#young Spanish girl and the rose

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Wilhelm Heinrich Schlesinger (French-German, 1814-1893) Jeune espagnole à la rose, 1884

[pitchsidestories]

under pressure II Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

masterlist | word count: 1829

summary: reader takes it too far in training and must live with the consequences. But no one sees the pressure which is weighing down heavy on her young shoulders.

author's note: dear readers, the oneshot was inspired by this request here, enjoy. In this story Lucy Bronze didn't leave Barcelona. <3

Training had started two minutes ago.

You rushed onto the training pitch, throwing your school stuff down into the grass and quickly slipped into your football boots. You were silently praying to whoever would listen that you would get away with being late.

Right as you stood up and wanted to join the rest of the team, you heard your coachs’ voice from across the field: “That’s strike one, it better not get to strike three.“

You frowned at him. “I’m only two minutes late!”, you protested, frustrated because you had done everything possible to make it to FC Barcelonas trainings grounds in time.

“And she had school.“, Ona added quickly. She had stopped her warm-up to help you out.

You shot her a quick grateful look.

“She knows when training starts.“, Pere replied unusually cold.

You swallowed everything you wanted to say. That it wasn’t your fault. That your Spanish teacher hadn’t let you go at the ring of the bell and that you tried to make up for it by running all the way from the metro station.

You nodded slowly: “We can start now…“

“Good.“, Pere said, turning back towards the rest of the group.

You joined your teammates on the pitch, deliberately ignoring the quick look Ona and Lucy exchanged when they thought you didn’t see them.

You flinched when someones arm suddenly brushed against yours.

“You’re good? No trouble in school?”, Aitana asked you with concern in her voice.

“No, Tana, it’s fine…“, you replied, jogging beside her.

“I’m just asking. You know I can help.“

A small smile tugged on the corners of your mouth. Aitana was always the first to offer her help with school stuff and while you didn’t need it at the moment, her asking meant a lot to you.

“Girls!“, Peres voice called them to the centre of the pitch where he explained your first exercise.

Twenty minutes later, you had your first drinking break. While you sipped on your water, you sneaked a quick look at your phone and quickly replied to a message.

Just your luck, you were caught breaking the team rules once again.

“Y/n!”

You looked up into Peres disappointed face and sighed: “Sorry, it was important!”

“No phones on the training pitch, you know that. That’s strike two.“

“But…“

You had no chance to explain yourself.

“You know that.“, he repeated.

Your frustration reached a new height. In your opinion, you hadn’t done anything wrong. They were small trivial things that didn’t interrupt training, there was no reason to make such a big deal out of it. Especially not after the day you just had.

“Oh, for fucks sake! I know but I also told you that the message was important!”, you exploded.

You and Pere seemed both surprised by the words that had just come out of your mouth.

“Cursing too?”, he asked with a sigh.

You only blinked at him in shock.

“That was very Lucia of her. You can tell she’s living at her place!”, Mapi burst out laughing next to you. You had no idea what was happening around you.

The confusion you felt was reflected in Lucy’s face who turned around to look at the defender from Zaragoza. “Excuse me what?”

“She’s got a point. It sounds like you.”, Ingrid agreed smiling.

“True. They even share a similar glare.”, Keira of all people added in a teasing tone. The English midfielder lived with Lucy and you when you rose from La Masia to Barcelona’s A team. Then they broke up and found new partners, yet you could still sense the mutual respect between them, and both loved you fiercely like you were their younger sister.

“I don’t care where she has it from, you know we’re not cursing on the pitch.”, your coach intervened growling.

“Sorry, I didn’t..”, you apologized trying your hardest not to cry in front of the team. No one should see the invisible pressure which was weighing down heavy on your young shoulders.

“That’s your third strike. Pack your stuff and leave my training.”, Pere demanded, his voice dripping with disappointment.

“Shit.”, you thought to yourself. This day really couldn't have gone any worse. The pitiful glances of your teammates made it even more terrible.

“Now.”, your coach waved impatiently.

 “We’ll talk at home, kid, okay?”, Lucy gave you an encouraging pad on the shoulder.  

“’ ‘Kay.”, you muttered under your breath.

After you left the training pitch, there was a silence hanging over the team which Ona broke first. “She seemed under pressure, so be nice to her later, Luce.”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Yell at her?”, her girlfriend snorted in disbelief.

“No, we can do that together.”, the younger defender offered kindly.

“Don’t worry, Ona. I know what I’m doing.”, Lucy assured her partner.

“Could the couples get back to training again?”, Pere requested grudgingly.

“Sure.”, the English player nodded.

“He’s in a bad mood today, huh?”, Mapi asked her while they were doing an exercise together.

“Weirdly, he’s.”, Lucy responded but her thoughts circling more around you than your coach. She had to find out what exactly was bothering you so much that you were acting out in training which you never did before.

Once you arrived at home you laid down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, unmoving, Narla, the dog snuggling on top of you, an hour had passed when you heard the turn of the keys, realizing absentmindedly.

“Oh, hi, Luce.”

The West Highland Terrier immediately jumped off to greet the English woman. You could hear her and Ona talking in the hallway, the Spaniard apparently went to the kitchen to cook coffee for the three of you.

“Hey, kiddo. How are you?”, Lucy asked concerned as you made space on the sofa for her, so she could sit on it too.

“Was he still angry at me when you girls left?”, you returned the question. With a weak smile on your lips, you corrected the older player. “Also, Oni said you should stop calling me like that I’m going to be eighteen soon.”

“I don’t care what Ona says, I’ll stop calling you that when you’re taller than me.”, she shrugged.

You couldn’t help yourself, you snorted at her comment.

“Rude! I’m the same height since forever.“

Lucy grinned: “Bad luck, kiddo.“

Laughing, you pushed her with your shoulder: “You’re so annoying.“

“Now tell me what’s going on with you today.“

Lucys question wiped the smile off of your face, the heaviness returned to your chest in an instant.

There was nothing for a moment, just the ticking of the clock in the background.

“The teachers said I’m good enough for university…“, you finally heard yourself say.

“What?”, Lucy asked, mirroring your exact response when you were told earlier that day. Your brain had screamed at you to be happy about it, that your hard work had payed off and you might be able fulfil your wish of studying. But at the same time, you were filled with dread and worry about the future. There were so many thoughts at once, they were impossible to disentangle.

“But no one in my family studied before…“, you voiced one of your biggest concerns.

You were surprised to see Lucy looking back at you with a relaxed expression.

“Stop overthinking it. This is amazing and you will do great!”

“What? You think so?”

Lucy gave a single, impatient nod: “Yeah of course I think that. If I could do it, you can do it too.“

You let the warmth of Lucys words wash over you.

“Do you think they would be proud of me? My parents?”, you whispered into the silence.

Navigating life was hard enough and it had only gotten harder when you had lost your parents a few years ago. Graduating and going to university might be two other milestones in your life that you wouldn’t be able to share with them.

“I’m sure. At least we’re all proud of you.“, Lucy replied unusually soft.

Ona joined the two of you on the sofa and pulled you in for a hug: “That’s true. God, you’re so smart. Smarter than me at your age.“

“But you’re smart too, Oni.“, you smiled into the crook of her neck.

“Yes, but not book-smart like you.“

“Still.“

Once Ona let go of you, you could breathe a little easier.

“So tomorrow we’ll explain everything to Pere. But for now, Lucy, would you…?”, Ona said.

“Would I what?”

You blinked at her innocently, completing Onas question: “Start cooking?”

Laughing, Lucy ruffled your hair: “Yes, I’ll make your favourite food.“

“Thank you.“, you smiled.

“You’re welcome.“

A year has passed since you had the meaningful conversation with Lucy and Ona. Through the help of your teammates you did succeed, even graduating with honours.  This would open many doors for you which you were incredibly grateful for, you certainly didn't take higher education for granted.

To celebrate your big achievement the team prepared a little party in the cafeteria.

“Congrats.”, Pere gave you a warm handshake.

“Thank you.”, you smiled happily.

“You did it.”, Ingrid beamed at you.

 “We’re so proud of you.”, Fridolina added in awe.

 “Proud indeed. Well done, y/n.”, Alexia congratulated, pulling you into a hug so you couldn’t see her teary eyes. But you noticed them even though she tried to hide her emotional state from you.

“She’s all grown up now.”, Mapi commented delighted before she hugged the two of you who were still standing in the middle of the room. Once you released each other you could feel the heat in your cheeks from all the attention you received.

“She’s still a kiddo to me.”, Lucy threw in with a very pleased smirk on her face.

“Hey, you heard Mapi though.”, you protested.

“Pretty sure you’re still not taller than me, kiddo.”, she countered laughing.

“Does that mean you’re a kid too because you’re smaller than Irene and Alexia?”, you asked her in a teasing tone.

“That’s not what I said.”, the English defender replied.

“I’m just following your logic here.”, you told her. Apparently, Lucy didn’t find an adequate answer to your observation as she swept you off your feed and carried you on her shoulder.

“Shut up.”, she chuckled amused.

“Let me down!”, you urged the older woman giggling.  

“Forget it, kiddo.”, she shook her head.

“Ugh. Girls help me!”, you groaned.

“Lucia, put her down. No injuries today please.”, Pere ordered.

“You heard him.”, you whispered.

“Lucky for you.”, Lucy responded while your feet touched the ground again.  

“Time to celebrate.”, Ona smiled.

“It’s so sweet of you guys to have a party for me. I wouldn’t have done it without all of you.”, you noted deeply moved by the effort your teammates had put into it.

“You deserve it, enjoy.”, Alexia hummed.

“Thank you.”

You knew you could always count on them, and they could no matter what count on you.

if you enjoyed this story reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated !

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine logan seeing you again, pt. 2

logan x reader

summary: In his universe, Logan and you were in love. Then you died. Now he's in a different timeline and you are very much alive.

warning: some deadpool x wolverine spoilers. this takes place after the movie. under 1k words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The street was typically crowded for a Wednesday afternoon, but the hot dog in your hand lathered away all the annoyance from being shoulder checked every so often. The first bite awakened your entire body, and you felt amorous joy. It was a mild weather day and Wade had given you the task of entertaining his new roommate. Logan stood in front of you, seemingly annoyed at the way you were ignoring him and making love to the wiener in your mouth.

“You eat like a pig.”

“Oink…oink…” you murmured, finishing the dog with another anxious bite. He looked disgusted and you amused, as he checked his watch. “Stop acting like you have somewhere to be, you have nothing going on in your life at the moment.”

“Aren’t you a bed of roses.”

Ignoring him, you wiped your hands off and tossed away the napkins. “So, I personally think this is a major waste of time since I gather, you’d rather just hit up a local bar and gorge yourself into oblivion. But I told Laura I’d at least try to get you to do something fun.”

Logan, being the ray of sunshine he was, grunted but then asked how the young girl was doing. “You didn’t have to take her in.”

The two of you starting, well, just walking. There was no real plan for the day, you just picked up Logan from Wade’s apartment and told the Wolverine he was going on a little walk. Like the good little doggy he was – of course, he didn’t appreciate that last bit, but he didn’t object to the idea.

“I honestly don’t mind. It’s nice having a roommate, she’s quiet though. She’s teaching me Spanish, so that’s nice. Are you hungry?”

“You just had a hot dog.”

“It’s called an appetizer, Logan…I know a really good burger place nearby.”

He said nothing and the two of you fell into a silent pace, Logan feeling beside himself. Even a bit ashamed for stealing glances your way. You looked just like her, you – it was confusing and ultimately, he wasn’t sure what to feel. At the party, he thought he felt something and when he saw you afterwards – helping Laura settling into your apartment, it had killed him. Seeing you happy, like you always wanted. In a small apartment, instead of a huge mansion with no privacy. The X-Men were your family but there had been plenty of times when you had confessed to Logan for some peace and quiet. It wasn’t like you wanted to abandon the school, the people you loved – you just wanted a place for Logan and you. As he watched that day, moving things around for Laura, he felt peace. At least, in this universe, you got what you wanted.

“Logan?”

He apologized. “Burger sounds good.”

The man looked conflicted, and you wanted to make a funny comment, observation but something in you decided not to. Instead, you stole little peeks, he wasn’t as old as the Logan from this world, but he had some miles on him. He wasn’t exactly hard to look at either with that whole hard ass guise to him. Wade had highly under played Logan’s attractiveness and what a petty bitch he was. This thought made you chuckle loud enough to gain a look from your companion. He asked what was so funny, you said nothing.

“So, what are your plans now that you’re anchored here?”

“That would be the million-dollar question.”

“I could hook you up with an old team of mine?”

“Absolutely not.”

You began to rattle off different occupations Logan could take up – line cook, bounty hunter, librarian. The latter piqued your interest a little too much with the mere thought of Logan wearing studious glasses and a gray knit sweater making you warm. “I would definitely read more.”

He laughed, maybe even smiled. “Not a fat chance.”

“A girl could try,” you shrugged, nodding ahead. The diner was in view and Logan followed you across the street. He opened the door, and you thanked him, slightly embarrassed that you were feeling some type of way. Horny? Yikes. Maybe. It had been a while and you hardly knew Logan but that might have been the thrill. Feeling silly, you lead the man to a booth in the corner and you settled across from him. The waitress came over and slipped menus to each of you. Logan asked for a coffee while he gazed down at the limited selection of food, and you asked for a Diet Coke. You watched Logan curiously, trying to guess what he’d ordered. He didn’t seem like the type to be experimental with his meals. So, a burger combo would be the best guess and you were completely right. When the waitress came back to take your orders, Logan ordered a burger combo while you asked for a BLT. He thanked the woman and relaxed against the vinyl booth, looking out the window as people walked by.

“Is it different?”

He answered with a quick no, and you apologized for repeatedly asking that. “It’s just crazy to think about other universes, other versions of ourselves out there. Would it be weird to ask if I looked the same?”

Logan stared at you and felt his heart sink. You were beautiful, you were but he could see the differences between the woman he loved and the woman in front of him. Your eyes were filled with energy, hair a lighter tone in color, skin darker – it was like he was seeing an inverted version of the you he knew. Here, in this world, you seemed more carefree, and he was happy about it. Back home, all you ever did was worry. He never really saw you truly happy and he wondered if it was because he had loved you. In this fuck of a place, Logan and you had never interacted. Your paths never crossed and maybe that’s why you were so content. He managed an uncomfortable smile and shrugged. “Pretty much the same.”

Your face fell as the waitress arrived with the drinks. Logan took his and sipped the coffee, hoping you’d move on. It had taken much effort to even look at you now, his heart racing so fast he wanted nothing more to do than leave. Like a coward, run away. It would be so much easier than facing whatever look was in your eyes – what answer did you want? What did you want to hear? Logan felt like somehow you knew the truth and that this was all just a ploy to extract it from him but then you smiled, and a nerve was hit. A good one that had Logan glancing out the window.

“I was hoping I’d have green hair or something,” you laughed lightly. “Oh, well. Green isn’t really my color.  Listen, thanks for being such a good sport in all this. For that, how about I take you out for some beers tomorrow night? Unless you got something going on? Which we both know you don’t.”

No.

If he wanted to be a good person with his second chance he was given, that’s what he should have said. No drinks, no weird lunches, no stolen glances. He should have never agreed to even see you again, if he really wanted to change then he would have said no. In fact, he should slowly ease himself out of this friendship you were trying to establish, because what good could come of it? Everyone he loves always dies, his version of you did. Right in his arms, the last thing you felt was his warm embrace. That thought alone should have sent him packing but your eyes on him – understanding, the way your fingers played with the straw from your drink in anticipation and the friendly smile on your face, it was too much for Logan. How could he resist?

Was this a form of self-torture?

If so, he was in, but he was going to need a buffer.

“A few beers sound great, but only one condition.”

Surprised, you agreed. “Anything.”

Logan sighed. Deeply. “As much as this pains me, you gotta invite numb nuts.”

.............

leave comment for a tag. (I tagged those from the OG post who seemed interested in seeing a second part)

@pushingdaisies1 @johnnysilverhandeeznuts @murderhousemuse

@carolinameinicke @abysswhiskey11 @weallhaveadestiny

@cosmiccandydreamer @airwolf92 @fidgetingbee

@bananarepublic58 @ilove-sexydilfsnmilfs @an-tkc @wotcherboo

@theslvttysimp @cauqhtz @ittoscumdump @sad0ni0n

@lostinspace33 @corpse-ihte71 @somekale08

@britthiddlesbatch @doradora8008 @aheadfullofsteverogers

@erikaafernns @justkennadi @tinalbion @tomukit

[girlgenius1111]

unknowns

barça x reader young barça reader has an allergic reaction for the first time obviously, descriptions of a severe allergic reaction, use of epi pen, vomiting, etc.

-------

The day had gone as you had expected it to. Until it didn’t. Vicki Lopez being the voice of reason and calm in an emergency situation was not something you expected, either. 

Normally, Vicki was a bit of a troublemaker. It wasn’t entirely her fault; most of the younger girls could be trouble when they wanted to be. Vicki, though, could get away with anything. Maybe it was her age, or maybe it was the soft spot Alexia had for her. Either way, your captains didn’t hesitate to scold you, or Jana, or Pina for a harmless prank. When Vicki was the culprit, though, they would fight back smiles and shake their heads affectionately at the young forward. 

But while Vicki got away with everything, she was also very responsible. A fact that you were incredibly thankful for; her calmness and ability to think clearly in an emergency saved your life. 

-------

Double training sessions were not anyone’s favorite thing. Alright, maybe Alexia loved them, but she was Alexia. It was a nice day out, though, and while most of the older girls had headed inside during the break, most of the younger girls stayed outside, basking in the warm sun. The film session was due to begin shortly, but you all were trying to enjoy the fresh air before you had to retreat inside to the stuffy media room. 

You were content to just lay on the pitch with your eyes closed, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards today. Not when you very suddenly heard a loud buzzing sound in your ear, causing you to sit bolt upright and look around. 

“Falling asleep, pequeña?” Salma teased. 

You shook your head, looking around suspiciously. It was no secret that you hated bugs. Hated them. And one had evidently been close enough to your body for you to hear the buzzing sound it made. A flash of yellow caught your eye, and you stayed watching it until you realized what it was. A bee. Flying towards the bench planted in the grass. Actually, flying underneath it. The bee flew up, and you leaned forward a bit, trying to see where it had gone. 

Then, you jumped backwards, almost flopping onto Jana’s legs. 

“Off pequeña, it is hot today.” She complained, shoving you away from her. 

“Jana!” You shrieked, scrambling further away from the bench. “There’s a bee hive underneath the bench, don’t push me back towards it.” 

“A bee hive?” Jana asked, sitting up and looking at you seriously. “Oh my god, Ona-” 

You looked at Ona, who also looked concerned, pulling her phone out of her pocket and holding it to her ear. “Hello? Mr. President? There is a beehive on the Barça training grounds, you have to send the army in.” 

Your face burned as you rolled your eyes at your friends. “Alright, haha, I get it.” You rose to your feet, intending to walk away from your friends, but Jana stood too, lightly pushing you towards the bench. 

“Watch out pequeña, the bee might eat your head right off your body!” 

“I have heard Spanish bees can chew right through bone!” Vicki added. Everyone was laughing around you, and you shook your head, fighting back a smile. You knew they were just teasing, and you weren’t upset by it. 

“Fine. Get stung. I don’t care.” You declared. 

“I’ll go find someone to get rid of it.” Ona said kindly, though a slightly teasing smile adorned her freckled features, too. She walked away, and you were promptly distracted by Jana lunging for you, jokingly trying to push you back towards the hive. This time, though, you stumbled slightly and fell onto the ground much closer to the bench than you would’ve liked to get. 

“Sorry, nena,” Jana said sincerely, holding out a hand to help you up. It hadn’t been her intention to make you fall. Just as you reached to take her hand, though, you felt a sharp sting on your arm.

“Ow! Fuck,” you shouted, your head whipping down just in time to see the offending bee fall away into the grass under you. “It stung me.” 

You scooted far away from the hive, closer to Cata, who laid motionless on the grass, not even cracking an eyelid open to look at you. 

“Let me see.” Bruna asked, crouching down next to you and holding out a hand. You held your arm out, and the brunette inspected the small red mark on your skin. “Yeah, it got you. The stinger isn’t in there, though, so I'll just go get you a sting wipe. That should make it stop hurting.” 

You thanked her, and Bruna headed off towards where she knew the nearest first aid kit to be. 

“Pobrecita. Are you okay?” Jana asked, smiling at you. She was teasing, but you could tell she felt bad too. 

“It really hurts, Fernandez. I’ll get you back for this.” you muttered angrily, holding your wounded arm close to your body. It really did hurt. More than you expected. You’d never been stung by a bee before, but you weren’t sure it was supposed to hurt this much; you felt an odd surge of anxiety rush through you, though you weren’t quite sure why. 

“Don’t be dramatic pequeña, it’s just a little bee sting,” Jana laughed, not unkindly, turning away as Ona returned to say that the grounds crew would be out to look at the hive soon. “Bruni went to get the first aid kit, you’ll be fine.” 

You nodded, even as the world around you seemed to slow a bit, as the feeling of anxiety within you grew. You knew your teammates were talking to each other, joking around, but they seemed far away. You knew you were outside, and there was tons of fresh air around, but it felt like you couldn’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You looked down at your arm, and though it was a little hazy, you knew it had swelled, and the redness spreading across your skin wasn’t normal. 

Desperately trying to inhale enough air, you turned to where Cata lay next to you, eyes closed as she basked in the warm sun. 

“Cata?” You mumbled, reaching out a shaky hand to grab her hand. 

One of the keeper’s eyes cracked open, and she sat up quickly seeing the look of fear on your face. “What is it?” 

“I don’t feel good.” You said, holding out your arm for her to see. “It’s hard to breathe,” 

“Fuck. Shit. Okay, okay,” Cata said, scooting closer to take your arm into her hands. She looked at it for a second, before looking at your face, which was growing red and splotchy as well. “Fuck. Jana, get a physio, get a captain, get someone, she’s having an allergic reaction,” 

Cata said the words in a frighteningly calm tone, but everyone’s attention snapped to you, and it was only a moment before Jana was taking off at a full sprint towards the building, 

“I have an epi pen,” Vicki shouted, looking frantically between the older girls, awaiting some instruction. Cata nodded at her, and that was all the younger girl needed before she was running after Jana.

Salma sat down on your other side, gently rubbing your back as it became clearer and clearer that something was really really wrong. You could barely get a breathe in, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to convince yourself that your throat was not closing up. 

“Cata, what do we do?” Salma asked, seeing her own terror reflected on the normally easy going keeper’s face across from her. 

“We keep her upright so it’s easier to breathe, and we stay calm because everything is fine, everything is fine,” Cata said quietly, pulling you to lean heavily against her. “Breathe, chica, as much as you can.” She reminded you, hearing as the wheeze in your chest grew more pronounced, and as your gasps for breath sped up. 

“Cata, please help.” You gasped, reaching up to claw at your neck, completely in vain. It was swelling shut and there was nothing you could do. Your vision was growing dark around the edges and you fought to keep your eyes open as they tried to slide shut. Your body slumped down, Cata catching you just in time to ease the impact. 

“Easy, easy. Stay awake, please, pequeña,” Cata insisted, tapping gently at your cheek. 

You heard loud voices approaching, and just barely identified them as belonging to Alexia and Ingrid. 

“What the fuck happened?” Alexia shouted, sprinting over to where you were now laid, your head in Cata’s lap. Ingrid was right behind her, with Jana bringing up the rear. Jana was crying, and Salma stood to pull her away slightly, trusting the older girls to take care of you. 

“Bee sting. She was okay at first but then she was acting weird and she said she didn't feel good and her arm is swelling and I don’t think she can breathe,” Cata explained in a rush, looking wildly between Ingrid and Alexia, fully panicking now that your eyes had closed, and that there was more adult adults there to take control of the situation. 

“She needs an epi pen, and someone needs to call an ambulance,” Ingrid stated. 

“Vicki went to get hers.” Cata said.

“I’m calling right now,” Salma chimed in, looking over from where she stood a few feet away, one arm wrapped around a very distraught Jana, one holding her phone to her ear.

“Hey, nena? Can you open your eyes for me, cariño?” Alexia said softly, though you were mostly oblivious.

It was the warm hands on your face, tapping a bit more firmly now, that had you realizing your eyes had fallen shut. You forced them open, your inhales barely more than a rattling wheeze now to see Alexia leaning over you. She looked more scared than you’d ever seen her, which didn’t make you feel very reassured. It was comforting, though when she began to softly run her fingers across your forehead and down your cheek, a motion you focused on instead of the tightness of your throat. 

“Good, good nena. You’re okay, everything is okay. Just try to stay awake for me okay? We’re getting you help, you just need to keep breathing.” 

“Hard,” you croaked, your good arm shifting and blindly reaching for someone, for anyone, to anchor you to consciousness. Ingrid took your hand in hers, her face appearing next to Alexia’s. 

“I know it’s hard, sweetheart, just keep trying. Vicki is coming right now with an epi pen. You’re gonna be okay, just keep your eyes open.” She cooed, her eyes looking suspiciously watery. 

“Can’t,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut once again. This time, they didn’t flutter back open. 

“Nena. Nena! Venga, chica, open your eyes,” Alexia said desperately, looking around frantically. She spotted Vicki in a dead sprint across the pitch. 

“VICKI” Alexia shouted, for no other reason than to do something other than lean over your unconscious body. She couldn’t focus on that right now, nor could she focus on the way your chest had stopped heaving. 

It was only seconds, really, but it felt like minutes, before Vicki made it to the group of panicked footballers. Alexia and Ingrid both held their hands out for the epi pen, though neither of them had ever used one in their life. Vicki took initiative, though, very calmly shoving Alexia out of the way and crouching at your side. She rolled your shorts up a bit, took the cap off the epi pen with her teeth, and thrust it at your leg without further thought, pressing the button on the end. Once the medication was dispensed, she dropped the pen onto the ground next to her, and sat back on her knees, her eyes fixed on you. 

“That’s it?” Irene asked. Vicki looked around, nodding. A group of your teammates had followed the commotion out to the pitch, and now stood in a very tense group around you. 

“Yeah. She’s breathing better already, she should be okay until the paramedics get here.” Vicki explained, a bit shocked at how little everyone seemed to know about allergic reactions and epi pens. 

“She’s going to be okay?” Alexia asked anxiously. 

“She should be. The paramedics are here, they’ll take care of her.” Vicki noted, nodding to where the ambulance was backing onto the field. 

By the time the paramedics had pushed everyone away and began to get an oxygen mask on your face, you started to wake up. As your eyes blinked open, seeing two strangers hovering over your body, you were extremely disoriented. Not just disoriented, but panicked. You couldn’t remember what had happened, where you were, why you were lying on the ground, or why your whole body seemed to hurt. You tried to push the stranger away from you with your hand, but it was shaking too much to really do anything. 

“Hey, relax, you’re alright. We’re here to help.” The man said, pushing your arm back onto the grass under you. You squirmed nervously, a quiet sob falling from your mouth. Suddenly, a familiar face appeared above yours, and you relaxed almost instantly. 

“You’re okay pequeña, I’m right here.” Alexia soothed. You felt her hands on your face, keeping you pressed down onto the grass. 

“Ale,” you cried, your voice barely more than a croaking gasp. The feelings of panic in your body were intense, like anxiety was coursing through your veins instead of blood. 

“You’re okay.” Alexia repeated. “You got stung by a bee, and you had an allergic reaction. The paramedics are taking care of you.” 

You relaxed slightly, letting Alexia take your hand in hers. She coached you to breathe deeply, batting your free hand away when you tried to push the oxygen mask off your face. 

“No, no, that has to stay on for now.” She told you, feeling hysterical laughter bubble up inside of her at the disgruntled look on your face. You flinched when they placed an IV in your hand, a few tears falling from your flushed face into the grass. Once the IV was in, they were moving you into the back of the ambulance. You caught a glimpse of the entire team watching on nervously, and you felt another surge of panic rushing through you when you realized Alexia wasn’t by your side anymore. You tried to sit up, but you were too weak to do so. Instead, you removed the mask from your face, craning your neck as you looked around for your captain. 

“Ale?!” you croaked. 

You had been slid into the back of the ambulance fully when Alexia appeared at your side again. 

“I’m here, nena.” 

“Can you stay? Please?” You requested tearfully, relieved when Alexia took a seat on the bench next to you. As the ambulance began its journey to the hospital, you focused on the feeling of Alexia’s hand holding tightly to yours, and the incessant questions she was firing at the poor paramedic. It was a bumpy ride that had your stomach turning before long, and you struggled to sit up, yanking the oxygen mask off. Your face had gone completely white as you looked around frantically.

And though Alexia looked confused, trying to guide you back to lay down, the paramedic seemed to have been expecting this, and held a sick bag out in front of you. Your throat still felt tight and scratchy from before, and throwing up felt more uncomfortable than normal. You whimpered as you were sick, unable to hide your intense feelings of discomfort. 

“You’re okay, pequeña,” Alexia soothed, as she continued to rub your back, and you would have been embarrassed if you were in any other state. She looked, panicked, at the paramedic, every new symptom worrying her further.

“It’s alright, this is completely normal. Her body is just reacting to the allergen and the epinephrine.” She assured your captain. “I can’t give her anything for nausea until we get to the hospital.” 

Alexia nodded, turning her attention back to you. You pushed the sick bag away, collapsing back onto the gurney and weakly reaching out for the blonde’s hand again. You sobbed and covered your face with your other hand, feeling so incredibly horrific, you could barely think. You would have explained it as feeling like you were dying, if you hadn’t just experienced that feeling a few minutes ago. Your body felt like it was caving in on itself, though, and the blonde next to you could tell you were starting to freak out. 

“Shh, nena. Just breathe, in and out.”

“Ale, I really don’t feel good,” you cried. Alexia nodded sympathetically; she could tell. Your face was as white as a sheet, you had broken out into a sweat though you were shivering violently. You looked so miserable and uncomfortable, tears pooling in your eyes, as you looked helplessly up at your captain. 

“I know, cariño. We’re almost at the hospital, okay?”

You nodded, closing your eyes and focusing on breathing. Another minute passed, another minute of your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could hear it pounding in your ears, the anxiety building inside of you with every passing second. It wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was getting worse, and you weren’t sure you could cope with it for any longer. 

With a whimper, you reached out to Alexia, clinging onto her shirt. 

“What is it, pequeña? Are you going to be sick again?” She asked, frowning when you shook your head. 

“My- my heart is beating so fast, I don’t, I can’t,” 

“That’s the epinephrine.” The paramedic told you sympathetically, grabbing something from her side and injecting it into the IV. “This might make you a bit sleepy, but it should slow your heart rate down.”

It made you really sleepy. Your eyes fluttered shut almost as soon as it hit your bloodstream. You were in and out for the rest of the ambulance ride. Everytime you cracked your eyes open, you were comforted to see Alexia next to you. 

Alexia tried not to panic when you dozed off, knowing it was probably for the better that you sleep now, instead of being forced to stay awake through the worst of the side effects from what had occurred. 

--------

You awoke slowly, looking around blearily as you came too. There was still an oxygen mask sitting on your face, but your chest didn’t feel as tight as it had before. It was significantly easier to breathe, and though your body still ached, it wasn’t as pronounced. 

“Hey, nena.” Alexia cooed, appearing in your line of vision as soon as you moved your hand that was resting in hers. “How are you feeling?” 

“I-” you coughed, throat too dry to get any words out. Another face appeared in front of you, and a straw was being pressed to your lips. Ingrid watched you drink the water with great concern, her eyes creased with worry. “I’m okay.” 

“You’re sure? You can breathe okay?” Irene asked, a third face leaning down over the bed. 

It was getting claustrophobic, and you leaned back a bit. “I can breathe. I’m fine.” 

They all seemed to deflate at that, giving relieved sighs and moving back to their respective chairs. 

“You scared us, nena.” Irene said quietly. 

You nodded, a frown on your face. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“No, elskling, don’t be sorry. That wasn’t your fault, not at all.”

You shrugged, trying to pull your hand away from Alexia’s in order to reach for the water cup in Ingrid’s hand.

“What? What is it? What do you need? I can do it.” Alexia said, leaning forward anxiously and holding your hand tighter in hers. 

You gave her a strange look. “I just want the water?” 

“I got it!” Ingrid said, once again holding the straw to your lips. All three women watched as you took a sip, and their overbearing concern was beginning to get to you. 

“You guys, I’m fine. Relax.” 

“No.” Alexia said sternly. 

“No?” You echoed. 

“No, I will not relax. I will hover if I want to.” 

You rolled your eyes, reaching up to scratch at your face. Alexia caught your hand again, as all three women leaned forward. 

“What do you need?” They all said, in complete unison.

You sighed, letting Alexia scratch your forehead for you. There was no use arguing. Once your teammates set their minds on being protective, there wasn’t anything you could do to change it.

-------

The rest of the team stopped by throughout the day, with your younger friends coming in only an hour before you were set to be released. They joked around with you, though clearly they were overcome with thinly veiled relief. They were worried, and you understood why. 

You were preoccupied, though. Because while every one of your teammates had come to see you, one had yet to speak. 

Jana stood in the doorway of the hospital room like coming any closer would set off some kind of alarm. You looked at her, repeatedly, but she refused to meet your gaze, her eyes fixed on her feet. 

You exchanged a look with Alexia who was making sure your friends didn’t get too rowdy. The captain tried to engage Jana in conversation for a few minutes, but only got shrugs and one word answers. The room fell into a slightly awkward silence as the tension grew, and all you wanted to do was get out of the stupid hospital bed and pull Jana into a hug. You would settle for her speaking to you, though, and your captain evidently had the same idea. 

“Alright. She needs to rest. Everyone out.” Alexia declared, beginning to shoo everyone from the room. She caught Jana’s elbow before she could go, too, though, stopping her from leaving. 

Even when the room emptied, and it was just the three of you, Jana refused to raise her head. 

“Jana.” Alexia murmured, pulling the defender further into the room. “Come on, cariño.” 

The brunette took a deep breath, before she looked up at you, eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry.” 

“Jana, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not!” She cried, throwing her hands up in the air, and shaking off the hug Alexia tried to pull her into. “I almost killed you. It is not okay. You almost died and it was my fault.” 

“That could have happened to anybody. You could have pushed Ona or Bruna or Cata. It was a freak accident.” 

“But it happened to you.” Jana said miserably. 

You shook your head, feeling guilty that she felt so guilty. “And I’m fine! Jana, come here.” Alexia half dragged the defender over to the chair next to your bed and you grabbed her hand as soon as she was within reach. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t even know. We were just joking around, like we always do. You didn't do anything wrong, Jana, and I’m not mad.”

She looked up at you, looking so unlike her usual joyful self. “You aren’t mad?” 

“No.” You insisted. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. Now we know, and I can push you in front of any incoming bees.”

Jana huffed out a laugh, wiping a stray tear away. Alexia was looking at you proudly, rather touched at how kind you were being to Jana, who was clearly a mess at the moment. 

“Can I carry one of your epi pens?” Jana asked. 

“Oh my god.” You laughed, shaking your head. 

“I am getting one for everyone on the team.” Alexia said seriously, causing you and Jana to giggle even harder. “What?! We have to be prepared!” 

You groaned, though you weren’t really upset. How much your teammates cared about you would never really be a bother. It was something you hadn’t really had in your life until you arrived in Barça, and it wasn’t something you’d trade for the world. Even if it came with very frequent teasing, and even more frequent overprotectiveness.

-------

ive been agonizing over this for so long and i strongly dislike it but i hope you guys like it more than i do 🫶🏻🙂

also i have only gone into anaphylaxis once and i was like 6 but this is pretty much what i remember + some help from google.

<3

[sophaeros]

arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

[youaresimplylovely]

“Fast and Fabulous: A Driven Love” 

---- A love story between a Formula 1 Driver and a Supermodel

Chapter 1 (Next Chapter) Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Pairing: Carlos Sainz!Formula 1 Driver x Famous Supermodel!Reader

Words: 562 words

Warnings: First time writing so if there are any errors, feel free to say so!! :>> nevertheless no warnings on this first chapter

Somehow proofread :')

Summary: Getting to know the Dela Cruz family

Lights flickered across the room, and a young man's voice was heard across the room. A loud groan escaped his voice. Sighing softly, the man approached the light switch, turning it off. "I thought Dad was supposed to fix this," he mumbled, going to another room with better lighting. He grabbed the scattered papers on the kitchen counter, fixing the order of the documents. He sat on the dining table chairs with the papers in his hand. 

"Ahem." he cleared his throat, sighing but not too loud. He stared at the first page of the papers in his hand as he started reading. “Y/N Claire Rose Althea Sophia Amélie Genevieve Katherine Dela Cruz.” He smiled softly. "Not including her mother's last name." He snickered, scratching his back with his hand. He continues reading the paper in his hand. "Where were we? Ah yes, Y/N Claire Rose Althea Sophia Amélie Genevieve Katherine Dela Cruz.” He reiterated the woman's name. "Such a long dang name." He rolled his eyes, baffled that the woman's name was long. 

"Y/N is a famous supermodel, considered one of the most beautiful women. She is part American, part French, part Spanish, and part Filipino." The young man ran his hands through his hair, scrunching his nose. "Who knew that combining Asian genes with American and European ones would make 'the most beautiful woman.'" He gestured with air quotes and sarcasm in his tone. "The woman came from the renowned 'Dela Cruz' family. A prominent family, the father being Jean Louis Dela Cruz, A man who is half American and half French; you could say he's part Spanish, too. Hence, the last name 'Dela Cruz.'"

The young man pouted, thinking how a half-American and half-French man could have his last name be 'Dela Cruz' on Earth. He shakes his head, shaking the thought off as he continues reading. "The man married a famous beauty queen from the Philippines, Maria Lucia Garcia, a woman who is half Filipino and half Spanish." The young man groaned, scrunching his whole face now. He thought to himself, how can this family be so confusing. "Esto no puede ser real (This can not be real)," he muttered in his weird but manageable Spanish accent.

"The two fell in love and had 5 beautiful children. The first child was Mark Cedric Dela Cruz, the second was James Diego Dela Cruz, Daniel Ezekiel Dela Cruz, and the fourth was Y/N Claire Rose Althea Sophia Amélie Genevieve Katherine Dela Cruz." He groans, rolling his eyes and causing him to laugh. "The woman's name is so long 'cause she's the only girl and definitely a daddy's girl." He chuckles, sighing as he lays back against the chair. “And the last child, Paolo Gabriel Dela Cruz a.k.a ‘Pao’.” 

Before the young man could continue, footsteps approaching the kitchen were heard. A woman snickered, sitting next to the young man. She gave him a weird look, scrunching her face. “¿Qué diablos estás haciendo pao? (What the hell are you doing, Pao?)" you laughed, nudging his shoulder as you sat beside him. Your beautiful Spanish accent causes your brother to smile softly. "Um, excuse me, Y/N. This is a school project; I had to do a family background." Pao rolled his eyes at you, giving you a playful, disgusted look. "I didn't know college students' homework was like that nowadays." You giggled.

[mania-sama]

iwaoi, but's it's iwaizumi who had always wanted to leave japan. he found his every day life in miyagi stifling. he hated seeing the same classmates over and over again with their disagreeable opinions and close-minded worldviews, hated the way the people in his neighborhood all knew each other and their business, hated the way it rained and hated the way the sun rose every single day. he hated the very idea of staying in miyagi more than he had to.

he talked to oikawa about this regularly, ever since they could form thoughts that ventured outside of their little realm in japan. first, he told oikawa he'd move out of miyagi. he'd find an apartment in tokyo, or a job as a farmhand in hokkaido, or anywhere else that isn't miyagi and the life he's had to grow up in. then, as he got older, he went a step further.

china, he'd mumble oikawa during the first class of the day in middle school.

the phillippines, he'd shout at oikawa while peppering a volleyball.

somewhere further, he'd finally admitted to oikawa while walking home from a late-night home court game, his gaze trained on the ground with the most vulnerability he'd shown in years. like america. i've applied to a college in america.

oikawa had laughed at him on most times. iwaizumi knew oikawa liked life in miyagi; he got along with his classmates fine, girls liked him, he loved his family and their neighborhood, loved the sunrise and the rain. iwaizumi knew this because oikawa had always disagreed with him on those subjects.

but liking life wasn't enough when oikawa's goals were set further than what he would be constrained to at home. loving japan wasn't enough when japan didn't love him.

argentina, oikawa had whispered, miserable, to him for the first time near the end of their first year in high school. he'd seen kageyama around. he'd seen the way his serves had gotten better and better and better.

their planes left mere weeks from each other. oikawa first, to argentina, with tears in his eyes and a sharp call to not be stranger. iwaizumi left second, wishing his family a farewell with his heart full to finally leave.

iwaizumi had liked california enough. he was entertained, if not occasionally confused, by the manner of young adult americans. he had thought, originally, that he wouldn't miss japan. maybe he'd miss his family and the two friends he'd left, but nothing else. he thought the pang in his chest when his american roommate and newfound friends went out for a chicken wing restaurant and not onigiri, when they spoke exclusively english (sometimes spanish) and not japanese, when there were beds and air mattresses and not futons, that he was missing familiarity, is all. he only missed not feeling out of place.

oikawa had shared with him, over their many calls, his own struggles with homesickness. but, oikawa had told him over grainy Facetime, my team has done everything to make me feel at home. spanish isn't as hard as i thought it'd be! i'm going to make this work. even if i miss you and japan. i just... i need this. i need argentina.

both he and oikawa managed to make it home for christmas after only a few months into their respective journeys into the americas. they arrived at different times, though, so iwaizumi made the trip home from tokyo alone. he took two trains, then a taxi closer to his house. he saw the billboards in his own language. he watched people that looked like himself. they went to restraunts with onigiri. their seating would be chabudai and not high tables and booths. he saw familiar streets and familiar faces in his neighborhood.

he came to his house, where he knew exactly where the patch of grass his childhood cat was buried in the backyard. he could see phantoms of himself riding his bike up and down the road. he could see where he caught butterflies, where oikawa chased him with a handful of worms.

he came home, and his family was waiting for him. it all rushed over him, when he saw them again. all the anxiety of not being able to get to them fast if they got into an accident. constantly wondering what he'd be doing if he was in japan and not at uc-irvine. thinking about how much he preferred his home culture to the strangeness of the united states.

he met with oikawa next, who regaled him on his adventures in argentina as if they hadn't talked nearly everyday since their planes took them away from home.

i'm going to stay, oikawa told him during a late evening stroll after dinner, his eyes alight with happiness and success. i love it in argentina. it's everything i want and need.

iwaizumi was happy for him. but, iwaizumi knew he would not be content doing the same.

i'm coming back home after i get my bachelor's, he told oikawa after a second's pause, letting the coldness of the evening wash over him, watching the sun set in the way he'd spent hating his entire life. america is nice, but japan is where i'm meant to be.

he found that he didn't mind the rain when he was no longer seventeen and hating his classmates. he didn't mind staring out the window of the house he grew up in when he wasn't sixteen and desperate to leave. he'd been to the other side of the fence, and the grass simply wasn't any greener.

and he knew he'd be okay with that, eventually, even if a part of him wondered if he was giving up. even if that part of him wanted to riot and rage and scream at the idea of staying in the place he'd always told everyone he'd leave.

oikawa looked at him, then, with his eyes still bright but shining with a different kind of light. and that's perfectly fine, oikawa said to him, his voice low and earnest.

there was not a hint of condescension. nothing that said, you gave up. you are worth nothing. you will be nothing. oikawa meant it when he said that it was fine that leaving wasn't all iwaizumi had chalked it up to be. his tone said, in every way, nothing has changed. you will be just as good here as you would be anywhere else. you have not given up. there is nothing wrong with letting yourself be happy.

somehow, that was more reassuring than any of the faux comforts he'd been trying to console himself with.

[blues824]

hi blue!! ^_^ can i request prompts 21 and 10 with rook pretty pleaseeee ★

You requested: Mistletoe + Secret Santa

Preface: You are married to Rook, and this happens in the future. You have 3 children (2 girls, 1 boy), and their appearances are not described, and they can either be biological or adopted. Gender-neutral reader as well. I used Google Translate, as I speak Spanish and not French.

Rook Hunt

The children were very excited to go to the market, and you could tell by the way the three of them took your hands and dragged you and your husband towards the bustling marketplace. For the holidays, instead of buying a bunch of presents, the children wanted to do a Secret Santa so that the gifts were personal and heartfelt. 

Juliette (your oldest), Adeline (your middle), and Pierre (your youngest) all wrote things that they wanted, and depending on who they got, you would give them their recipient’s wishlist. Your husband and yourself did not put your names in, as you wanted to give them a chance to build a sibling bond.

“Come on! Or the presents will all be gone!” Juliette shouted. You laughed as you picked up Pierre, who was only a toddler. In turn, Rook tossed Adeline up and over his shoulder, making the little girl laugh as well

Once you arrived at the entrance, you had the girls go with Rook and you took Pierre with you. You then made a plan to meet up with one another back at the entrance in an hour, and your husband hoisted Juliette over his shoulder as well as he marched in the opposite direction you were going. You set your son down and let him take your hand to lead you wherever he wanted to go.

You were aware that he had gotten Juliette, and so you brought him to the toy vendors to see what horses they had to offer. Yeah, one thing about your daughter was that she was obsessed with horses. Adeline was interested in archery. Pierre loved stealing your phone and taking photos of pretty flowers that he found near your cottage.

The little boy was shouting in excitement as he found a tiny horse figurine. It came with a few different accessories, kind of like the Build-A-Bear’s back in your world. You let Pierre customize the horse as you paid for it, and the pure excitement on his face made your heart melt. You purchased a gift bag as well so as to not show his sisters the gift and reveal which name he chose.

~~~~~~~~

On the other side, a man with his two young daughters was being dragged around to secretly buy a gift for his wife as well as their secret santa gifts. Juliette had pulled Adeline’s name, and Adeline had pulled Pierre’s name. Now, with Juliette, it was going to be a bit difficult because her younger sister was extremely smart and observant.

As they wandered about the different stands, Rook spotted something. It was mistletoe, fake, as real was poisonous when consumed, and you had young children around. The chances of your son putting it into his mouth were greater than desired, but that was the reality. Anyway, he stopped to purchase a sprig. The owner was a florist, and he spotted a bunch of red roses as well.

“Souhaitez-vous acheter une rose pour votre [Parent Title]?” He asked his children. (Would you like to purchase a rose for your [Parent Title]?) The two little girls nodded and he handed them three roses. Then, he kept the sprig of mistletoe for himself as well as another rose.

“Papa, didn’t you give [Parent Title] a rose when you first confessed to them?” Adeline asked.

“Yes, I did, mon doux ange, but their radiance could put even the most beautiful rose to shame.”

~~~~~~~~

An hour later, you all regrouped, and your daughters acted as though you hadn’t seen them for years. You showered them both in kisses and hugged them, asking them how their shopping went, before you went to kiss your husband. Your children were very used to your public displays of affection, and instead of getting ewwwww’s, you got acceptance.

Heading towards your cottage, Rook had Pierre on his shoulders, the little boy laughing as you held the hands of your little girls, who were singing a French song that their father had taught them when they were just babies. Your son was butchering many of the words, but he had the melody right if that counted for something.

Opening the front door, the girls ran in and immediately started shouting for you to sit down so you could receive your presents. You were confused at what they were saying, but you turned to see your husband smiling with that smile that managed to get you to both date, marry, and start a family with him.

You sat on the couch, and Rook placed your little boy on your lap as he, Juliette, Adeline, and Pierre held 4 roses out for you. You gasped as you took each individual flower, gathering them in a bouquet and smelling them.

“Merci, mes amours!” You exclaimed, placing kisses on each child. Before you got to Rook, however, he handed you a box, and when you looked inside, you saw mistletoe. You felt pressure being taken off your lap and it was your big man taking your little man off and putting him on the couch as he extended an arm out to you to help you up.

Accepting his hand, you were hoisted up and nearly fell, only for you to be caught and dipped down. The air in your lungs was sucked out in the passionate kiss that your husband gave to you, and when you broke apart, one sentence was said to your children.

“Go to your rooms, children~”

[somethingsomethingwords]

Hello hello hello!!! This was born because I needed more Nando being besotted and Lance getting some deserved rest, no other reasons. Thank you for reading. Enjoy 💜.

Fernando was starting to feel some not so vague sense of annoyance at himself.

He and Lance were supposed to go on a date, the first one in a while, because their lives were chaotic and busy as hell.

They were both in Canada, Lance staying home, relaxing after a rough start of the season and some previous commitments, while Fernando was there for some sponsor event that absolutely required his presence, not at all having begged for something to do in Canada, granting him an excuse to be near the other man.

But he must have prayed a little too hard, because not only the event had run later than programmed, but it was followed by a long wait in the car due to the heavy traffic.

While he was sitting in the car, he started making a mental list of all the things he would have to do to make it up to Lance.

The young man had been so happy about finally having some time off together. Despite being visibly tired, he had made some plans, and the promise of more to come once they were back home.

It was strange to think about a manor in a forest as a home for Fernando, but it wasn't home, not really, just like his own house in Monaco wasn't. It was Lance that made every single building that they were in a home.

Love-safety-protection.

But right now, he had to think on how to apologise, because Lance must have been mad as hell.

Usually, when Fernando was late, Lance would write him a text every 10 minutes until he arrived. It was his way of annoying him and still making sure he knew he cared.

Now, it had been radio silence the whole evening. He prayed Lance would let him in, even if just to take a change of clothes.

When he finally arrived, he parked the car and went to the front door.

It was strange, because it was getting dark, but he couldn't see any of the lights on.

He started feeling worried. What if Lance was so mad he left? What if he fell and knocked himself out?

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

First things first, he turned on the lights, and he was going to scream Lance's name, when he finally saw the Canadian.

He was lying on his very comfy sofa, asleep and without his shirt on, because on his chest was napping a peaceful looking blonde baby, thumb in her mouth, wrapped in a blanket, that he recognised as Lance's favourite, and protected by Lance's arm around her. Her cheek rested on his naked skin, seeking his warmth and lulled by his heart beat.

Oh.

Oh.

This tender moment, the softness of niece and uncle bundled together and asleep in the safety of a house Lance promptly opened to Fernando, it was getting to him.

He could almost see Lance with another baby, their hair brown as their eyes, grins mischievous and big smiles, crawling slowly on this same parquet, then running on some sandy beach, speaking fast English then Spanish then French then Italian, their pale skin easily turned red by the sun.

He could see them starting karting, or playing hockey, or maybe wanting nothing to do with sports.

He could see them graduating, moving out, having a family of their own, while he and Lance grew old and grey, happy and satisfied and together.

Together. It seemed impossible, but maybe it wasn't, after all.

The thoughts of a home somewhere quiet, a ring and a child filled his mind, and he softly smiled at a future now lying sleeping on a couch.

At that exact moment, the baby girl started waking up, moving her little arms and softly whining.

He could see Lance starting to wake up as well and decided to intervene. He smiled at the baby, picking her up and gently rocking her. He bent over his lover, and left a kiss in his hairline.

"Keep sleeping cariño, I got her" he whispered, melting at the sight of Lance relaxing once more and mumbling something along the lines of "safe with you".

He rose up and walked to the kitchen. There was already a bag for the baby full of clothes and diapers and baby bottles.

"Are you hungry, mi amor, or you didn't agree with waking up, uh? Your uncle is the same, don't worry" he said, while waiting to understand what she needed: that was pretty clear when she put her whole fist in her mouth.

"Hungry it is. Just give me five minutes, and don't eat your hand" he laughed softly, before sitting her on the high chair Lance had stressed over while buying.

He quickly heated up the milk, making sure it wasn't too hot before feeding it to the girl.  She hungrily took it, and made her way through it, almost finishing it all, before pulling away.

Fernando took her up, and started walking, gently tapping her back until she burped. He then cleaned her up, and returned to the living room.

The moment her eyes were on Lance, the baby tried to reach for him.

Fernando giggled and re-wrapped her in the blanket, depositing her once again on his chest.

Instinctively, Lance put his arm around the baby, and their breaths soon synchronised.

Fernando was left once again the only one awake. He decided to wait for Lance to wake up, sitting on the armchair near his head, just at touching distance. He started passing his hand through the younger man's hair, and was rewarded by a deep sigh of happiness.

Date night could wait, when they had a baby to take care of and some well deserved rest to look forward to.

[kvetchlandia]

Richard Avedon Allen Ginsberg, New York City 1963

Aunt Rose—now—might I see you with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe for your bony left leg limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet past the black grand piano in the day room where the parties were and I sang Spanish loyalist songs in a high squeaky voice (hysterical) the committee listening while you limped around the room collected the money— Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm in his pocket and huge young bald head of Abraham Lincoln Brigade

—your long sad face your tears of sexual frustration (what smothered sobs and bony hips under the pillows of Osborne Terrace) —the time I stood on the toilet seat naked and you powdered my thighs with calamine against the poison ivy—my tender and shamed first black curled hairs what were you thinking in secret heart then knowing me a man already— and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark.

Aunt Rose

Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with Tamburlane and Emily Brontë

Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace down the long dark hall to the front door limping a little with a pinched smile in what must have been a silken flower dress welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark —see you arriving in the living room dancing on your crippled leg and clapping hands his book had been accepted by Liveright

Hitler is dead and Liveright’s gone out of business The Attic of the Past and Everlasting Minute are out of print Uncle Harry sold his last silk stocking Claire quit interpretive dancing school Buba sits a wrinkled monument in Old Ladies Home blinking at new babies

last time I saw you was the hospital pale skull protruding under ashen skin blue veined unconscious girl in an oxygen tent the war in Spain has ended long ago Aunt Rose

-- Allen Ginsberg, "To Aunt Rose" 1961

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Rose

Written for @hinnymicrofic February 2024, using December 2023 Prompt 28

Written with love, because everyone gets busy sometimes, and the world always needs more hinny! Also - as usual, stretching the definition of micro!

Rose sat on the bench, watching as the flock of pigeons pecked in the dust at the foot of Nelson’s Column. She enjoyed watching the birds. Everyone else seemed to hate them, to regard them as a menace, but she always found them comically amusing. 

She tried to come here most weeks, though it wasn’t as often now. The journey was too much for her aching hip. But she’d force herself if she possibly could, because what was the alternative? Sitting alone in her little flat? Rose much preferred to be out in the fresh air, especially on a day like this. 

Besides, coming here, to Trafalgar Square, always made her feel closer to her Stanley. It reminded her of trips to see the paintings in the gallery behind her, when they were first courting. They didn’t know much about art, her and Stanley, but the gallery was free, and neither of them had much spare cash in those days. Besides, it made her feel very posh, dressed in her best frock and hat, looking at the paintings. Afterwards, he’d buy them an ice cream, and they would sit together on these very benches, watching the pigeons, laughing together and falling in love. 

She sighed to herself. He’d been gone eleven years now, and it still felt like she was missing a limb, but sitting here, on a bright, sunny day, he didn’t feel so very far away. She smiled to herself, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as she allowed herself to imagine that he’d left her for just a minute to go and buy those ice creams from the little kiosk by the steps. 

Her eyes drifted open once more, and wandered over the other people gathered in the square. There was a group of school children, racing back and forth, and scattering the pigeons, while their increasingly harassed teachers attempted to corral them. Three young women that she thought were probably nannies chatted in Spanish as they pushed their young charges in buggies in the direction of Admiralty Arch and St James’s Park beyond. A man in a smart business suit carrying a briefcase was talking to someone on one of those new-fangled mobile phones. 

Then a young couple caught her eye. They approached from the direction of Whitehall, walking hand in hand, and eating ice creams. Hers was chocolate, and his was strawberry - exactly what she and Stanley would have chosen. She wasn’t sure exactly how she knew, but it was immediately obvious to her that they were very much in love. Perhaps it was the easy way that the girl tilted her head into the boy’s shoulder, or the way he dropped occasional kisses into her hair. It warmed Rose’s soul to see it.

They made a handsome couple, she thought. The girl was extremely pretty, petite, with a wicked smile and the sort of hourglass figure that Rose had so envied in her youth. She had long red hair that tumbled down her back, and a healthy crop of freckles dusting her skin both above and below her denim shorts and stretchy strapless top. Some of her friends at the bridge club might have had something to say about the substantial amount of skin the girl was showing, but personally, Rose thought she looked cute as a button. She liked to see the young making the most of their youth. It was gone all too soon.

Her boyfriend was tall and slender. At first glance, you might think he was skinny, but the lean, whip-like muscles visible down his arms below the sleeves of his faded green t-shirt told a different story. His hair was black, and very messy, and he was wearing wire rimmed glasses that reminded her of the ones Stanley used to wear. As she watched them, the light breeze caught his hair, and Rose saw a strange scar running down his forehead and through his eyebrow. She frowned, wondering what could have caused such an injury. It was a shame, she thought, that such a handsome face was so badly marked, but the girl didn’t seem to mind and that, supposed Rose, was all that mattered. 

Together, they wandered across the stone paving, stopping to look up at the statue of Nelson as the boy tossed the last of his wafer cone into his mouth. The girl gazed upwards, frowning as though confused, and the boy dipped his head to say something to her. The girl looked even more puzzled, then her face cleared, and she nudged the boy playfully, clearly catching him in some joke at her expense. The boy caught her wrists, grinning at her, and she giggled, then protested when he leaned forward to lick her ice cream. They were both laughing when he released her, and she offered him the remains of her cone. He made short work of it, and then drew her towards him, crashing his lips into hers.

Now that’s a proper kiss, thought Rose. The two of them stayed there, locked together, as though they were the only two souls in the entire city, and when they finally broke apart, Rose could see a look of euphoria on the girl’s face. Grinning broadly, she took a pace backwards, spread her arms wide, tilted her chin to the sky and began to spin around. She appeared to the woman as the embodiment of pure joy.

The boy just stood and watched her, his own expression making it clear just how besotted he was. His hand dropped into the pocket of his jeans, and even at quite a distance, Rose could see him swallow hard, as though he was bracing himself for something. A moment later the girl stilled, facing him. Rose thought perhaps he might have called her name. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, the boy dropped to one knee, and in the same movement pulled a small red box from his pocket, presenting it to her. 

The girl’s hands flew to her face, which flushed bright pink, a vivid shade that clashed violently with her hair. She nodded vigorously, and her eyes brightened with tears. Gently, the boy took her hand, and slipped a ring onto her finger, then stood and pulled her back into his arms once again. A few minutes later, arm in arm, they began to stroll back up towards Charing Cross Road, passing quite close to Rose as they did so.

“Congratulations,” she told them.

“Oh! Thank you!” exclaimed the girl, beaming. The boy said nothing, only grinned.

Rose sat and watched them go. They both seemed so young, perhaps not even into their twenties. Once again, she was reminded of her and Stanley. They’d married young too, but then again, so had most people back then, eager to put down roots after the war. Stanley had worn his RAF uniform on their wedding day, and he had looked so very handsome. They’d been separated for so long, Stanley aboard a Lancaster bomber as a navigator, while she did her bit on the home front, working as a nurse at a city hospital during the Blitz, each of them facing terrible danger every single day. She remembered how terrified she’d been that he might never come back to her, and when she saw him standing at her door on that wonderful day when he did, the wave of relief was so powerful that her knees buckled underneath her. They’d been married six months later, battered and bruised and very much not the same innocent couple eating ice creams in their Sunday best in Trafalgar Square, but perhaps loving one another more fiercely because of it.

Twisting her shoulders, Rose could just pick out long red hair alongside a messy black head in the crowds, silently wishing them every happiness. She was glad they would never have to know the horror of a war that threatened their very existence, or the pain of an enforced separation where neither could be sure whether the other was even still alive. They would make a beautiful bride and groom, she was sure. 

The shriek of a delighted toddler, racing through the flock of pigeons momentarily pulled her attention away. When she looked back, the boy and the girl were gone.

[sarztomo]

James Wilby joins the Famous Five series 2 two currently filming!!!

Can't wait to see James in this.

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

Joining the core cast are Maria Pedraza, Amir Wilson, James Wilby, Rita Tushingham, Jonathan Aris, Jamie Andrew Cutler and Jemima Rooper

BBC, Moonage Pictures (The Gentlemen) and Nicolas Winding Refn today announce filming has begun on a brand-new series of The Famous Five for the BBC in the UK, in co-production with The Mediapro Studio which also holds the distribution rights for the series in Spain, Portugal, and Latin America.

The 2 x 90min series is created for television and executive produced by Nicolas Winding Refn (byNWR) & Matthew Read (Moonage Pictures) and follows on from the highly successful first series which aired on the BBC. The premiere, The Curse of Kirrin Island, was CBBC’s number one rated episode in 2023.

Diaana Babnicova returns as George, alongside Elliott Rose as Julian, Kit Rakusen as Dick and Flora Jacoby Richardson as Anne. Making up the fifth member of The Famous Five and the gang’s faithful furry friend, is Kip, the Bearded Collie Cross playing Timmy the dog.

With Jack Gleeson, James Lance, Ann Akinjirin also reprising their roles, they are joined by new cast members, including Spanish actress Maria Pedraza (Money Heist, Elite), Amir Wilson (His Dark Materials), James Wilby (Poldark), Rita Tushingham (A Taste of Honey), Jemima Rooper (Geek Girl), Jonathan Aris (Sherlock) and Jamie Andrew Cutler (The Hurricane Heist). Rooper starred as George in the 1990s Famous Five TV series and now takes on the role of Angela Clutterbuck, a guest staying at a mysterious hotel.

The Famous Five is based on Enid Blyton’s iconic stories and follows the daring young explorers as they encounter treacherous, action-packed adventures, remarkable mysteries, unparalleled danger and astounding secrets. Series two takes our heroes into strange and challenging waters as they face life during wartime – and the hazards of growing up.

[praetoravila]

SPILL YOUR GUTS MAGAZINE'S DANICA LANE GETS THE EXCLUSIVE FROM SINGER MACIE BEFORE HER 6TH ALBUM RELEASE: - More to follow under the cut.

{ TW for mentions of abuse and an attempted sexual assault. If you feel uncomfortable with these topics, feel free to skip this article and look at one of our beauty guides! }

taglist: @myloveforhergoeson @ceruleanmusings @raging-violets @bibaybe @rose-of-oz @ithinkyouhealedmyheart @nolanhollogay @happinessismagicc @kendelias @selangkir

At just 20-years-old, Macie formerly known by her legal name, Macie Smittens-Garcia, is the new “pop punk princess” on the scene.

Born in Savannah Georgia, but raised in Wilmington Island, the Georgian native has always been a musician - since she was a baby.

“My first words were me asking my older sister Maeve to put on Bills Bills Bills by Destiny’s Child.” Macie said, laughing as she remembered.

“Only I couldn’t pronounce my B’s yet, so it sounded like I was saying Dills Dills Dills.”

Music has always been a big part of Macie’s life, from her roots in beauty pageants to getting signed by Rocque Records at age 13. Since then, she’s released 5 albums, with another on the way.

“Twinkle Lights, is truly an album about self discovery. About knowing who I am. I mean it’s the first album I sing in Spanish on. Which was a big deal for me. I’m proud to be Boricua. It’s part of my heritage. The same way, being Scottish and German are.”

“Culture is important to me. I’m a punk girl, yes, but before that I am Afro-Latina. And that’s a big deal in this genre.” Macie explained, before elaborating.

“Pierce The Veil were some of the only Latinos in the rock genre that I knew of initially. And so, I’m very conscious that I am playing a similar part for young Latina girls.”

“For the longest time, I was scared to be my authentic self in this industry.” Macie said, as she elaborated. “And that put me into a lot of uncomfortable, unsafe situations. Twinkle Lights, is me getting to be authentic, and talk about some of my struggles, and why I am the way I am.”

Macie talked candidly about the sexual assault attempt that she mentions in the title track of the album.

Twinkle Lights, the title track opens with the lyrics of, At 14 years old I finally had to say No, and at 14 years old I finally had to let go. Prior to this song, and the album as a whole, Macie had never spoken about this incident.

“I didn’t have the words at the time to explain what had happened to me. And I struggled with that for a really long time, because I had the words to explain my mom’s behaviour.” she said, referring to her mother Amber Smittens, who is publically known for being Macie’s abuser from age 3 to age 7.

“I knew what CPTSD or childhood post traumatic stress disorder was. I didn’t know what this was.”

“But I didn’t have those words for the situation I went through at 14, or what I went through as a 19-year-old.”

“But with this album, I get to. And that’s a big accomplishment. In, Innocent Party, track two, I have a lyric that goes, The road to recovery was a long one, in case you wanna know, which was honestly mostly a line I came up with after seeing stuff people were saying online about me.”

“I was in such a bad place mentally, and knowing people were saying such shit about me made me so mad. They kept referring to me as an innocent party, as if they pitied me, and well... I got a song out of it at least!” Macie explained, a laugh forming.

The Puerto Rican-American girl continued on to talk about how fame messed with her self perception.

“It’s hard when everyone has an idea of who you are. Just because they listened to your music, or because they follow you on ScuttleButter. Which I have a very calculated version of myself out there for a reason. So when I’m able to be just Macie, it can be quite jarring.”

The interview which was done in Reseda, at Macie's first LA apartment, showed a different side to the singer than fans have seen. A softer, more vulnerable side. A side, that anyone who listens to Twinkle Lights, which is scheduled to come out on Macie's birthday in a few days, will see.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

sneak peak for new logan mini series

here my hungry bitches. I have to go to work but here's the opening to the new part. a little tiny nibble. enjoy!

The street was typically crowded for a Wednesday afternoon, but the hot dog in your hand lathered away all the annoyance from being shoulder checked every so often. The first bite awakened your entire body, and you felt amorous joy. It was a mild weather day and Wade had given you the task of entertaining his new roommate. Logan stood in front of you, seemingly annoyed at the way you were ignoring him and making love to the wiener in your mouth.

“You eat like a pig.”

“Oink…oink…” you murmured, finishing the dog with another anxious bite. He looked disgusted and you amused, as he checked his watch. “Stop acting like you have somewhere to be, you have nothing going on in your life at the moment.”

“Aren’t you a bed of roses.”

Ignoring him, you wiped your hands off and tossed away the napkins. “So, I personally think this is a major waste of time since I gather, you’d rather just hit up a local bar and gorge yourself into oblivion. But I told Laura I’d at least try to get you to do something fun.”

Logan, being the ray of sunshine he was, grunted but then asked how the young girl was doing. “You didn’t have to take her in.”

The two of you starting, well, just walking. There was no real plan for the day, you just picked up Logan from Wade’s apartment and told the Wolverine he was going on a little walk. Like the good little doggy he was – of course, he didn’t appreciate that last bit, but he didn’t object to the idea.

“I honestly don’t mind. It’s nice having a roommate, she’s quiet though. She’s teaching me Spanish, so that’s nice. Are you hungry?”

“You just had a hot dog.”

“It’s called an appetizer, Logan…I know a really good burger place nearby.”

link to first part

[eclipsedzs]

dancing w quackity at a party??

maybe like the song reloj by rauw alejandro

idk like a spanish song

ITS FINE IF U DONT WANT TO😭

𝗪𝗵��𝘁 𝗚𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵

𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦𝗘𝗗 ▰▰▰▱▱▱ VOLUME QUACKITY

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Genre: ✓

Paring(s): Quackity x Fem!Reader

Summary: Experience a night of drinks and dancing

Disclaimer(s): Cursing, Short i’m sorry D:

(Don’t be Sorry! I love writing for you guys even if i’m a bit slow of getting ‘em out!)

♫ ― ♫

THE MUSIC FILLED THE Air of the dimly lit bar, the sound of footsteps and talking barely registered in the young couples mind, there hands on each other as the stared into each-other’s eyes.

Real hasta la muerte, ¿oí'te, bebé? Convertimo' el hotel en un putero

There moments were lithe and graceful, gliding across the small party voted dance floor. Your eyes tracked the dark brown ones infront of you, counting the small beauty marks that littered his face.

His long dark hair- like always- was covered with a clean washed cap that seemed to match his suit.

Veinticuatro hora' no dan pa' lo que quiero. Baby, si tú fuera' la muerte, yo me muero, oh, oh. La noche grita sexo, oh, oh, oh

You danced, movements fluid and effortless. His undulating to the rhythm as her hands danced from his shoulders to his neck, playing with the king and soft dark hair.

His eyes scrunched up as a smile rose on his face, a rose blush coating his beautiful skin as he moved along with her.

His hands at her hips as he guided her along, feeling the movements of her own body as he danced with the same quiet intensity. His body moving perfectly with you.

Your hands glided with each strand of hair, moving your hips along.

You moved together as one, body’s moving as if they were floating. Though- as much as you could hope. You couldn’t stay serious.

Your heart bubbles as you let out a laugh- leaning your head onto the man’s shoulder while sucking in a breath.

Si el reloj nos diera más tiempo. Baby, e' que tú ere' mía, lo que te haría, eh-eh. Si el reloj nos diera más tiempo (Brr)

Quackity laughed with you, his body heaving as he tried to keep his own knees from collapsing. You both knew it was a struggle to keep serious, but you both loved it that way.

Quackity smiled as he began to lead you from he dance floor, taking you to the slightly crowded bar.

He watched your movements as you talked to a freind. His soft eyes gazing at your face, taking in every small mark- ranging from scars to slight pimples or blemishes.

He loved it, he loved the way you for everything you had to offer. He could only hope he could offer the same amount of love as you deserve.

The music had calmed, a more quiet song quickly overcoming the atmosphere. As they dipped there drinks and chatted with friends, the dark haired male couldn’t help but cherish the love of his life.

He knew the girl he was sitting across from was someone he wanted to spin his life with. They always say don’t rush love, he would wait till the earth ended if he had to.

Your heart swelled when your eyes met the dark ones of your boyfriend. The love that swirled in them as the light shined to them made your body shiver with the overwhelming happiness.

And as the night went on you danced and danced, song after song. Feeling like you to were the only people in the world, nothing else mattered as the world muted around you.

[princessimotep]

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 8

~*~ Mentions of scars (Javier's) please do not read if this is at all triggering ~*~

Rain trickled down onto the grass, beads of water sliding down the dull blades of grass. Dusk kissed the sky, melting the sun’s glow to a dusty navy. The camp had been silent the past couple days ever since Javier’s injury. Torment. It lingered over Miriam like the plague. Regretful thoughts. Woeful what ifs. Tragic scenarios. They clustered together, attacking her mind; a hope eating disease.

The poor girl had been unable to visit Javier for two days. Strauss, Charles and Grimshaw trying to remedy his pain. Strauss was the one to remove the bullet; Charles gave the herbal medicine most fitting for the situation and Miss Grimshaw cleaned his wounds when necessary. It was haunting for Miriam to see how often they had to leave Javier’s closed tent to come back with more tonics, more water, more clean rags to replace the bloodied ones. Miriam would wait outside his tent often, waiting for any update on his wellbeing. They were little and never often.

Mary-Beth and Sadie gave Miriam the support she needed. They tried to convince her that there was no need to feel guilty, that these things happen; but she would not listen. Every hour she wished it was her in his place. This was not just down to the fact it was Javier but because she also wished to take away the pain from the other gang members. Her heart was overwhelmed to see every single member ask for word on Javier, wondering if there was something they could do to help. They had been his family a lot longer than she had been his… well, that was it. She did not know what they were. Lovers perhaps? Yet no such confession had taken place. A fling? But it felt so much more than that. Perhaps just a sweet dream. Un dulce sueño.

Miriam sat within her tent; the flaps opened up so she could see out across the camp. Straight across was where his tent held. Her book was in her lap yet she hadn’t looked down as often as she wished she could. She wished she was able to distract herself. She was unable. Her eyes repeatedly staring at Javier’s tent, watching the shadows dance their solemn jive within. An orange-yellow glow lit up his tent. Perhaps it was some odd beacon of hope. If the tent was still lit, then he was still being attended to which meant he was still alive. Listening to the rain, Miriam forced her head to drop down to the book in her lap. As she read it, her eyes flickered to her feet where another copy of the book sat open on the same page. The Spanish version.

Javier’s tent went dark. Immediately Miriam’s vision shot across the camp, desperately looking for any sign of life. Strauss was the first to emerge. Then Charles. Finally, Miss Grimshaw. Not even wasting time to put on her coat, Miriam ran over to Miss Grimshaw in an emerald, long-sleeved gown. The bottom of the dress picked up water as it bounced upon the ground with each long stride the young woman took. Her hair was loose, flowing all the way down to the small of her back, becoming damp from the rain’s inevitable touch.

“Miss Grimshaw, is he?” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the question. The elder lady looked to her and shook her head.

“He’s fine, Miss Miriam.” A loud exhale of relief fell from Miriam’s mouth. Miriam held a hand over her chest to try and stop herself from breathing irradicably.

“Will he be, okay?”

“He’s a strong one, Miss Miriam. Don’t think of him to be so feeble.” Miss Grimshaw lifted the bottom of her dress skirt, not wanting it to get wet from the puddles forming on the grass. She rose an eyebrow at the young woman who was looking at Javier’s tent with curiosity. Grimshaw cocked her head towards Javier’s tent. “Go on. Just don’t get him moving. He needs to rest.” Miriam nodded to Grimshaw in thanks before the older lady proceeded to walk away.

Hesitation made the young lady pause. An uneasiness crept up her spine. She had always seen Javier so strong and well. Always preening himself like a prized stallion. He had such a calming aura when he was by himself. Every time he would shine his boots, furrowing his brow as he did so – or whether he was tuning the strings of his guitar. Even just leaning back on his seat, with one leg tucked in and the other stretched out. Javier was a handsome man and he knew it. The whole camp knew it. Yet despite the rare giggles off others, Miriam found herself to enjoy watching how he kept himself. He was so smart looking and pleasing to the eye. She would swoon every time he would glance up to look at her whilst in the middle of one of those activities. Always she would bashfully look away but little did she know how a tiny smile would etch into the corner of his lips every time he caught her. So, the thought of seeing him in a state of vulnerability, aching and wounded was something scary to her.

Her fingers clasped round the fabric of the tent to open it up. She ducked down to head inside, refusing to look at him until she closed the opening back up to leave them both in secrecy. Turning around, her eyes soaked in the scene before her.

There, Javier laid. Eyes closed as if dreaming the sweetest of dreams. His chest rising and falling in a limited pattern. Sweat was glazed above his furrowed brows; a fever evidently invading his body causing much discomfort to the male. With each passing moment, the tiniest of groans came from the back of his throat which clutched at Miriam’s heartstrings. Javier was a fighter – a miracle he had lasted this long. A black blanket lay just over his legs, but the top half of his body was bare; other than the layers of bandages which were wrapped around his torso, ribcage and shoulder. Miriam looked to where the bullet was and was thankful no blood was there. The bleeding had finally stopped.

She looked back to his face, inching closer to his body until finally she knelt beside him. It was as if she was looking at him for the first time again. She soaked up every detail of him, worried that he may be ripped away from her by a click of the fingers. His cheeks, his scars… his lashes… his nose… cheeks… jaw, his raven black hair. She recalled having never seen him with his hair down before. It was shoulder length, velvety and black as ebony. Tempting to touch – as soon as she raised her hand to touch it, Javier groaned a little louder, wincing at a wave of pain washing over him. Immediately she recoiled her hand back. The poor man had been fighting this battle for two days. All the while she couldn’t do anything but watch. She wasn’t even at his side. Worst of all… she had caused this.

Miriam’s head dropped down past her shoulders. Her hair waterfalled over her face. And she cried. Biting the inside of her lip, she pursed her lips together tightly so she wouldn’t utter a sound, not wanting to awake Javier. Her shoulders shook aggressively, fighting the choke which threatened an escape from her throat. Vile curses she thought up for herself. She wished she had just told him the truth in the first place. From the first day he had asked. Perhaps the Van Der Linde gang really could have helped her. If not them then at least Javier. Maybe the people in this world weren’t as cruel as she always thought them to be. But she knew better than anyone that the world was in fact full of people who were cruel. Wicked. Unforgivable. Evil.

The young woman was so trapped in her thoughts, she didn’t even realise that the tears that rolled down her cheeks and chin were falling onto Javier’s face. Ever so barely, his eyes opened to reveal his dark amber hues. His vision was blurry yet in the fog, he could just make out Miriam’s face. He wanted to call out her name, but he couldn’t. His strength had still yet to return. Every ounce of fight left in him was to ward off the spreading fever. Having only opened his eyes for a brief moment, he closed them soon after falling back into his slumber. If only the girl had seen…

Rolling her head back, Miriam opened her eyes, her fingers now desperately trying to wipe away her tears. She couldn’t break like this, not ever again. From that moment onwards, she vowed to herself she would remain strong for him. Until he drew his last breath; she would never give up on him.

Throughout the night, Miriam tended to him, not leaving his side. Each time he would squeeze his eyes tightly shut; her shoulders would tense in anticipation – a burning want for him to wake up. How she longed to see his eyes again. To have him look her way. Smiling flirtatiously like he always would. However, the night was long and in the current state he was in, it didn’t appear that he would awake any time soon. The rain still fell against the tent, creating an atmospheric sphere of cosiness despite the uneasiness within. The moon was creeping towards the West, now being the early hours of the morning. Miriam’s eyes felt heavy but she didn’t want to look away from him. It was a cocktail of emotions being poured into the fire that kept her body awake. She was surprised she had managed to go this long without succumbing to her exhaustion. It was a price she was willing to pay for what she had done to him.

A small prolonged wheeze came from Javier’s throat, trying to escape past his closed lips. It snapped Miriam out from her sleepy daze, now focusing back to his features. Sweat was starting to form on his forehead again thus giving cause for the young woman to reach back into the bucket beside her. Rinsing the rag from the excess water with a harsh twist, she folded it neatly into a long rectangular shape and dapped it gently over his forehead and brows. His furrowed eyebrows released from the strain, relaxing at the coolness of the water. She sighed in relief seeing his softened expression whilst he slept, yet this relief only lasted momentarily. The wheeze was still present.

Placing the rag back into the bucket, Miriam watched. Each time his chest would rise, a pained wheeze would invade. With each exhale, a hauntingly hollow groan trailed. These noises were barely above a whisper. She had wondered if it was perhaps her exhaustion playing tricks on her mind. Daringly, the young woman placed her ear against his chest to hear more clearly. There the noise increased its volume. Internally he sounded like he was in agony. Like some form of disease was threatening him from within. Persistent in attacking. Keeping him locked in his own mind, never to wake. The sound was heartbreaking.

Miriam lifted her head to look at his face. His scars were prominent on his face due to the flickering light of the lantern. Her eyes scanned over each one, wondering how he obtained them. Her brown eyes fell to his neck where his largest scar could be seen. A long, deep line from one side of his neck to the other. Her teeth gritted; the image of his throat being slit making her falter. This man had been through so much hardship. From the stories his scars told to the tales of his childhood which he would share round the campfire. He had always been on the run. He had always been fighting for his life. Quickly she looked away, not wanting to think anymore of his tragedies. Her eyes fixated on the lantern seeing its dying flames. She blew it out, the inside of the tent now falling into darkness. In spite of not wanting to imagine how he received his past injuries, like a moth to a flame, she looked back to him. This lighting made him seem more peaceful. More harmonious. His scars less… terrifying to conjure up their possible backstories.

She placed her hand on his right cheek where her thumb brushed over the scar on his cheekbone. Miriam wasn’t sure what possessed her but the overwhelming desire to begin to speak softly to him was too much to resist. A confession from the pits of her heart.

“Javier… I… I’m so sorry. For everything.” Her thumb brushed over his cheek once more. “For you getting shot, protecting me… for not being honest with you… for…” Her jaw clenched. “… for ever meeting you.” She mustered all the power within her to swallow the lump rising in her throat. She sniffed, trying to compose herself. “If you had never met me…” No amount of strength could uphold her pillar of stability. She lowered her forehead which was now nestled below his collarbone, her hand still on his cheek. “… you would be okay, right now.” Her words were shaky. Almost broken. They came from deep within.

The sound of the rain dulled. The grey clouds parting to say their goodbyes to the moon. Excess droplets of water falling from the leaves of the trees were louder than the slow falling rain itself.

“Cariño, te preocupas demasiado…” (“Darling, you worry too much.”)

Feeling it to be some trick of God, Miriam lifted her head to see if her hopes were true. And they were. His amber eyes finally looking back to hers. The softness of his expression ever present. He was awake.

“Javier!” She exclaimed just above a whisper. Her pearly smile stretched from ear to ear. A wave of pure innocence and joy washed through her soul thus making her lean into the man before her to embrace him. Her right hand remained on his cheek whilst her other went to the back of his neck and her cheek pressed against his. She had forgotten all past restraints and embarrassment in this very moment. Only happiness triggered her actions. In turn, Javier’s hand laid upon the back of her head, keeping her close.

“Nunca pude arrepentirse haberte conocido.” (“I could never regret having met you.”) The Spanish he spoke made Miriam beam brighter against his cheek, still not able to understand much of it. She choked out a small laugh.

“I don’t understand…” His tired eyes could barely stay open. Using the last of his strength, he pushed forth his shoulders just slightly to make her release him from her grasp. Yet he stopped her from pulling away fully by placing his own hand over her hand which was still on his cheek. Their eyes bore into each other’s.

“Then listen carefully.” Javier moved her hand from his cheek and wrapped his fingers fully around her digits to place them over his heart. Her heart drummed in anticipation, looking longingly into his coffee-coloured eyes. “Tu eres mi luna y estrellas.”

In that moment, it felt as though time had stood still. Miriam’s eyes furrowed upwards, her heart wanting to break free from her chest to be claimed by the man before her. She knew exactly what those words meant. Just as she went to speak, his eyes closed, falling back into a deep dormancy. Yet the grip on her hand was still somewhat unyielding.

“Javier?” No response. The peaceful sounds of his breaths being the only noise to cycle through the tent. She looked at him a moment longer before carefully releasing her hand. She placed her lips on his forehead. She stayed this way for a few seconds before pulling away. Giving him one last look of admiration, she got to her feet and left his tent. Closing it behind her, Miriam looked to the ground in deep thought.

‘Tu eres mi luna y estrellas…’ She repeated his words in her mind. Her lightly clenched hand went over her chest she could feel her heart beating. Lifting her head to the skies, her eyes met with the golden haze of the morning sky. Its rays spread across the camp with its radiant spotlights. She couldn’t help but smile, her nose scrunching up at the realisation that Javier could possibly… just maybe… feel the same way. The words he spoke to her in the tent; she translated them with delicate ease in her mind.

‘You are my moon and stars.’