#The Euro Leaders

[the-euro-leaders]

What Makes a Great Leader? The Essential Qualities of Effective Leadership

Great leaders are not born overnight; they grow and enhance their leadership abilities through consistent effort. Effective leadership requires a distinct set of qualities that inspire, motivate, and guide individuals and teams toward achieving success. In this article, we will examine the key traits that define an exceptional leader. By understanding and embodying these traits, aspiring leaders can develop their leadership skills and make a positive impact on those they lead.

Clear Vision and Purpose:

Outstanding leaders possess a clear sense of vision and purpose that drives their actions. They have a picture of a brighter future and are able to communicate a compelling direction for their organization or team. By sharing their vision with passion and determination, leaders encourage others to join in their aspirations and work together toward a shared goal.

Honesty and Reliability:

Honesty and reliability are the pillars of effective leadership. Exceptional leaders consistently act with integrity, transparency, and ethical principles. They lead by setting a strong example, fulfilling their promises, and holding themselves and others accountable. By earning trust through their actions, they cultivate an environment where individuals feel supported and can perform at their best.

Skilled Communication:

Effective communication is one of the most important traits of great leadership. Leaders who excel in this area are not only great listeners, but also articulate their messages in a clear and straightforward way, adjusting their style to connect with different audiences. They encourage open and honest discussions, foster teamwork, and provide constructive feedback. Through communication, leaders ensure that everyone is on the same page, with a shared understanding of the goals and expectations. Read More: https://theeuroleaders.com/what-makes-a-great-leader-the-essential-qualities-of-effective-leadership/

[69sker]

Does dis convince ya?

[ollieflopkins]

From the Scotland feature in the euros official tournament programme ❤️

[spotsupstuff]

Why are the Anemoi Iterators considered so much more powerful than the rest?

they are like an added commanding level of the hierarchy of the Eo group

the Anemoi level didn't become a thing until Euros came around- it was a way for the Ancients to ensure he'd be respected n listened to by the older ones too. so it kind of goes around the pre-existing "listen to the older Iterator" thing. it is especially helpful to Notos and Haboob though

the Anemoi's job is to be there as like the first people others can come to when in need- so for example, if Step has an issue with something, he will always be able to have Three people without an issue there: the Senior (this falls from Zeph to Boreas n Boreas throws all that at Orion), his chosen Mentor and Euros, Notos or Haboob will Be There they also are guaranteed to have the best equipment available as soon as the blueprints are up for buying (except Zeph ofc) so, again, they are going to be reliable to offer help to others they can also sorta do the Senior thing of forcing communications but it's not as strong and undeniable as the Senior's n if one is clever enough they can block it

the Absolutely main reason for their lift above the other Iterators though is connected to the Ancients. the Anemoi have their own specialized groupchat and are meant to share absolutely everything they experience with other Anemoi there. that + their memories are accessable to the Aeolus Council. so if Anything goes Slightly in a way the Council doesn't like, they can take action (whether that is finding out a certain Iterator has been having issues with that n that hardware n they send help Or if an Iterator figures out/acts out certain way so they can be put in line again n not start shit)

so: normal Iterator -> Notos -> Anemoi groupchat/its memory -> the Aeolus Council will now know about it in Euros' case it can be: normal Iterator -> Phone Operator member -> Euros (as the POG chief) -> Anemoi groupchat/his memory -> the Council now knows about it

the Anemoi status means jackshit to the other groups. Haboob is just some mid-time Gen 3 and she will listen to anyone older than her from outside whether she wants to or not

[carmineline]

This and the Dutch placing third, what a great day

[lonewolflink]

.

[witekspicsbanknotes]

FANCY NIOTES with european leaders / euro.

[communist-ojou-sama]

I know I'm always grumbling about tumblr people being incapable and unwilling of even for a lark trying to understand the worldview of people outside the imperial core, but I really want you to try to imagine that some of us out there really and genuinely don't recognize the US and Europe as "civilization".

I know that for many of you the development of Euro-USian societies up to the point of the Westphalian nation-state and eventually the postwar liberal democracy is definitionally and tautologically-civilization, but what if I told you that a large and growing contingent of people in the global south, especially since the beginning of al-Aqsa Flood, have began to view this bloc of nations as civilization's opposite?

What if I told you that to a great many people, the US and Europe are nothing more than brutal, bloodthirsty bandits and looters, who have not developed civilization but instead have used their mass stores of stolen wealth to avoid doing so? That they've used their masses of wealth gained through mass murder, banditry, and establishment of puppet leaders to flood the world with literally Orwellian propaganda, which defines civilization as its opposite, and merely hides the blood-stained, heartless cruelty of the white-lead "international community" under a petty façade of civility?

How might that fundamentally change the way you read global events?

[mead-iocre]

Call Me ‘Love’ | Leah Williamson x Reader

There’s a new viral trend on TikTok. 

It’s pretty simple. Not a dance trend or a catchy song to lip-sync to.

All you have to do is film your partner’s reaction to you calling them by their real name. It often makes for some funny reactions from the partners who found themselves falling victim to this trend.

Perhaps for some couples, this wouldn’t elicit much of a reaction, but you knew your girlfriend well enough to anticipate that her reaction would likely make it worth trying the trend.

Outside of your families, friends and teammates, Leah was what most people would probably describe as…professional. She had captained her national team into winning the euros not too long ago, and as a result, the increase in media attention and scrutiny made her more conscious of the kind of person she portrayed herself to be in front of the media. 

On the pitch she was every bit a captain— a true leader. She’s has determination, grit, and a competitive drive that can pull the team together until the final whistle. Leah was very vocal on the pitch and unafraid to call out the referees for bad calls. She’ll get right up to their faces and stand her ground. Fans often joke online that they can hear her shouting from the stands. 

To add to that, she was a damn good player too. Leah is a crucial player to her team for both club and country. She’s fluid on the pitch, and her confidence in her skills is reflected in the way she plays. She’ll make risky but clean tackles, she can whip a wicked long ball, and she can score the odd goal when the opportunity lands on her head. Her confidence and skills can often leave people unnerved or in awe– depending on who you ask. 

It doesn’t help that while your girlfriend has a pretty face, she can also look quite intimidating at times. Furrowed eyebrows, lips pressed together in a tight line, and blue eyes darker than usual— all this combined is what you lovingly refer to as her classic “Captain Williamson face”.

The increased media attention has made the defender slightly more closed off during captain duties. Gone was the goofy, smart-mouth girl who was more than happy to yap at the cameras during media day. Nowadays, she may come across as slightly aloof and distant at times 

but that was only for the cameras. 

With you, Leah was still the same girl you fell in love with. The girl with a wicked sense of humour and a dirty mouth that went along with it. When she was around familiar company, the girl often made the most outrageous remarks— with jokes and quips that should not be repeated around those who can’t understand her sense of humour. 

Another surprising thing about the Arsenal defender and England captain— she can get pretty clingy. Physical affection is one of your girlfriend’s love languages and you are always more than happy to indulge her whenever. Your mornings together start with kisses, and your day ends with kisses. The blonde always needs to be touching you at all times whenever you are around— a hand on the hip, an arm over your shoulder, or a head on your lap. The intimidating captain they see on the pitch is definitely not the same girl that whines whenever you accidentally forget to give her a kiss before she leaves for training. 

Even though she might try and deny it, your girlfriend was a romantic. She loved planning dates, wearing matching clothes, and the cheesy nicknames.

And that’s why you were so excited to try out this new TikTok trend on her. 

——————————————

You situate your phone on the dinning table, fiddling around to make sure it is slightly hidden from view. You have it leaning against a vase which holds a charming bunch of tulips that the blonde had bought for you the other day. The back camera of your phone is pointed towards where your girlfriend usually sits during meals right across from you. The other decorative vase is what will hide your phone from the blonde, but is deliberately placed at an angle so your phone’s camera can still capture her reaction.

You glance at it one more time, making sure the record button is on. 

“Did you want extra parmesan on yours, baby?” You hear your girlfriend shout from the kitchen. 

“Yes, please!” 

You hear a “coming right up, madam!” before you hear the sound of a drawer being pulled open and then shut.

She’s probably grabbed the cheese grater. 

Soon the smell of savoury aromas reach you. You detect the earthy fragrance of garlic first. Then it’s the smell of onions sautéd in olive oil, mingling with the sweet aroma of ripe tomatoes. The scent of freshly chopped herbs— probably basil and oregano— adds a refreshing note in the air, while the unmistakable aroma of Parmesan cheese grating fills the air with a hint of nuttiness. It’s a familiar and comforting aroma simply because it’s the smell of the one and only dish that your girlfriend can successfully cook without setting the kitchen on fire. Not a moment later, Leah appears with a plate on each hand and a grin on her pretty face. 

And a smudge of red pasta sauce on her shirt. 

Mean, scary captain, my ass. 

Dressed in an oversized white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, grey Nike sweatpants, and her favourite fuzzy house slippers; your girlfriend is the least intimidating person in the world right now. 

She walks the short distance to your spot at the dinning table, placing a plate down in front of you. You eye the dish in front of you— the only recipe perfected by your girlfriend. The blonde can’t make scrambled eggs right— they will either be too soggy or practically burnt— but she can make the dish that has become a comfort food of sorts since you started dating her. 

You hear a throat clear from beside you.  Leah is still standing, her other hand still holding her own plate. “Doesn���t the chef get a kiss?” 

“Uhh— I don’t think my girlfriend would like that” You grin up at her. With her blonde hair tied in a loose low bun, she looks a lot more relaxed then when she first came home earlier after training.

“Baby, give me a kiss before I burn my fingers off from holding this hot plate” 

You roll your eyes playfully, before squealing at the ticklish poke given to your side. 

“Oi! Don’t act like it’s a chore to give your girlfriend a kiss when she rightfully deserves it”

You stand up from your seat slightly, reaching up to grab the side of the blonde’s neck to pull her closer and press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Thank you for dinner, chef” 

The smile that spreads across Leah’s face is one you would like to bottle up and keep close forever. 

“Pleasure is all mine, madam” And then her lips meet yours again, this time with a lingering bite on your lower lip just before she pulls back. 

You almost forget about the video.

Once the defender was seated in her own chair, you both dug into your dinner. 

“…how is it?” It’s sometimes still striking to you that England’s fierce defender is the same shy girl in front of you, just waiting for you to compliment her on her cooking. 

“That’s bloody delicious that!” You raise a hand up for a high-five and your girlfriend’s palm meets yours in a satisfying smack. Before she call pull her hand away, you grab hold of it, giving it a loud kiss. The bashful giggle that comes out from the blonde almost makes you regret the prank you were about to pull on her. 

Almost. 

You decided to let the blonde get a few bites of her dinner, not wanting to start too early otherwise she will figure out that something was up. But now it was time. 

You bring your napkin up to wipe at your mouth to disguise the grin that was already growing on your face, mentally prepping yourself one last time. You swallow your last forkful of pasta and clear your throat to get your girlfriend’s attention. Immediately, in the middle of scoping of bite of pasta into her mouth, the blonde looks up and all her attention is on you.

“Do we still have more parmesan, Leah?” 

The look she gave you was almost comical. Her mouth immediately drops into a small frown and her eyebrows furrow, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. You itch to remind her not to frown but you cannot break character now. 

She swallows her mouthful, a frown still present on her face. “What?” 

“I said I want more parmesan—“ 

The arsenal defender picks up her napkin, wiping at her mouth, before balling it in her fist and dropping it by her plate. You nearly smile at the sight. Leah is the type to always neatly fold her napkin– an endearing habit you have grown to mirror over the past couple of months of dating her. She is clearly annoyed. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry— can I pleaseee have more Parmesan, Leah” 

She narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “Don’t do that” 

“Do what?“ 

“Don’t call me Leah. You never do that” 

“Yes I do” 

“Only when you’re mad at me” That was true. You only ever called Leah by her first name when you were mad or annoyed at her. It was usually the first telltale sign that you were about to start an argument. You loved that she knew you so well and mentally reminded yourself to reward her for that later. 

“You only call me “love” or “baby”. Don’t call me Leah” You nearly laugh at how she spits her own name out at the end, as if it was a cursed word. You couldn’t wait to watch the footage back. 

“But Leah is your name” 

“Not to you”

You compose yourself, wanting to drag this prank for as long as possible, and raise an eyebrow at her. “What if I want to?” 

“No you don’t.” You almost laugh at how genuinely frazzled she looks. Hair a mess, loose strands falling out from her bun and framing the sides of her face. The slight pout on her lips contrasts the stern tone she tries to take on. 

At your eyebrow raise and your lack of verbal response, her fork clatters onto her plate. She’s serious now. “Baby, what the fuck are you on about”

But you were having too much fun to stop now. “Nothing. Now will you please go grab the Parmesan, Leah” 

“No.” The defender crosses her arms across her chest, leans back and slouches in her chair. A familiar look of determination on her face, so similar to the face she makes whenever she’s marking a difficult opponent on the pitch; however this time her opponent is you. “Not until you call me what you really call me” 

“Dickhead?” 

“Oi! Don’t be crass at the table” 

You roll your eyes for extra flair. “You’re being ridiculous—“

“Me!? You’re the one addressing your own girlfriend by her government name, mate” 

You stand up from your chair, ready to walk to the kitchen and grab the damn parmesan yourself, but you are stopped by an arm around your waist pulling you into your girlfriend’s lap. You right yourself, sitting sideways with your arm over her shoulders. 

She wraps an arm around your waist with one hand gripping your thighs to steady you. You nearly break once you look up and catch sight of the pout on the defender’s face. 

“Are you mad at me?” Her tone softens. It’s the same tone she uses whenever she’s feeling particularly clingy, so different from the tone she uses when she adorns the captain’s armband on the pitch. 

“Babyyy” When you don’t reply Leah grabs your cheeks, gently squishing them together so your lips are forced into a pout. She leans up and places a smacking kiss on your pouting lips, frowning slightly when you don’t react at all. “Hey! Are you actually mad or something? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it” 

Determined as ever, the blonde grabs your cheeks again with a hand on your jaw and pecks your lips a few times, drawing back slightly to gauge your reaction after every peck. When you once again give her nothing, an eye roll is your only warning before you feel a sudden, but very sharp, bite to the side of your neck.

“Ouch, love!”

“Aha! I’ve got ya!” You bring a hand up to feel the stinging bite on your neck, and your fingers graze the teeth marks left by your very own girlfriend. 

“That bloody hurt!” You try to scowl at the blonde but it’s kind of hard to do when you see the big grin she’s currently sporting. You do nothing to stop your lips from curling upwards into a smile. 

“Can you please go back to calling me “love”– please” Leah pleaded, the ‘e’ whiny and prolonged. 

She’s so bloody cute. 

“Yeah. I think I’ve had my fun. Prank’s over!”

“Wha– prank?!”

You point at your phone that was still propped up against the vase, just slightly hidden from her view but now the sole focus of her attention. 

You squealed at the pinch to your waist. “Don’t ever call me Leah unless you’re mad at me. I only respond to ‘love’"

“Yeah? What about ‘Captain’?”

“Baby, you know exactly what happens when you call me ‘Captain’” You barely had time to react to her words because the next thing you know, your girlfriend has you in a fireman carry and was walking down the hallway towards your shared bedroom. You playfully attempt to wiggle out of her strong hold, and is awarded by a sharp slap to your ass to still you. 

“You know what, I think it’s time for dessert, baby”

This was supposed to be up for Valentines Day yesterday lol but I forgot to schedule it.

Even if you don't choose to celebrate Valentine's Day, I hope you had a great day yesterday. Don't forget to take advantage of the heavily discounted Valentine's Day gift sets and chocolates.

Please accept this short fic as a token of my love and appreciation for you

-- kisses (and an extra kiss because it was Valentine's Day), butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[woso-dreamzzz]

Award II

Alexia Putellas x Hardersson!Reader

Aitana Bonmatí x Hardersson!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You are finally rewarded for being the best

You don't play football for the fame.

You've never played football for fame or money or awards.

You play football because you love it.

It's been apart of your life for as long as you can remember. Your parents still have your first Wolfsburg kit, back when you were a baby and couldn't do anything but cry.

The fame, the money, the trophies all just came along with the sport you love.

The responsibility of carrying your country and your club doesn't weigh on you much, not when you have such passion for the game and your teams.

The first time you felt such responsibility was on your youth team, captaining them to a successful Under-17 Euros. Then, the responsibility was back at Barcelona. You were made the third captain after half a season back from your loan to Lyon.

When you left, the responsibility stayed, being made the sole captain for your country. You've spent a year at Wolfsburg now, the club of your childhood, and the band for your club wraps around your arm in preparation for next season.

Denmark Youth Captain.

Barcelona Third Captain.

Sweden Senior Captain.

Wolfsburg First Captain.

You didn't play football to become a leader but somehow you've become one, moving from yelling orders from your defence to yelling orders at the whole team.

You are an expert keeper. You always have been.

People around you say you've made your mark on the game and you haven't even retired yet. People look at you for what a keeper should be, for how a leader should act.

(People whisper that all keepers coming up the ranks now try to mimic your style, your natural instinct and abilities).

It's only inevitable that you have the trophy cabinet to back up your skill.

Two World Cups sit in your cabinet. Two Golden Gloves as well.

Multiple Keeper of the Year trophies.

An Olympic medal.

A Euros medal.

And then awards for at club level too.

Liga F, Copa de la Reina and Supercopa sit in the apartment you used to share with Natalia with a Première Ligue and Coupe de France medal too.

Your Champion's League medals sit with Natalia's on the wall.

Everything you won at Linköping and Arsenal are at home in Sweden whilst your most recent Bundesliga and DFB-Pokal medals are at your apartment in Germany.

You are the greatest goalkeeper playing in the women's leagues at the moment and, while you cannot see it, everyone else knows it.

You've come to the ceremony to eat some of the bar food and maybe see some of your old Lyon teammates.

Talia has come to the ceremony to see you make history.

Alexia and Aitana are the ones presenting the award and just from the way they're smiling, Talia knows the result.

You've been ranked highly ever since your first nomination. That time, you'd ranked eleventh. Every time after that, you've finished in the top ten.

Your name is called and the world stops.

You suck in a breath, frozen in your seat like you're in the Champion's League final with only a one goal lead and the other team advancing on your goal with lethal efficiency.

You don't know what to do. You don't know what to say.

Your wife allows your tuck your head into her neck, not flinching as your tears drip down onto her suit blazer.

"It's okay, baby," Talia says to you," You deserve this so much."

She helps you to your feet, hiding your face as you wipe your tears where cameras can't see.

You force yourself to walk up the stairs to the stage without stumbling. You suck in a breath.

There it is.

The most prestigious award in football.

It was a few years ago now that Talia won hers. She'd had a standout season during her first as Barcelona's captain. She was lethal on goal for club and country.

There was never any doubt it would be here.

That's the way it always is.

Everyone always expects a striker or a midfielder. Sometimes, it's a defender. It's never been a keeper though, at least for the women's.

Second goalkeeper in history.

First female goalkeeper in history.

Aitana is the one nearest to you.

You're taller than her by a lot, towering over her but she still hugs you like you were little, like you were still the little girl she met when hunting down Pernille's shirt.

One of her hands comes up to cup your cheek.

"You've grown up," She says and you force yourself not to cry," You're so big now."

Alexia is next. You last saw her a few weeks ago when you came back to Spain for the weekend and attended one of Talia's games. Alexia made you come down from the stands and asked about Wolfsburg and how your season was going.

She was all business then and you'd been as vague as possible, in case she remembered something that could be used against you during the next rounds of the Champion's League.

But now, there's no hint of professionalism in her eyes as she pulls you into a hug.

"I told you," She whispers," I told you that you'd get this one day. Remember this feeling, okay? There's nothing better in the world. There's no one better in the world."

She pulls away and hands you the award.

You turn to the cameras, to the audience all on their feet clapping you.

You lift up your Ballon D'or for all to see.

[axeeglitter]

One way trip to Caracas

The flight from Paris to Caracas was long, but every second felt like a victory for Julien. At 32 years old, this was his first solo trip abroad, the culmination of years of hard work and saving every spare euro. His coworkers had teased him, saying it was too dangerous to travel to Venezuela alone, but Julien had brushed off their concerns. For him, this was not just a holiday; it was a statement of independence. No more predictable vacations with his family. No more dreaming of adventure while flipping through travel magazines. This was his time.

The sweltering heat hit him the moment he stepped out of the airport. Caracas was unlike anything he had ever seen. The towering buildings cast long shadows over streets bustling with life. Food vendors called out to passersby, the scent of arepas and empanadas mingling with the tropical humidity. The colors overwhelmed him: bright murals on crumbling walls, vibrant clothing, and the endless blue sky above.

Julien, with his average build and confident demeanor, stood out among the locals. His fair skin and European features marked him as a tourist immediately, but he didn’t mind. He had always prided himself on being adaptable, confident, and able to handle himself in any situation. After all, he’d spent years in the gym maintaining a body he was proud of. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but he was fit, a point of pride for someone who considered himself just an ordinary guy.

He had planned his trip meticulously. Days of hiking in the Andes, visits to Angel Falls, and, today, exploring the city and getting lost in its streets and markets.

The marketplace was everything Julien had hoped for and more. It was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds: merchants shouting over each other, music blaring from hidden speakers, the clinking of coins exchanged for fresh produce, handmade crafts, and colorful trinkets. Julien wandered through the labyrinth of stalls, enchanted by the vibrant fabrics, carved wooden figurines, and the aroma of spices he couldn’t quite identify.

He stopped at a table displaying intricate jewelry. Bracelets made of woven leather, necklaces adorned with tiny beads, and rings of all shapes and sizes were laid out like treasures waiting to be discovered. The seller, an older woman with silver-streaked hair, smiled at him and began explaining each piece in rapid Spanish. Julien’s knowledge of the language was limited, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

As he examined a particularly striking silver bracelet, a group of teenagers loitered nearby, watching him. There were five of them, all around 18 to early 20s years old, dressed in a mix of modern streetwear and local flair. They whispered among themselves, smirking and occasionally glancing in his direction. Julien noticed them but didn’t think much of it. He assumed they were just curious about the foreigner in their midst.

“¿Cuánto cuesta?” Julien asked the vendor, pointing at the bracelet.

Before the woman could answer, one of the teenagers, probably the leader of the group,  stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Señor, let me help you,” the boy said in heavily accented English, grinning. “You don’t want that. It’s too expensive for you.”

Julien raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

The boy’s grin widened. “Of course. Just saying. You should look around more. Better deals everywhere.” He gestured vaguely at the surrounding stalls.

The other teenagers laughed softly, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Julien turned back to the vendor, brushing off the interaction. He had no idea that, while he was distracted, another member of the group had slipped close behind him.

As Julien continued haggling over the bracelet, a smaller boy with a quick, practiced motion slid something into the pocket of Julien’s cargo shorts. The boy rejoined his friends, who stifled their laughter as they watched the oblivious tourist.

Julien eventually purchased the bracelet from the lady while small talking with her a bit and then moved on, unaware of the extra weight in his pocket. He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the market, sampling local snacks and taking photos. The teenagers followed him at a distance, always staying just out of sight, their laughter echoing faintly as Julien admired a stand of colorful ceramic bowls.

By the time Julien returned to his modest hotel room that evening, the events of the day had left him exhilarated and exhausted. He dumped his shopping bag on the bed and emptied his pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and… a ring? Frowning, he examined it. The metal was cold and oddly heavy, the symbols on its surface almost seeming to shift under the dim light of the room.

“Weird,” he muttered, setting it aside. He assumed he must have accidentally picked it up at the market, maybe it had fallen into his bag or pocket while the young men were talking to him. Julien tried the ring on his finger and it fit perfectly, it was hugging his skin without compressing him and it was a perfect touch that he could keep as a memory of his travel. Being happy to find this ring by accident and seeing how well fitted it felt, Julien got ready to go to bed, forgetting completely to take the ring off as he fell asleep on his bed.

The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Julien’s hotel room, casting a golden glow on the sparse furnishings. He groaned softly, his body heavy with the lingering fatigue of the previous day. Stretching, he rubbed his face, only to pause when his hand brushed against his jawline. The stubble he had carefully groomed just yesterday felt... thinner. Softer, almost.

He sat up, dismissing the thought as morning grogginess, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As he stood, he felt an odd looseness in his pajama shorts. They slid slightly down his hips, which felt narrower than usual. Julien tugged them back up, frowning but attributing it to weight loss from the heat and all the walking he’d done.

In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and glanced into the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him. His skin, usually a pale European tone, had darkened slightly, as if the last days sun he took finally put a tan on his pale skin. His features looked subtly different, his nose a touch broader, his cheekbones sharper. It wasn’t drastic, but it was enough to make him pause and watch with attention how just a tan can make such a difference on his face and body.

“Must be the sun,” he muttered, running a hand through his short-cropped hair to style them after what he got himself ready for another hot day to explore Caracas and its streets.

But as the day wore on, Julien’s discomfort grew. Walking through the city streets, he noticed his stride felt different, as though his legs were subtly reshaping themselves. His calves felt leaner, his thighs slightly more muscular, but not in the way he was used to. There was a new tautness to his skin, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. His shirt clung awkwardly to his torso, which seemed slimmer than it had been in the morning.

By the afternoon, Julien’s reflection in shop windows was unmistakably altered. His once broad shoulders had softened slightly, tapering down to an athletic but less imposing frame. His arms, too, seemed leaner, the veins that usually stood out on his forearms now subdued beneath smoother, slightly darker skin.

The changes, at first painless, began to take on a strange intensity. As evening approached, Julien found himself stumbling as a sharp ache flared in his joints. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was persistent, like his body was being stretched and compressed at the same time. His face felt hot, as though feverish, and when he caught his reflection in a storefront window, he barely recognized himself. His jawline had softened, his lips fuller, and his eyes, a deep brown now instead of their usual golden hazel, stared back at him with an unfamiliar intensity.

Julien panicked seeing that he didn’t recognize himself anymore in his reflection. This was not the sun; this was something else. He needed help. Julien ran back at the hotel, paced the room, his heart pounding. He started to think and walk in his bed, trying to find an explication on the internet while looking for the emergency number; but now that he was alone with his thought and changing body, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger. Julien could feel his bones grinding each other as the transformation was not done yet. His skin tightening around his shrinking muscles, his vision blurring and coming back to normal, his body getting itchy. As he sat in the corner of the room, Julien felt a sharp painful sensation around his fingers, he tilted his head only to realize the ring he put on yesterday was still on, and worst, it was shining a faint golden hue. The ring. It had to be the ring. He grabbed it from his finger and tugged on it, trying to take it off. But it was not moving at all. Worst it felt like he was tearing off his own finger. It was stuck in place. As he was about to try once again going to the bathroom to put soap and water, he felt a jolt of energy course his body and coming from his finger. Julien screamed in pain as his voice felt rougher and higher at the same time. The wave of energy was running through his body and then it stopped and centralized around his feet. Julien turned his head and watched in horror as his feet started to compress and shrink right in front of his eyes. The symbols etched into the surface of the ring seemed to shimmer and shift, almost as if alive. Desperate, he tried to pull it off once again, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. The metal felt warm against his skin, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Julien screamed in panic once again as he felt the ring starting to warm once again, like if it was ready to release a new wave. Julien was terrified and just like he thought, the sensation of invasion in his body came back once again, only this time it went in the direction of his head. The last thing Julien saw before his vision blurred and was taken by darkness was the night falling in his dark room as a golden light was emitted from his left hand.

As night fell and Julien was still fainted on his bed, the transformation accelerated. Julien’s once well-groomed chest and arms were now smooth, devoid of the hair he had always taken pride in. Yet, paradoxically, his armpits and thighs had grown thick with dark, curly hair, the contrast both alarming and surreal. His body continued to slim down, shedding years as it reshaped itself into that of a teenager. His abdomen, while still toned, looked less defined, the muscle structure softer and more natural.

The pain became unbearable by midnight. Julien curled up on the bed, clutching his stomach as spasms wracked his unconscious body. His bones felt like they were grinding against each other, his muscles tightening and releasing in unnatural patterns as tears streamed down his fainted face.

By dawn, the transformation was nearly complete. Julien’s once angular features were now softer, more youthful, with a golden-brown complexion that glowed in the bright morning light. Julien opened his eyes and turned his head around, taking the light in his warm brown eyes as his pupils contracted to accommodate to it. He turned his head to the left to look at the clock, forgetting what happened yesterday, but as he saw his tanned hand in front of him, everything came back to him. The ring, the changes, his body. Julien jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, his body, lean and athletic, moved with an ease and agility he hadn’t felt in years. There, in the mirror reflection, Julien saw his face and body. He looked like a local Venezuelan teenager, no older than 18. The realization hit him like a blow. Julien gasped in surprise and fear only to hear his deep voice being way higher and younger than what he was used to.

He couldn’t be stuck like this; he had a flight back in 2 days. How could he take the plane, his passport wasn’t even looking like himself anymore! As he kept on walking around the room, trying to find a solution, the light of the morning sun shine through his curtain and fell on his ringed finger, which illuminated his mirror reflection in golden hue. “The market!” he thought “I have to find the lady in the market, that’s her ring, I’m sure she’ll be able to help me out!” He grabbed a pair of flip flops, the only things that his feet were able to put on without loosing them, put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that was way too big for his body and then ran to the market with hope in his chocolate eyes. 

By the time Julien reached the bustling market, the sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down relentlessly and little to no sweat dripping down from his forehead. He maneuvered through the crowded streets, his heart thudding in his chest and the ring. Everything about the market felt more chaotic than it had the day before, the colors, the sounds, the voices speaking in rapid Spanish that he inexplicably understood with greater clarity now. He tugged at the sleeves of his loose shirt; his movements awkward as he tried to mask the unfamiliar changes in his body.

He reached the vendor’s stall from the day before and froze. The elderly woman wasn’t there. Her table was empty, the trinkets and jewelry nowhere in sight. His stomach churned as he turned in circles, scanning the crowd for her hunched figure. “She must be somewhere, she has to! I don’t know wha…”

“Señor turista!” interrupted a young men’s voice.

It made Julien’s blood run cold. He turned slowly, not knowing who to to expect or even if it was for him.

There, standing in front of him with a smirk on his face, a familiar young man with other ones stood a few meters away from him, their cocky smiles and sharp eyes fixed on him. The leader, a tall, wiry boy with dark, calculating eyes, stepped forward, his head tilting with mock curiosity.

“You look like you need help. You lost or something?” the leader asked kindly, switching easily between Spanish and English, his grin widening. “Come with me, we’ll help you find her. It’s not the first time this bruja does something like that.”

Julien’s breath quickened, but he forced himself to stand his ground. “Can you? That would be awesome. I’m terrified, I don’t even recognize myself, and everything feels so vivid and different.” he said, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm. “Do you know where she is? I have to turn back. I don’t want … this” he said pointing at his regressed body.

The leader’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Sure, don’t worry. That’s why I tried to help you the other day when you bought this bracelet. But you didn’t listen. It’s ok, we can help you don’t worry. Just follow us, her shop is a few streets away.” Julien felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he laughed a bit out of anxiety. He’ll be able to go back home. As Julien followed the men and his group outside of the market, he didn’t realize the streets were getting less crowded. The houses getting closer from each other and the sun was having trouble piercing through the closed roofs surrounding them. “So, not to be uneducated or anything, but how long do you think we’ll have to walk? You said it was close and we’ve been walking for almost 25 minutes. I’m just wondering if… Hey! Stop that!” Julien was interrupted in his sentence. Two of the men he was following grabbed him by the arms. He tried to break free but they were way too strong for him to do anything in this twink body he was now inhabiting. In a quick move, Julien’s feet were not touching the ground anymore and as he kept on screaming for help, a door opened behind them, leading in a poorly decorated house with only a well-used black leather couch. They threw Julien on the couch and his head punched the wall behind him, making him dizzy for a minute. When his ideas were cleared, he jumped back on his feet only to realize the whole gang was surrounding him and he had nowhere to escape.

“Let me through,” he said, his voice louder now, his nerves beginning to fray.

“Why would we do that?” one of the boys sneered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The leader stepped closer, his gaze locking on Julien’s terrified face. “You still don’t understand, don’t you? There is no escape for you, not anymore.”

Julien instinctively covered his hand, but the leader’s smirk deepened. “It’s too late to hide it now,” he said. “You’re already marked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julien said, though his voice betrayed his growing panic. He tried to push past them, but hands grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his shirt, forcing him backward against the couch.

“You don’t get it, do you?” the leader said, leaning in close. “The lady is not the problem. She was just someone selling her craft trying to get money. She won’t help you, or turn you back!” “But you said…” Julien answered with tears in his throat. “I say a lot of things Julien. Here, it’s either eat or be eaten. And I won’t get eaten by society, not today, not tomorrow. See we needed someone like you. And you are perfect I have to say, or rather were. Your innocent face, your pale skin, your basic body. Yea you really were perfect. And you were alone, Jackpot!” continued the men as al his friends were still blocking Julien from running away. “Now listen, from now on, you work for me. And if you try to say anything out of character, well, let’s say you won’t be saying anything else.” “I’m sorry. I have money, I can pay you. Just turn me back and I’ll give you whatever you want. Please.” Answered Julien with tears rolling down his tanned cheeks. “What did I just say? Nothing out of character. Looks like you broke the first rule, isn’t that right Mateo?” said the men with a cocky smile creeping on his lips.

Julien froze. “Mateo?” he echoed, confused.

The leader laughed darkly. “I told you, Mateo. I won’t accept any side steps from my men.”

“Please I’m sorry. I…,” Julien hissed, trying to wrench free, but the gang’s grabbed him back as he tried to get up from the couch only to be pushed back and forced to sit. Julien froze as he was forced there on the couch. The leader took a step in his direction and then looked at his friends next to him. He smiled and then Julien saw the two men laughing and smirking as they approached his paralyzed body. Soon, the men grabbed Julien’s clothes until he was star naked. His new athletic tanned and musky body sitting there for everybody to look at him. Julien felt humiliated and hated every second of it, but he couldn’t escape from their grip, he was trapped. “I’ll pay you, just let me go. I won’t talk to anyone. Please!” said one more time Julien, trying to argue with the leader standing in front of him.

The leader didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the ring and pulled. Julien gasped as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his finger, as though the ring had fused to his skin. For a moment, it resisted, but then it slipped free, leaving behind a faint red mark on his tanned finger. Julien screamed as felt a part of himself getting ripped with the ring. His head started to spin as everything was starting to merge together before being broken and reformed again. Sweat started to poor down from his skin, his armpits sweating abundantly. Tears of sweat were rolling down his forehead and blurred his vision as he felt like his head was about to explode. He then felt an alien sensation invading his cock. It was like it was burning and itching t the same time. Julien opened his brown eyes only to realize in his blurred vision that his cock was now changing to something totally different. It started to shrink and compress on itself. Veins popping on the lengths as sensitivity started to grow higher and higher. Then burning appeared at the base, Julien’s mouth opened, trying to ask for mercy, as he felt a new forest of curly dark pubes starting to grow. Then his new smaller but thicker dick started to beat with the rhythm of his younger heart, his body getting overdosed by hormones as he couldn’t control himself, his hips wanted to move, to thrust, but the men were still holding him down. Without being able to control himself, a thick pearl of precum was ejected from his new tanner cock head, the first of many. Then all of a sudden, everything stopped. Julien opened his eyes again and everything was calmed, the men still in front of him was smirking with the ring in his hand, shining in a heartbeat rhythm before shutting off in a faint glow that soon stopped too.

“¿Qué me están haciendo? ¿Qué está pasando?”

The gang burst into laughter, their mocking voices echoing off the alley walls. Julien’s panic spiked as he realized he couldn’t remember how to speak English. Worse, his own name felt foreign to him, slipping from his mind entirely.

“As I said, your name is Mateo now,” the leader said, his grin cruel. “And you’re mine.”

“No... no puede ser,” Julien, no, Mateo whispered, his younger voice trembling.

The leader crouched down in front of him, his expression softening into something almost sympathetic. “You going to bring me a lot of money” he said. “My clients will adore you, that’s for sure.”

Julien shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “Esto no está bien,” he murmured, but the conviction in his voice was fading, drowned out by the growing fog in his mind.

The gang’s laughter grew louder as they released their grips on him. Julien’s resistance ebbed, his will crumbling under the weight of the changes overtaking him. As he tried to get up begging one last time for help, the leader snapped his fingers. Julien’s head spanned and he started to blink in confusion, his erected dick starting to spasm and eject more and more precum. In front of him, the leader called one of his loyal friend and gave him the bronze ring. As Julien looked at him, his vision blurred by pleasure and confusion, he saw the young men putting the ring on and in a couple of second, he saw his old reflection standing naked in front of him. His old body standing there at attention and waiting for the leader’s orders. “Que …. No es…” Julien managed to say as his cock was spasming more and more, pleasure invading his young naked sweaty and musky body. The leader just turned his head and smirked. “Cum par mi, puta!” Julien felt the orgasm rising as he couldn’t control himself anymore and suddenly cum fired out of his cock. It felt like he finally could breath again. Julien closed his eyes and when he opened them again, a smirk appeared on his younger face. “Bienvenido, Mateo” said the leader with a smile on his face as he threw a grey used jockstrap to Mateo. “Hola Boss!” answered Mateo as Julien was gone for good, drying on the cement floor.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

Here is the story I wrote for @misctf. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, my DMs are open, so feel free to send me a message if you have any ideas you'd like me to write about.

Also, we're getting close to 1,000, so be ready, I’m planning a special event for you once we reach that milestone!

Thank you so much, guys! See you soon!

[mysunshinetemptress]

Nepo Baby

Leah Williamson x Beckham!Reader

Warning: I hate this sorry love the request but hate this

The locker room buzzed with nervous energy. England was facing Ireland, An important match in the intense group all looking to qualify for the Euros next year, and the tension was thicker than hairspray. But for Leah Williamson, captain and undisputed leader, there was an extra edge, it was her first game back for England since her ACL injury last year and although she was excited to finally be leading England back out she knew it wasn't what anyone would be talking about, not even her best friends had acknowledged the importance of today for her, all to caught up in the fan fair of a new England debut that was Y/n Beckham.

You were David and Victoria Beckham's third child, twin sister to Romeo and from the moment your name had been announced to the squad list the media had blown up, but Leah had been a sceptic. The media fawned over you, the "Beckham heir," a title that felt more like a burden than a birthright. Leah had clawed her way to the top, her talent undeniable. You, she suspected, had a silver spoon where your foot should be.

England's first training session confirmed Leah's suspicions. Your skills were undeniable – your crosses were pinpoint, your dribbling silky smooth. But there was a certain arrogance in your gaze, a sense of entitlement that grated on Leah. During a passing drill, You intercepted a ball intended for Leah, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Easy there, Williamson," You smirked, sending the ball sailing over Leah's head. "Maybe next time, try calling for it a bit louder."

Leah bristled. "Don't patronise me, Beckham," she growled. "This isn't your playground."

You began to regret your earlier arrogance as Leah began to nitpick her way through your play, through the rest of the training sessions at St Georges Leah found something to fault you on and you began to think back to all your past coaches who had put you on a pedestal only wanting to watch you fall. All training sessions continued like this and you hoped that she might let up but Leah seemed set in her ways.

Leah sighed walking into the conference room her first one back for England, her first one back as captain, she smiled letting out a soft hello before taking her seat beside Sarina.

Leah puffed out her cheeks as another reporter asked about you, She looked up as yet another report mentioned you and your father's talent. "Her dad worked hard to gain the career he had, Y/n has waltzed into her contracts thanks to his hard work, no other reason, she's an arrogant Nepo baby on a team of hard workers, now can we please move off this topic and actually talk about the upcoming games." The room fell into an awkward silence at the normally calm captains outburst.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the nervous coughs of a few reporters. Sarina Wiegman, the England manager, cleared her throat, her eyes flitting between Leah and the press. "Leah makes a valid point," she finally chimed in, her voice calm but firm. "We're here to discuss the upcoming matches, and the entire squad deserves your attention. Y/n has earned her place here based on her talent, and we're all focused on bringing home a win."

Leah felt a sliver of guilt at the manager's words. She knew Sarina was right, the media frenzy surrounding Y/n wasn't fair to anyone, and her outburst was unprofessional. But the constant comparisons, the whispers of nepotism, they were a persistent itch under her skin. That guilty feeling however was made ten times worse when she caught your eye at the back of the conference room before you ducked your head and began to walk out.

You had avoided Leah for the rest of your time at St Georges as well as the short travelling day over to Dublin, and now you sat at your cubby head down staring at the ground the weight of the surname on your back, the weight of your very famous family sitting in the stands travelling to see your debut for England. You couldn't let them down, you couldn't let him down.

The anger towards you and your nepotism crept back into Leah as she listened to Kiera and Georgia harp on about you and your famous family completely forgetting that this was also an important moment for her, this was her first time back in the England squad in a year, her first time starting, her first time back as captain.

Lining up Leah grabbed your arm before you could walk out "You aren't talented, you're a kid using your father's hard work, you never had to fight for your spot it was given to you on a silver platter thanks to the name on your back." Leah spat the last part back at you and suddenly you couldn't move, Leah hit your shoulder before heading to the tunnel, but still you couldn't move, she was right after all.

Shame burned in your throat, acrid and bitter. Leah's words echoed in the empty hallway, bouncing off the lockers and amplifying the hollowness you felt inside. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the already dim lighting. You weren't a child, not anymore. But in that moment, Leah's words had stripped you bare, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips. You weren't a Beckham just because of your name. You'd trained relentlessly since you could walk, mimicking your dad's moves in the living room, begging him for extra sessions after school. You had the talent, you knew you did. But proving it to someone as entrenched as Leah felt impossible.

Suddenly, the weight of expectation on your young shoulders felt insurmountable. The image of your family in the stands, their hopeful faces etched in your mind, only amplified the pressure. You couldn't let them down, couldn't let your dad down after years of his unwavering support. A surge of defiance replaced the self-doubt. No, you wouldn't let Leah break you.

Suddenly, a hand touched your shoulder. You flinched, expecting another barb, but it was Lucy, her face etched with concern. "Y/n, are you alright?" she asked gently.

You shook your head, voice cracking. "I...she thinks..." you choked on the words.

Lucy understood. She'd been there, the pressure of a debut, the weight of expectations. "Listen," she said firmly, her voice laced with veteran experience, "Leah's hurting. She wants to prove herself again, and right now, she's lashing out."

"But it's true," you whispered, tears finally spilling over. "I haven't had to fight for anything."

Lucy wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. "Maybe not," she conceded, "but that doesn't mean you don't have talent. We wouldn't be here if you weren't good. Use this, Y/n. Prove them all wrong, yourself included."

Her words sparked a flicker of defiance in your chest. You weren't here just because of your name. You loved football, you'd trained relentlessly, pushing yourself as hard as anyone. Maybe you hadn't clawed your way up from the bottom, but that didn't mean you didn't belong.

Wiping your tears, you straightened your back, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze. "Thanks, Lucy," you said, your voice firm. 

The roar of the Dublin crowd washed over you as you stepped onto the pitch. You glanced at Leah across the line, her jaw clenched, eyes hard with determination. It wasn't a friendly look, but it wasn't a dismissive one either.

Every touch, every pass, fueled by the need to silence the doubts, both internal and external. You played with a tenacity that surprised even yourself, weaving through defenders, your crosses finding their targets with pinpoint accuracy.

Then, in the second half, a chance. You intercepted a pass deep in your own half, broke free, and sprinted down the wing. The Irish defense converged, but you remembered Leah's words from training, the ones buried under the avalanche of criticism. You feinted left, then right, sending two defenders sprawling.

With only the Courtney Brosnan to beat, you took a deep breath, you curled the ball towards the far post. It dipped just out of reach of the goalkeeper's fingertips, nestled perfectly into the net.

The stadium erupted. Your teammates swarmed you, a joyous tangle of limbs. Even Leah offered a hesitant smile, a flicker of pride in her eyes.

The final whistle blew, and England was victorious. As you celebrated with your teammates, a hand landed on your shoulder. You looked up to see Leah, a genuine smile on her face.

"Good goal," she said, her voice the softest you've heard.

"Thank you." you smiled back before clearing your throat, your eyes pricking with tears before let out a surprised gasp at Leah pulling you into her chest.

The unexpected warmth of Leah's embrace sent a jolt through you. It was the first genuine human contact you'd had from her all camp, and for some reason, it felt like a dam breaking.

"I just want to prove myself," you mumbled against her shoulder, your voice thick with emotion. "Everyone expects me to be this prodigy, just because of my name. But I don't want to be David Beckham's daughter, I want to be Y/n Beckham, the footballer."

Leah pulled back to meet your gaze, her voice softer than you expected. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to prove yourself. I was out of line. The whole 'nepo baby' thing...it was unprofessional and unfair. You deserve to be here, Y/n. Your talent speaks for itself."

That night, under the soft glow of the locker room lights, a tentative friendship blossomed. It was a friendship forged in shared passion, mutual respect, and the unspoken understanding of the immense pressure that came with wearing the England shirt.pen_spark

You wouldn't see Leah again until England's camp in preparation for the doubleheader against France and this time the training sessions became a battleground, not of barbs and put-downs, but of fierce competition, each of you pushing the other to be better. You learned to anticipate Leah's sharp passes, and her instinctive runs, and she, in turn, began to appreciate the subtle artistry in your footwork, the way you could unlock a defence with a single, deft touch.

Late nights turned into conversations in the locker room, sharing stories, dreams, and the anxieties that came with leading a team like England. You confided in Leah about the suffocating weight of expectation, the fear of never living up to your father's legacy. She, in turn, opened up about the loneliness of being the captain, the constant scrutiny, the burden of always having to be strong.

The evening before the team were set to travel to Newcastle, after a particularly gruelling training session, you found yourself lingering in the empty team room. Leah was still there, sat on the couch scrolling in the corner. You hesitated, then walked over.

"Fancy a game of Ping Pong." You rubbed your neck nervously as Leah met your eyes before smiling "Yeah sure." You both spent the night laughing over your terrible ping-pong skills before quietly wishing each other good night.

As weeks turned into months, your friendship deepened, blossoming into something more. Stolen glances across the training field, lingering touches during celebrations, late-night texts filled with silly jokes and words left unsaid. It was a slow burn, a gradual realization that the person you once considered your rival had become someone you craved, not just on the pitch, but off it as well.

The turning point came during the final Euro qualifier match against Swede. The pressure was immense, and the score tied with only minutes remaining. You received the ball deep in your own half, the Swedish defence swarming around you. You saw a gap, a flicker of movement, and instinctively passed the ball.

Leah, anticipating the play, met the ball perfectly, unleashing a powerful shot that rocketed into the net. The stadium erupted, your teammates mobbing you both in a joyous frenzy. In that shared moment of triumph, your eyes met, and a silent confession hung heavy in the air.

Later that night, back at the team hotel, you found Leah pacing the balcony overlooking the city lights. The nervous tension that had been simmering for weeks finally broke.

"Leah," you started, your voice barely above a whisper "Are you ok." Leah walked straight for you before gently grabbing your face before you placed a hand on her chest stopping her advances. "This...us...it's not fair to the team, is it?"

She didn't move, her eyes searching yours. "Maybe not," she admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "But it feels pretty damn right."

You dropped your hands to her waist as she pulled you into a searing kiss before you pulled back again Leah let out a whine in frustration, "And to think you hated me only a few months ago." Leah let out a scoff "I never hated you, how could I ever hate a girl as gorgeous as you." you laughed before pulling her into another kiss

[whencyclopedia]

Geronimo

Geronimo (Goyahkla, l. c. 1829-1909) was a medicine man and war chief of the Bedonkohe tribe of the Chiricahua Apache nation, best known for his resistance against the encroachment of Mexican and Euro-American settlers and armed forces into Apache territory and as one of the last Native American leaders to surrender to the United States government.

During the Apache Wars (1849-1886), he allied with other leaders such as Cochise (l. c. 1805-1874) and Victorio (l. c. 1825-1880) in attacks on US forces after Apache lands became part of US territories following the Mexican-American War (1846-1848). Between c. 1850 and 1886, Geronimo led raids against villages, outposts, and cattle trains in northern Mexico and southwest US territories, often striking with relatively small bands of warriors against superior numbers and slipping away into the mountains and then back to his homelands in the region of modern-day Arizona and New Mexico.

He surrendered to US authorities three times, but when the terms of his surrender were not honored, he escaped the reservation and returned to launching raids on settlements. He was finally talked into surrendering for good by First Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood (l. 1853-1896), under the command of General Nelson A. Miles (l. 1839-1925), in 1886. None of the terms stipulated by Miles were honored, but by that time, Geronimo felt he was too old and too tired to continue running. Geronimo's surrender to Gatewood is told accurately, though with some poetic license, in the Hollywood movie Geronimo: An American Legend (1993).

Geronimo was imprisoned at Fort Pickens, Pensacola, Florida, before being moved to Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Toward the end of his life, he became a sensation at the St. Louis World's Fair (1904) and President Theodore Roosevelt's Inaugural Parade (1905) as well as other events. Although one of the stipulations of his surrender was his return to his homelands in Arizona, he was held as a prisoner elsewhere for 23 years before dying in 1909 of pneumonia at Fort Sill.

Name & Youth

His Apache name was Goyahkla ("One Who Yawns"), and, according to some scholars, he acquired the name Geronimo during his campaigns against Mexican troops, who would appeal to Saint Jerome (San Jeronimo in Spanish) for assistance. This was possibly Saint Jerome Emiliani (l. 1486-1537), patron of orphans and abandoned children, not the better-known Saint Jerome of Stridon (l. c. 342-420), translator of the Bible into the Vulgate and patron of translators, scholars, and librarians.

Geronimo was born near Turkey Creek near the Gila River in the region now known as Arizona and New Mexico c. 1825. He was the fourth of eight children and had three brothers and four sisters. In his autobiography, Geronimo: The True Story of America's Most Ferocious Warrior (1906), dictated to S. M. Barrett, Geronimo described his youth:

When a child, my mother taught me the legends of our people; taught me of the sun and sky, the moon and stars, the clouds, and storms. She also taught me to kneel and pray to Usen for strength, health, wisdom, and protection. We never prayed against any person, but if we had aught against any individual, we ourselves took vengeance. We were taught that Usen does not care for the petty quarrels of men. My father had often told me of the brave deeds of our warriors, of the pleasures of the chase, and the glories of the warpath. With my brothers and sisters, I played about my father's home. Sometimes we played at hide-and-seek among the rocks and pines; sometimes we loitered in the shade of the cottonwood trees…When we were old enough to be of real service, we went to the field with our parents; not to play, but to toil.

(12)

After his father died of illness, his mother did not remarry, and Geronimo took her under his care. In 1846, when he was around 17 years old, he was admitted to the Council of Warriors, which meant he could now join in war parties and also marry. He married Alope of the Nedni-Chiricahua tribe, and they would later have three children. Geronimo set up a home for his family near his mother's teepee, and as he says, "we followed the traditions of our fathers and were happy. Three children came to us – children that played, loitered, and worked as I had done" (Barrett, 25). This happy time in Geronimo's life would not last long, however.

Continue reading...

[mj0702]

@tasha95 put in some effort and thought of something... so I put some effort in too

“Bubs.... come on... final is starting” you heard Lucy yell from the living room where she sat on the couch Ona leaning against her

On the other side there where Laura and Keira leaving a small space for you in the middle

“Yeah... don't stress the cook” you yelled from the kitchen

“She making popcorn in the microwave” your sister mumbled rolling her eyes which caused a round of chuckling from the others

“And you won't get any” you said as you basically threw yourself in the space they left for you

“Play nice you two” Keira scolded you both smiling as she took a handful out of your popcorn bowl

“So... Laura... you're sitting here with one spaniard and three english... who are you rooting for?” you smirked challenging

“As an Austrian I support Austria” Keiras girlfriend smirked back

“It's the Euros Laura... not the World cup... you Austrians only want to rule the world... not quite successful at that but you tried before... The final is Spain against england... I don't see any Austria... I mean we do sport the red and white colours but.... england or Spain?” you kept poking her

“I'm Switzerland” the Austrian player didn't give in on your poking

“No you're not... england or Spain” you smirked loving the relationship that formed over the past couple of month with the new girlfriend of your “mom”

“Then Germany...” Laura smirked

“Uuuuhhh... I don't see any Germany... well...” you tilted your head “... so didn't the english Troops 1945... wasn't their leader an Austrian?”

“Bitsy!!” Keira exclaimed shocked

“Bubs!!” Lucy squeaked just as shocked

“Of the english troops? How should I know... isn't that your countries history?” the Austrian said her eyes glinting challenging

“Oh we had a fantastic leadership 1945... King Georg VI was an amazing Leader... not to mention his Daughter... did you know that the late Queen Elisabeth met the man your country pissed off by not accepting him at that art school and pissed him off so bad that he wanted to take over the world?” you grinned back

“You just wait little Scott... we'll succeed one day” Laura smirked

“That'll only happen when the last Piper stopped playing” you said putting on your thickest Scottish accent

“You two are unbelievable” Keira groaned but at the same time she was happy and grateful that you accepted Laura so easily

“Back to the original question... england or Spain” you nearly crawled over Keira to get into Lauras face

“Since Spain is a little outnumbered here... I'm going for the red and yellow colours” the Austrian quickly snipped your nose making you scrunch up

“You suck up... you don't need to support the enemy to get on Onas good side... just bake her some Catalonian stuff” you said trying not to sneeze when you felt Ona lightly kick your ass

“Excuse me?” the spaniard said fake upset “Laura can support whoever she wants”

“Not if it's the wrong whoever” you exclaimed holding on to Keira so Ona won't push you off the couch

“Whomever” your sister corrected you smirking

“You didn't correct her” you whined as Kei started to laugh

“English isn't her first language...” Lucy pointed out as she pulled Ona tighter into her embrace

“It isn't mine either!” you exclaimed

“If you say now your first language is Scottish I'll kick you into next century Bitsy” Keira looked at you darkly and you decided to better shut up and cuddle up against the blonde smiling sweetly

“And you called me a suck up” Laura mumbled under her breath seeing how you relaxed against her girlfriend your legs over Onas your feet against Lucys thighs taking up the whole couch

“At least I just suck up and don't suck her” you smirked at the Austrian who bursted out laughing while Keira slapped the back of your head lightly

“Touché Schnucki.. touché” the Austrian laughed as she got more settled behind her girlfriend

“This is painful to watch” you groan against Keiras chest as England gave away another opportunity to score

“It's pretty level...” Lucy tried to find something positive from the first 45 minutes

“Level?? Them spaniards just didn't lead by 18 – nil because of Jordan... he saved them asses...” you got upset

“Bitsy... can you get me another glass of wine please?” Keira gently nudged you feeling how your anger boiled to the surface

“You can...” you started to argue

“Bitsy...” the blonde interrupted you quite firmly “... could you PLEASE get me another glass of wine?”

“Red?” you grumbled knowing Keira send you to calm down

“I'm sorry...” Ona said quietly the second you left the room

“Huh?” Keira looked at her friend confused while Lucy shook her head

“I'm sorry Spain is upsetting her” the spaniard looking guilty

“Oh Ona stop being daft...” Keira waved off “... she's not upset because of Spain... she's upset because she sees all the mistakes and can't yell at them directly... Bitsy sees things we don't... you noticed how she always groan before something is happening? That's because her brain works different and she somehow knows what's going to happen... It's not Spain... and it's not something you need to apologize for”

“Yeah Babe... don't worry about it...” Lucy said softly hugging her girlfriend lovingly from behind

“I don't want her to hate.... us...” Ona said quietly

“She could never...” your sister whispered against Onas hair

“If Spain beats england...” the spaniard started but stopped talking as you came back with Keiras glass filled to the BRIM

“I filled it up a bit more..” you grumbled “... so I won't have to run again”

“Thank you Bits” the englishwoman said sarcastic “So thoughtful”

“Hey Schnucki...” Laura looked at you “... what's going to be the final score”

“2 – 1 Spain...” you huffed as you fell backwards against the couch again “... I predict 1 – 0 around 50' … 1 – 1... ehrm... like... 65'... and then Spain in overtime... just like they did against Germany... your favourite country to invade”

“You seriously milking them jokes...” the Austrian rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless

“WE didn't start the fire...” you said upset

“That was before your time” Laura snorted while Lucy and Keira bursted out laughing

“Come here Bits...” Keira said softly after she calmed down pulling you against her when she saw how emotionally upset you were “... calm a bit okay...”

“She's mean to me” you whined throwing Laura a death glare

“I know....” the blonde smiled softly like you were five again “... so mean”

“Yeah” you huffed out but relaxed when Keira started to lightly scratch your baby hairs

“Congratulations friendly spaniard... the better of the bad teams won” you said seriously at Ona before standing up leaving the room to get some air

“She hates us” Ona said her voice wavering

“No... she hates the fact the men not listened to what she yelled at the TV” Lucy calmed her girlfriend down

“She is very patriotic Ona... she's a very proud and competitive englishwoman...” Keira said softly squeezing Onas knee “... she couldn't hate you even if she tried... she's just upset because she couldn't change anything... with us she can yell and scream and even throw things until we play like she wants us too – to be fair she's an amazing with the analytics and tactics... but now she couldn't get it out of her system... just give her some space and tonight she'll end up in your and Luces bed again”

“I thought it was your night to take her” your sister looked at her ex shocked already planned out the night

“It originally was but I asked you Wednesday if we could swap weekends because my mom is visiting next weekend and she wants to see her grandkid anyway... you said it was okay” Keira said knowing beforehand that Lucy will forget

“Oooooh riiiiiight...” Lucy wrecked her brain trying to remember the conversation “... tell you what... once in a lifetime offer...”

“Nope... I'm not taking today and next week” Keira smiled smugly knowing what her ex would propose

“Come on Kei...” Lucy begged pulling her ex a little aside to mumble “... it's been weeks”

“Same here...” the blonde mumbled back

“If you both don't want me I can go to Mapís” you grumbled pushing right threw them

“It's not that we don't want you Bubs... it's just... you know... I would like to spend some... time with Ona” your sister stammered

“Oh ew...” you exclaimed disgusted “... definitely staying at Keiras now”

“No you won't Bitsy.... I haven't had time for my girlfriend since we played in Frankfurt... and even there we didn't really had time for each other” the blonde said sweetly

“Oh EW...” you heaved out “... I'm staying... somewhere”

“I just texted Caro and Irene... your choice” Lucy smiled happily

“Mapí” you said pouting

“Caro or Irene...” Keira chose her exes side

“They scare me” you huffed out

“Bullshit...” your sister chuckled “... Caro it is then”

“I hate you” you pouted

“I love you too Bubs” Lucy sing-songed while texting the norwegian back

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il T di Oggi venerdì, 03 gennaio 2025

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

another birthday post to this queen who is a leader on and off the pitch! 🥳 before the euros kick off this summer, throwback to this iconic moment. oliva...fue un antes y un después:

source: sefutbolfem on youtube

"football is a reflection of our society. so, another of the reasons that also pushed us to continue with this denunciation of zero tolerance to these things is that we do not want it to happen in our society. so we did not want to set a precedent by leaving it aside because it is a situation that everything that is put on that side is already positioning yourself."