaturgo y soldado español, nacido en Alcalá de Henares en septiembre de 1547, ampliamente considerado como una de las máximas figuras de la literatura española.

Su padre se llamaba Rodrigo Cervantes y su madre Leonor de Cortinas, de quienes poco se sabe de sus vidas. Se asume que nació el 29 de septiembre dado que en ese tiempo se acostumbraba darle el nombre a los niños por el dia de su nacimiento, siendo la fiesta de San Miguel Arcángel ese día.

Tampoco existen datos precisos sobre los primeros estudios de Miguel de Cervantes, que sin duda no llegaron a ser universitarios, por lo que se asume, pudo haber estudiado en Córdoba o Sevilla.

En 1566 se estableció en Madrid, era amante del teatro y asistía a las representaciones de Lope de Rueda, un dramaturgo español de gran versatilidad. 

Sin tener confirmación de si se trata de un homónimo, existe una providencia de Felipe II que solicita la aprehensión de Miguel de Cervantes por herir a un obrero en un duelo, situación que podría justificar su estancia en Italia, algunos autores como Ludovico Ariosto o León Hebreo influirían en el Don Quijote.

En Italia se pone al servicio de Giulio Acquaviva, un eclesiástico italiano a quien le siguió por Palermo, Milán, Florencia, Venecia, Parma y Ferrara. Después de ello ocupó una plaza como soldado en la compañía del Capitán Diego de Urbina del tercio de Miguel Moncada, en donde participó en la batalla de Lepanto en octubre de 1571.

Derivado de la batalla de Lepanto, Miguel de Cervantes pierde el movimiento de su brazo izquierdo cuando un trozo de plomo le seccionó un nervio, de donde adquiere el apodo de “El manco de Lepanto”.

Cervantes reanuda su vida militar en 1572, formando parte en multiples expediciones navales  y recorriendo las principales ciudades de Sicilia, Cerdeña, Génova y la Lombardía.

Durante su regreso desde Nápoles a España, Cervantes es hecho prisionero y tomado en cautiverio y llevado a Argel, en donde solicitarían un rescate de 500 escudos de oro, pues creían que se trataba de una persona muy importante para el reino derivado de unas cartas de recomendación que poseía.

En casi 5 años de aprisionamiento, Cervantes intentó escapar en 4 ocasiones sin éxito, y es ahi, en donde se piensa que surgió un parteaguas entre su vida y la literatura, hasta que en septiembre de 1580, Cervantes es liberado regresando por fin a España, en donde esta experiencia vería reflejada en sus trabajos titulados; “El trato de Argel”, “La Galatea”, y en “Los trabajos de Persiles y Sigismunda”.

Es muy probable que entre los años 1581 y 1583, Cervantes escribiera “La Galatea”, su primer obra literaria en volumen y trascendencia.

Cervantes se establece en Sevilla en 1587 en donde fue comisario de abastos de los barcos reales, los cuales le causaron multiples problemas con los campesinos, pues los impuestos que recaudaba básicamente eran para cubrir las deudas de la guerra, sin embargo esto le permitió conocer el abigarrado y pintoresco mundo del campo, el cual reflejaría magistralmente en el Quijote.

En 1597 Cervantes es encarcelado tras sospecha de malos manejos en las cuentas que administraba para recaudar impuestos y es en la cárcel, en donde engendra la primera parte de su célebre novela “Don Quijote de la Mancha”, según prólogo de esta obra. No se sabe a ciencia cierta si con ese término quiso decir que comenzó a escribirlo mientras estaba preso o simplemente que la idea se le ocurrió en prisión.

La primera parte de su obra “El ingenioso hidalgo, Don quijote de la Mancha” apareció en 1605; en donde el éxito de este libro fue inmediato y considerable, sin embargo poco le sirvió para salir de la miseria.

Mientras los grandes poetas del siglo de oro como Francisco de Quevedo, Lope de Vega o Luis de Góngora gozaban de una sólida posición y de la protección de la aristocracia, Cervantes tenía que seguir a la Corte a donde se estableciera para poder seguir mendigando favores. La difusión del Quijote solo le sirvió para publicar otras obras que ya tenía escritas como Las Novelas Ejemplares, el Viaje del Parnaso y Comedias y Entremeses.

En 1615, meses antes de morir, envió a la imprenta el segundo tomo del Quijote, completando la obra que lo situaría como uno de los mas grandes escritores de la historia y como el fundador de la novela en el sentido moderno de la palabra.

Cervantes murió en Madrid a la edad de 68 años de diabetes. Su cuerpo fue enterrado en el convento de las trinitarias descalzas, ya que cuando fue llevado preso a Argel, fue la congregación de los trinitarios quienes ayudaron a pagar su rescate, recogiendo fondos para que el y su hermano Rodrigo fueran liberados.

Fuente: Wikipedia y biografiasyvidas.com

[errico-malatesta]

(Eng below)

Se ha montado la acampada por palestina en Madrid, en la UCM (Universidad Complutense)

El manifiesto y las demandas:

"Animados por el ejemplo internacionalista de los estudiantes de otros países y la resistencia heroica del pueblo palestino, siguiendo las acciones pioneras en la Universidad de Valencia, así como su extensión en Euskal Herria y Barcelona, estudiantes de Madrid hemos decidido unirnos en solidaridad con Palestina. No nos guía un mero afán de imitación, sino la necesidad de organizar la creciente conciencia de rechazo al genocidio perpetrado por israel y la responsabilidad de nuestros gobiernos y de nuestras universidades en el mismo.

Es nuestro deber señalar la complicidad de nuestras universidades, el gobierno español y el conjunto de partidos parlamentarios que lo sostienen con el genocidio que está teniendo lugar en Gaza. Las universidades, dentro de las lógicas imperialistas impuestas por las burguesías nacionales, mantienen convenios de investigación e intercambio de alumnos con universidades israelís, blanqueando de esta forma el genocidio. Además, las universidades públicas están financiadas y tienen en sus consejos sociales a grandes empresas que participan de la venta de armas y colaboran de distintas formas con el sionismo.

En cuanto a nuestras instituciones, mientras se deshacen en declaraciones hipócritas, el estado español siguen aceptando la venta de armas a israel y plegándose a los dictados asesinos de la OTAN. Los gobiernos occidentales en su totalidad -incluyendo aquellos liderados por la socialdemocracia u otras fuerzas progresistas- son cómplices, no solo de las masacres recientes, sino de la continuada existencia del aparato israelí de dominación y apartheid y de la represión contra quienes señalan esta complicidad. Muestra de ello son los continuos bloqueos estadounidenses a las resoluciones de alto el fuego o condenas a Israel en la ONU.

Un conflicto que, repetimos, aunque pueda estar atravesado por intereses de diferentes potencias imperialistas y potencias regionales, no es meramente una guerra por delegación, sino uno de los pocos casos actuales de colonialismo de asentamiento. Israel es un Estado colonial y genocida que constituye la punta de lanza del imperialismo occidental en Oriente Medio. Mientras el Estado colonial exista, Palestina jamás podrá ser libre. La única solución real a este conflicto pasa por la organización de la solidaridad de clase internacional contra el Estado sionista y contra nuestras respectivas burguesías nacionales que sostienen el orden bélico imperialista. Quebrar los intereses capitalistas de nuestros Estados y asegurar el final de las guerras del capital.

Por todo ello, las estudiantes organizadas en las agrupaciones y colectivos del Bloque Interuniversitario por Palestina de Madrid hemos convocado una acampada en solidaridad con Palestina en Ciudad Universitaria, centro simbólico de la universidad madrileña, con el fin de denunciar el genocidio que está llevando a cabo israel con la complicidad de nuestras universidades, la UE y el gobierno de España. Con esta acción exigimos al gobierno una ruptura total de relaciones con israel, y que ponga fin de inmediato al comercio de armas. Así mismo, denunciamos la persecución y criminalización que sufren los movimientos de solidaridad con el pueblo palestino y exigimos la derogación de la ley mordaza, de la ley de extranjería y de la LCU, que permite la represión del movimiento propalestino en las universidades.

Mediante esta acción, exigimos también a los rectores de todas las universidades madrileñas que rompan sus vínculos con el genocidio. Lo que se traduce en una ruptura de convenios de investigación, programas de intercambio de alumnos y el fin de las relaciones económicas y sociales con toda empresa que financie a israel."

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

ENGLISH->

We just set up the Palestinian solidarity encampment in Madrid's Complutense university.

The manifest and demands are as follows:

"Encouraged by the internationalist example of students from other countries and the heroic resistance of the Palestinian people, following the pioneering actions at the University of Valencia, as well as its extension in Euskal Herria and Barcelona, students from Madrid have decided to unite in solidarity with Palestine. We are not guided by a mere desire for imitation, but by the need to organize the growing awareness of rejection of the genocide perpetrated by Israel and the responsibility of our governments and our universities in it.

It is our duty to point out the complicity of our universities, the Spanish government and the set of parliamentary parties that support it with the genocide that is taking place in Gaza. The universities, within the imperialist logic imposed by the national bourgeoisies, maintain research and student exchange agreements with Israeli universities, thus whitewashing the genocide. Furthermore, public universities are financed and have on their social councils large companies that participate in the sale of weapons and collaborate in different ways with Zionism.

As for our institutions, while they make hypocritical statements, the Spanish state continues to accept the sale of weapons to Israel and bow to the murderous dictates of NATO. Western governments as a whole - including those led by social democracy or other progressive forces - are complicit, not only in the recent massacres, but in the continued existence of the Israeli apparatus of domination and apartheid and in the repression against those who point out this complicity. Proof of this are the continuous US blockades of ceasefire resolutions or condemnations of Israel at the UN.

A conflict that, we repeat, although it may be crossed by the interests of different imperialist powers and regional powers, is not merely a proxy war, but one of the few current cases of settler colonialism. Israel is a colonial and genocidal state that constitutes the spearhead of Western imperialism in the Middle East. As long as the colonial State exists, Palestine can never be free. The only real solution to this conflict is through the organization of international class solidarity against the Zionist State and against our respective national bourgeoisies that support the imperialist war order. Break the capitalist interests of our States and ensure the end of capital's wars.

For all these reasons, the students organized in the groups and collectives of the Interuniversity Block for Palestine of Madrid have called for a camp in solidarity with Palestine in Ciudad Universitaria, the symbolic center of the Madrid university, in order to denounce the genocide that is being carried out. Israel with the complicity of our universities, the EU and the government of Spain. With this action we demand that the government completely sever relations with Israel, and immediately put an end to the arms trade. Likewise, we denounce the persecution and criminalization suffered by movements of solidarity with the Palestinian people and demand the repeal of the gag law, the immigration law and the LCU, which allows the repression of the pro-Palestinian movement in universities.

Through this action, we also demand that the rectors of all Madrid universities break their links with the genocide. Which translates into a breaking of research agreements, student exchange programs and the end of economic and social relations with any company that finances Israel."

(sorry abt my shitty English I'm too tired to translate all that by hand)

[dakota-zen]

Angel Gonzalez📚

Poeta, catedrático y ensayista español nacido en Oviedo en 1922.

Su poesía, llena de contrastes, discurre entre lo efímero y lo eterno, características que llevan al lector

a divagar y soñar en los temas del amor y de la vida.

Fue maestro nacional, licenciado en Derecho por la Universidad de Oviedo y periodista por la Escuela Oficial

de Periodismo de Madrid. Enseñó Literatura Española Contemporánea en la Universidad de Alburquerque, USA,

habiendo sido profesor visitante en las de Nuevo México, Utah, Maryland y Texas.

Miembro de la Real Academia Española, fue galardonado, entre otros, con el Premio Antonio Machado en 1962,

el Premio Príncipe de

Asturias en 1985, el Reina Sofía de Poesía Iberoamericana en 1996 y el Primer Premio

Internacional de Poesía Ciudad de Granada en el año 2004.

De su obra se destacan los títulos: "Áspero mundo" 1955 , "Sin esperanza, con convencimiento"1961, "Grado elemental"

en 1961, "Tratado de urbanismo" 1967, "Breves acotaciones para unabiografía" 1971, "Prosemas o menos" 1983,

"Deixis de un fantasma" 1992 y su último libro,"Otoño y otras luces" 2001.

Falleció en Madrid el 12 de enero de 2008©

[flipatravel]

Visita España!! España 🇪🇸 🥰 ✨Es un destino turístico diverso y rico en cultura, conocido por su clima cálido, sus playas 🏖️ hermosas, su arquitectura histórica y su vibrante vida nocturna. Desde las ciudades cosmopolitas como Madrid y Barcelona, que ofrecen museos de clase mundial y una escena gastronómica excepcional, hasta los encantadores pueblos costeros y las islas 🏝️ idílicas como Mallorca y las Canarias, hay algo para cada viajero. ✨Los amantes de la historia pueden explorar las Ciudades Patrimonio de la Humanidad, como Toledo y Segovia, mientras que los entusiastas de la naturaleza pueden maravillarse con paisajes impresionantes en los Pirineos o las Bardenas Reales. ✨España cuenta con festivales únicos y una rica tradición culinaria que incluye tapas y paella, acompañados siempre de un buen vino local. ✨Ofrece una mezcla perfecta de arte, cultura, naturaleza y ocio que la convierten en uno de los destinos turísticos más populares del mundo. Si quieres puedes seguir leyendo en nuestro blog https://flipatravel.blogspot.com/2024/08/visita-espana.html o entra a www.flipatravel.com y ven a conocerla!!

[goldenblood-rpg]

SOBRE LA APERTURA DE RESERVAS:

Les dejamos aquí la lista de las reservas y los personajes canon: Reservas | Dorne - Dominio - Valle - Occidente - Islas del Hierro - El Norte - Coronas - Los Ríos - Tormentas ¡Hola a todos! Pasamos a recordarles que hoy, domingo 11, se abren las reservas. Consideramos 1 personaje canon y 1 Casa máximo por usuario, es decir; Aunque no vayan a usar personajes canon, no pueden reservar dos Casas. Respecto a los PB, son máximo 2 por usuario. El formato es: PBs + Personaje canon + Casa + Alias + Contraseña. En el foro aceptaremos PB's hechos con IA siempre que cumplan con nuestro estándar de realismo. En este caso, pueden elegir: Reservar un PB que vayan a editar con IA, o no reservar un PB porque no usarán ninguno como base. En caso de lo segundo, les pedimos lo consideren bien ya que gráficas con IA que se parezcan demasiado al rostro de un PB real ya ocupado o reservado, no serán aceptadas. (No se preocupen, estaremos hablando más sobre esto cuando les compartamos las normas de gráficos) Solo aceptamos reservas por ask de tumblr, sin anónimo, con un máximo de dos reservas por cuenta. Si van a utilizar su cuenta para reservar por un amigo, pueden utilizar una de estas dos reservas. Es decir: Uno tendría que reservar un canon, y el otro una Casa. No aceptamos que una cuenta tenga más de este cupo, porque buscamos evitar el acaparamiento. Las reservas tienen que ser de reinos diferentes, no pueden reservar un canon de Las Islas y una Casa de Las Islas. Argentina: 15:00

México (Ciudad de México): 12:00

Chile: 14:00

España (Madrid): 20:00

Colombia: 12:00 ¡Mucha suerte a todos! Esperamos que consigan reservar lo que quieren. ❤️

[ignacionovo]

¡Hola, buenos días, humanidad! 🌍 ¡Feliz miércoles! 💪🌟🚀🏆🌈📈🌱🌞🎯🌺 Hoy os regalo una foto de Madrid, mi ciudad. Capital de España, es una ciudad alegre y cosmopolita que ofrece una rica mezcla de historia, cultura y modernidad. 

Fundada en el siglo IX como un pequeño puesto fronterizo musulmán, Madrid ha crecido y evolucionado a lo largo de los siglos hasta convertirse en una de las ciudades más importantes de Europa.  

Entre los lugares más emblemáticos de la ciudad se encuentran el Museo del Prado, uno de los museos de arte más importantes del mundo; el Palacio Real, la residencia oficial de la Familia Real Española; y la Puerta del Sol, el punto kilométrico cero de las carreteras radiales de España. 

Hoy los madrileños estamos de fiesta por la celebración San Isidro Labrador, patrón de Madrid, que fue un labrador mozárabe que vivió en el siglo XII. Es conocido por su devoción religiosa, su humildad y sus milagros. 

Vida consciente 🌟 

Has pasado por mil cosas en tu vida que la gente ni siquiera sabe. Has experimentado cosas que te han sacudido, te han cambiado, te han roto, te han construido y te han enseñado a ser más fuerte de lo que alguna vez pensaste que tenías la capacidad de ser. Y eres quién eres por todo ello. Así que la próxima vez que alguien te juzgue basándose en una pequeña parte de lo que ven y cómo interpretan eso, recuerda quién eres, recuerda cuánto has superado y sonríe y sigue adelante porque no tienes absolutamente nada que demostrarle a nadie más. Ya has demostrado mucho a ti mismo al atravesar tormentas que la gente ni siquiera vio debido a la forma valiente en que las afrontaste. 

[elarchivodeariel]

DÍA DEL BAILARÍN: POR QUÉ SE CELEBRA EN 28 DE FEBRERO

Cada 28 de febrero se celebra en nuestro país el Día del Bailarín, en honor al nacimiento del argentino Jorge Raul Itovich Donn, considerado en todo el mundo como uno de los más grandes exponentes de la danza clásica del siglo XX.

28/02/2024 •

Bailarín y director artístico nacido en El Palomar, Buenos Aires en 1947, Jorge Donn comenzó su formación a los ocho años en el Instituto Superior de Arte del Teatro Colón, siendo alumno de la emblemática coreógrafa y terapeuta de la danza, María Fux.

A los 15 años conoció a Maurice Béjart, una de las figuras de la danza más importante del mundo, quien estaba de gira en el país con el Ballet del Siglo XX. Quedó tan fascinado con el coreógrafo que, al poco tiempo, decidió mudarse a Bruselas. Allí se consagró como intérprete en la compañía de Béjart, que lo tomó como fuente de inspiración para muchas de sus piezas. Fue partenaire de bailarinas rusas de la talla de Maya Plisetskaya y Natalia Makarova y, a partir de allí, adquirió fama internacional.

En 1976 fue nombrado el director artístico del Ballet del Siglo XX y pocos años más tarde, en 1979, fue galardonado con el Dance Magazine Award, el premio más importante de la danza. En 1988 dejó la dirección artística del Ballet del Siglo XX para fundar su propia compañía, L´Europa Ballet.

Aunque era considerado una estrella en todo el mundo, la sociedad argentina de aquella época lo miraba con cierto prejuicio. Su aspecto pelilargo, su manera de hablar, su forma de vestir y sus demostraciones de afecto, resultaban chocantes para el público local.

Ya habiendo triunfado como bailarín en Europa, adquirió su popularidad definitiva en 1982 con el estreno de la película Los unos y los otros, de Lelouche, en la que interpretaba a Boris Itovich (uno de sus apellidos reales), personaje que lo consagraría para siempre por su interpretación del inolvidable Bolero de Ravel. Otros hitos memorables de su trayectoria fueron Bhakti Nijinsky y Payaso de Dios. A los 39 años se lo pudo ver bailando por última vez, en Madrid, donde interpretó el Bolero y Diva.

En 1989 fue premiado por la Fundación Konex, siendo reconocido como uno de los cinco mejores bailarines de la historia en la Argentina. Además, fue uno de los pocos bailarines latinoamericanos elogiado y reconocido por la élite europea del ballet del siglo XX.

Jorge Donn murió el 30 de noviembre de 1992 en Lausana, Suiza, a los 45 años. Luego de su muerte lo homenajearon muchos artistas y bailarines, entre ellos, Maurice Béjart con su "Ballet por la vida".

En Ciudad Jardín, barrio donde nació el bailarín nació, se nombró un pasaje con su nombre.

Fuente:

©2022 TiempoSur Digital - Río Gallegos, Santa Cruz, Patagonia Argentina

Dirección Lic. Roberto Gustavo Torres. Presidente LJK Editorial S.A. Responsable Editorial

https://www.tiemposur.com.ar/cultura/dia-del-bailarin-por-que-se-celebra-el-28-de-febrero-1

#JorgeDonn #DíaDelBailarín #Danza #Arte #Magia

[visible-disappointment]

You saying you hate real m4drid (real) and then proceed to say you see yourself living in madrid one day...

i know i knowww i do hate real madrid truly honestly BUT madrid es mi ciudad... voy a ignorar real madrid

[armatofu]

La ilustre fregona; Miguel de Cervantes

La Ilustre Fregona

AUTOR: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

GENERO: Novela picaresca y de amor

TEMA: El amor imposible que cae en manos de la fortuna y la vida pícara virtuosa, son los temas principales de esta novelilla cervantina.

PERSONAJES:

Don Diego de Carriazo: padre de Carriazo y al final descubrimos que es el padre de Costanza, la fregona.

Don Juan de Avendaño: padre de Avendaño

Carriazo / Lope Asturiano: un muchacho de clase alta, pero prefiere la vida "picaresca"

Avendaño / Tomás Pedro: el amigo de Carriazo que viaja con él a vivir la vida "picaresca". Se enamora de la ilustre fregona, Costanza.

Costanza / la fregona: la mujer más divina, perfecta y bella. Todos los hombres están enamorados de ella. Vive en la posada 15 años porque su madre la ablandó. Es famosa en toda España y llamada "la ilustre fregona"

Pedro Alonso: el tutor o "ayo" que acompaña los chicos a Salamanca. Los chicos lo abandonan antes de llegar a Salamanca.

El Huésped: es el mesonero de la posada donde vive la fregona Costanza.

El hijo del Corregidor / "don Periquito": está enamorado, también, de Costanza. Le canta por la noche. Es la "competición" de Tomás.

El Corregidor: Tiene un oficio legal o político en el pueblo como un alcalde o juez. El huésped le cuenta toda la historia de cómo Costanza llegó a vivir con él 15 años.

Argüello y la Gallega: dos mujeres que viven y trabajan en la posada. Ambas son de clase baja, chistosas y enamoradas de Carriazo y Tomás.

Barrabás: otro personaje cómico que está en la posada de la clase baja.

RESUMEN:

En Burgos, no hace muchos años, vivían dos caballeros: Don Diego de Carriazo, quien tuvo un hijo que lo llamó con su mismo nombre, y Don Juan de Avendaño, éste llamó a su hijo don Tomas de Avendaño.

Cuando Carriazo tuvo trece años se marcho de la casa de sus padres por una inclinación picaresca. Estuvo en Madrid, en las Ventillas de Toledo, etc. Se graduó de maestro en las almadrabas de Zahara. Dejó de acudir tres veranos, en el último ganó a los naipes setecientos reales. Con ellos optó por vestirse y volver a Burgos a ver a su madre. Se despidió de sus amigos y les prometió que el próximo verano estaría con ellos.

Su familia le recibió muy contenta y se hizo muy amigo de don Juan de Avendaño, que era su vecino y tenía su misma edad.

Carriazo nunca le contó a sus padres todo lo que hizo en las almadrabas. El echaba mucho de menos aquellos tiempos y le contó a Avendaño todo lo que había vivido. Determinaron irse los dos allí a pasar un verano. Avendaño puso como excusa el irse a Salamanca a estudiar y que Carriazo se iba a ir con él también.

Les dieron documentos de lo que tenían que hacer, les pusieron un ayo a su disposición y se encaminaron supuestamente hacia Salamanca.

En el camino le robaron cuatrocientos escudos de oro al mayordomo. Le pidieron permiso para ir a la fuente de Argolas y éste accedió. Cuando estuvieron allí Avendaño le dijo que volviera a la ciudad, que ellos seguirían por su cuenta y le dió una carta de disculpa para sus padres.

Se vistieron a lo payo y marcharon hacia Toledo. A la entrada de Illescas vieron a dos mozos de mulas andaluces. Estaban hablando de una hermosa fregona que vivía en la posada del Sevillano, que el hijo del Corregidor bebía los vientos por ella. Y sobre todo a Avendaño se le despertó un intenso deseo de verla.

Fueron a la posada del Sevillano, estuvieron esperando a ver si venía tan celebrada fregona. Avendaño se dirigió al patio a ver si veía a la muchacha con la excusa de preguntar por unos caballeros. De pronto salió de una sala una doncella de unos quince años, vestida como labradora y con una vela encendida. La muchacha era muy bella.

Ellos se quedaron esa noche en la posada y Avendaño comentó a Carriazo la increíble hermosura de la doncella, que se llamaba Constanza.

Arguello, que era otra sirvienta de unos cuarenta y cinco años les preparó las camas. Carriazo le dijo a Avendaño que al día siguiente tenían que madrugar para salir hacia Orgaz lo antes posible. Avendaño le contestó que no estaba dispuesto a irse de la posada porque quería conocer a Constanza. Al final Avendaño consiguió convencer a Carriazo para que se quedaran en la posada.

Al día siguiente se oyó al hijo del Corregidor cantando para Constanza y Avendaño sintió celos.

Avendaño, haciéndose llamar Tomás Pedro, empezó a trabajar para los huéspedes separando la cebada y la paja y Carriazo que dijo que se llamaba Lope Asturiano trabajaba como aguador. Este tuvo una pelea con otro aguador porque le derramó el agua. Salió de allí gracias a Tomás. Luego el Asturiano ingresó en la cárcel, pero pronto salió gracias al dinero que entregó el Sevillano.

A Constanza la llamaban ilustre porque limpiaba muy bien la plata, era honesta y recatada y enamoraba con su recogimiento y hermosura. Cada día que pasaba Tomás estaba mas enamorado de ella. El huésped se enteró de esto pero no se lo comunicó a la muchacha. Al poco tiempo Tomás le entregó una carta en la que le expresaba su amor y Constanza la rompió y le dijo que no la quería.

El Asturiano fue a comprar un asno y al final acabó jugándose el suyo, que mas tarde lo perdió por cuartos, pero luego al reclamar la cola del asno dejo al otro aguador sin un solo maravedí, pero se lo devolvió todo.

A las once de la noche llego el Corregidor a la posada y preguntó al Sevillano por la ilustre fregona, el huésped le contó que hacía quince años un mes y cuatro días llegó a la posada una señora vestida de peregrina enferma, descolorida y muy fatigada. Nadie sabía quien era, solo que era una señora rica de Castilla la Vieja. Padecía hidropesía e iba de peregrina a la Virgen de Guadalupe.

Cuando estaba en la cama dijo que estaba embarazada, que por favor cuidaran de su bebe y sacó de la almohada un bolsillo de aguja, de oro y verde con cuatrocientos escudos de oro en su interior y se lo entregó a la mujer del huésped. Y entre las doce y la una de aquella misma noche parió una niña preciosa, la mas bella de todas las que el huésped había visto. La madre de la criatura siguió su peregrinación y al cavo de veinte días volvió, casi sana, la niña ya había sido bautizada recibiendo el nombre de Constanza, lo cual había sido ordenado por su madre. Le entregó al huésped una cadena de la que quitó seis eslabones y dijo que los traería la persona que viniese a por la niña también corto un pergamino de tal forma que no se podía leer nada sin la otra parte y le dio una mitad. Dijo que al cavo de dos años vendrían a por su hija y le pidió que no le dijese a la niña quien era ni de la manera que había nacido. Dándoles otros cuatrocientos escudos de oro y abrazando a la mujer del huésped con tiernas lágrimas partió.

Después de contarle toda la historia de la ilustre fregona el Corregidor se marchó después de ver los trozos de la cadena y el medio pergamino.

Al día siguiente, cerca de la una, entraron a la posada dos ancianos acompañados de cuatro caballeros y al ver a Constanza se dijeron que ya habían encontrado lo que buscaban. Cuando Tomás fue a dar recado de las cabalgaduras conoció a dos criados de su padre y mas tarde vio a su padre y al padre de Carriazo. El caballero llamó al huésped y le dijo que venía a quitarle una prenda suya de hace mucho tiempo y para ello traía unos trozos de una cadena, un pergamino y mil escudos de oro. El le contestó que la prenda que le quería quitar estaba en casa pero no el pergamino y los trozos de la cadena para comprobarlo, que tuviera paciencia, que en un momento estaría allí. En esto llamo al Corregidor y se lo contó todo. En cuanto llego, con el pergamino y los trozos de cadena en la mano, abrazó a don Juan de Avendaño y después a don Diego de Carriazo sacaron los trozos del pergamino, que juntos decían: ESTA ES LA SEÑAL VERDADERA, y los trozos de la cadena. El Corregidor preguntó si era posible saber quien eran los padres de la hermosísima prenda. -El padre -respondió don Diego - yo lo soy, la madre ya no vive.

Después de explicarlo todo don Juan de Avendaño y don Diego de Carriazo se encontraron con sus hijos. El Corregidor llamó a Constanza y le dijo quien era su padre realmente y todos subieron al coche del Corregidor.

Al final Constanza se casa con Avendaño y se van a estudiar a Salamanca y Carriazo con la hija del Corregidor de Toledo, con la que tuvo tres hijos.

[hablandodelavida]

Mi casa elegida

Te echo de menos, Madrid. Hay muchas personas que te detestan, que piensan que eres una ciudad saturada llena de ruido molesto y gente con prisa. Que solo tienes conciertos multitudinarios, espectáculos de fuego y parques de atracciones. Que únicamente sirves de paso para alcanzar otros destinos y que eres, de manera irremediable, una casa por accidente, el sitio donde el trabajo aflora y de donde huyen cuando el tiempo se libera. Muchos te ven como una gran nube gris, peligrosa en las esquinas, cansada y envidiada al mismo tiempo, casa de muchos y hogar de pocos. Hay quienes desmerecen tu asfalto porque desconocen que tu mar es otro. Lo reconozco. La primera vez que llegué a ti, lloré. A menudo, muy a menudo, me he alejado para mirarte desde lejos. Otras tantas he querido gritar y olvidar tu ruido. También he maldecido tus calles grandes, tus barrios amplios, tantas esquinas donde no poder encontrar de repente los besos que buscaba. He necesitado tomar aire, otro aire, y expulsarlo en ti. Irme para volver. Marcharme para aprender a buscarte. Cerrar los ojos para verte. Pero yo conozco tu silencio, ese que suena cuando se prenden las farolas a media tarde. Lo he buscado, lo he necesitado y lo he escuchado. Recuerdo los días en los que me sentía tan minúscula que salía a buscarme entre la gente: cuantas más personas había, más protegida me sentía. Y recuerdo, también, lo fácil que era dar con tus escondites cuando quería hacerme invisible. Tú siempre tan amable. Pienso a menudo en aquel viaje en el que llegué a ti buscando un amor que nunca fue para que fueran otros. Apenas cumplía veinte años y tenía ganas de comerme el mundo empezando por ti. He conocido tu noche, me he dejado la piel en ella y he preferido saber a qué hueles cuando todo el mundo duerme. Después, he salido de mi habitación para que me enseñes los siguientes pasos. He visto cómo levantaste el mismo puño millones de veces ese bendito 8 de marzo, he hecho historia a tu lado en la Puerta del Sol cuando nadie creía en nosotros y he encontrado en ti la defensa que me negaban en otros lugares. He celebrado los atardeceres desde Tirso de Molina, cobijada entre las flores. Son tus calles las únicas en las que retraso la vuelta a casa porque ya me siento en casa cuando paseo por ellas. Eso solo me pasa contigo. Me has dado amor profundo y real, me has dado ilusión de la que daña, me has dado pasión incontrolable y una libertad que defenderé hasta que muera, me has dado tristeza absoluta y también la manera de comprenderla, me has dado la nostalgia que se enciende con las farolas por la noche, me has dado rabia y la fuerza necesaria para combatirla, me has dado voz, me has dado palabra. Hoy te escribo desde otro sitio donde estoy cogiendo aire, todo el que puedo, para soltarlo en tus pulmones y empezar, de nuevo, a tu lado, otra vez, porque sigo con hambre y porque hace tiempo que dejaste de ser una ciudad por accidente y te convertiste en mi casa elegida. Porque yo sí te echo de menos. Pero siempre vuelvo. No vayas a olvidarte nunca de eso.

Elvira Sastre, Madrid me mata