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#barcelona metro station

dankomaksimovic · 6 months

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ph. Danko Maksimovic - Barcelona, Spain (2023)

Film: Kodak Portra 800

#film photography #analog photography #35mm film #35mm #liminal #liminal space #kodak portra 800 #danko maksimovic #dankomaksimovic #barcelona #barcelona metro station

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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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You always have an excuse

Hi. So this is a request and I really liked the idea. Hopefully, I did it justice. I hope you enjoy

Barca Femeni x reader

Description: R always has excuses but eventually slips up.

Word Count: 3.8k

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were late. You were so late. But it wasn’t your fault; indeed, honestly, it wasn’t your fault. Your parents were not the greatest at being parents. They had you when they were just 16 and far too young to be having children. Sure, they paid for your football stuff and gave you a lot of what you asked for, but it was to keep you quiet and out of the house. You didn’t mind too much. It was easier when you only had to look out for yourself, never telling your parents where or who you were with. You always had a range of excuses ready for anyone who asked – lying and telling your friend’s parents that someone else would be taking you home, saying your mum was just around the corner, she had work so couldn’t come to your matches. It was fine. You knew nothing different.

You signed for La Masia when you were 10. The training was intense, but you loved it. You thrived under the pressure, quickly working your way up the ranks. Your debut for the first team happened shortly before your 16th birthday. You had never felt prouder of yourself.

“And here we have it. At just 15 years old, Y/F/N Y/S/N, making her debut for FC Barcelona Femeni. She’s homegrown, working her way up La Masia ranks. She is definitely a future star.” The commentator said as you made your way onto the pitch. This is what you have been dreaming of since you discovered football. This was the dream that only some people achieved. And you were one of them. A professional footballer. Your life’s goal was achieved.

The game was an easy win. The other team was fighting a relegation battle, as Barca slipped 10 goals past their keeper.

“Vamos,” Patri shouted as she shook you by the shoulders. “A debut and a brace. Is that a Ballon d’Or I see in your future?” You laughed as she wrapped you in a fierce hug.

“Neña, what a performance, hey?” Mapi called as Alexia affectionately hit the back of your head.

“Where’s your Mamí? I’m sure she wants to see you after that performance.” You didn’t even bat an eyelid as you smiled sweetly at Marta

“Oh, she said we’d meet outside by the main gates – saves us from trying to find each other on the pitch and in the crowd.” You waved at the chaos surrounding you. You knew your mother was nowhere near the football stadium – you doubted she even knew you had a football match, let alone your senior debut. It was easy to slip away from the changing rooms; you had significant practice doing it most of your life.

And now you were running so, so late. You had woken up on time, but the food in the house looked a little off, so you rushed to get something from the bakery on your way to the bus stop. But the line was bigger than anticipated, so you were rushing to catch the bus. A man walking in the other direction wasn’t paying attention and crashed into you, causing you to drop your stuff and spill hot coffee all over yourself. That had disrupted your flow, and you missed the bus, having to wait 5 minutes for the next one, which wasn’t a big deal. However, the metro system was delayed. And now you were 10 minutes behind, and then the bus you were supposed to catch from the metro station to the training centre never showed up, so you had to catch an alternative one, making you 30 minutes late. You had texted Jona to tell you you were running late but you knew you had laps waiting for you when you actually got there. You arrived at the pitch hot, sweaty, and tired. This was not an ideal start to the morning.

It was a known ‘Alexia Rule’ that every minute late to practice without a reasonable excuse was a lap. As you arrived at the huddle, one boot on, one still in your hand and your shirt stained with coffee, you could tell she was unimpressed. With all your rushing, you had forgotten to think of an excuse. You didn’t want to tell her the real reason; you had a feeling ‘Oh, sorry Alexia, I’m late because my parents are really shitty, forget they have a kid sometimes, and they haven’t been home in over a week, and the food in the fridge looked a little funky’ would not go down too well. She arched an eyebrow at you.

“Um …” You floundered, thinking about what to say. You could tell her the semi-truth that the metro was delayed and you had missed the buses, but they thought you got dropped off at the top of the road by your dad on the way to work. You could tell them there was traffic, but they all drove, so they knew you were lying.

“You have 30 laps to run at the end of training,” Alexia had a stern voice that you knew meant she was serious. 30 laps? That was basically 10k. Your eyes widened to comically sized proportions. 45 minutes of running around in a circle … after training? She was trying to kill you; you were convinced of it.

“You can’t be serious?” You gawked at her. Her other eyebrow rose to join the other one.

“Deadly.” She said icily and walked away.

Holy fuck. You were really, royally fucked this time. You were so dead. You had to miss training. But again, it hadn’t been your fault. The boiler had broken in your house, which wasn’t a big deal – it was late spring in Barcelona, and you didn’t need heating. But you did need the hot water. You had tried to ask your parents to stay home whilst someone fixed it, knowing that you had training and they could definitely work from home for a day. They had dismissed you with a flippant wave of their hands and continued what they were doing. You phoned the company, asking them to come and fix it as soon as possible. But, as expected, they told you they would be there before lunch, which was the best they could offer. It was now 2.30pm, and there was no sign of them. You had texted Jona this morning, offering a weak excuse of feeling a little rough. You hadn’t expected him to tell Alexia that you were feeling bad, and it sounded like you were home alone.

The knock on the door had you running towards it – thinking it was the person coming to fix the boiler. “Gracias, Gracias. Es el …” You rushed the explanation, not realising that it was not a plumber but rather your irate captain. You froze as you looked up. Shit.

“You look fine, neña. You don’t look like you’ve … what was it? Ah, yes, ‘picked up a little something’.” She was far too calm. You could see her anger bubbling under the surface, though.

“Ale, I-” you tried to explain.

“No, no quiero escucharlo,” she cut you off, a hand raising to stop you. “You lied. You skipped training. Was it worth it? Was it so much more important than training?” She hadn’t bothered to come into the house, standing at your front door, a bag of things meant to help you feel better in her hand. “Here,” she shoved it at you. “You’re on the bench until you can prove that you want to be a part of Barcelona Femeni.” And with that, she stormed off.

Tears welled in your eyes. She hadn’t let you explain … but what could you say? ‘Sorry, Ale, my parents are arseholes and don’t realise that I have a life and a job as well’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I had to wait for the plumber to come and fix our heating and hot water, and no, my parents – the adults in the house – couldn’t do it because they think their time is so much more important than mine’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I’m currently trying to raise myself, and whilst I’m usually ok at it, sometimes I fuck up’? You couldn’t say those things to her. You couldn’t tell her how tough your life could be sometimes … most of the time. You couldn’t tell her that your parents don’t even know you have a game, let alone watch it or attend it. You couldn’t tell her you often wake up in an empty house for weeks because your parents jetted off somewhere again. You couldn’t tell her that you doubt your parents could even tell you your full name and birthday.

She thought you didn’t want to be a part of Barca. Barca was your saving grace. Barca was the only thing that got you out of bed. The friendships you made were the closest thing to a normal family you had. Jana, Vicky, Martina, Patri, Claudia, Bruna, Esmee, Salma … they were your crazy cousins, always making you laugh and willing to go along with your mad ideas. Ona, Aitana, Lucy, Cata, Mapi … they were your big sisters, always protecting you on and off the pitch and lightly teasing you. Ingrid, Caro, Keira, Mariona, Frido … they were the calming aunts that helped you through any predicament. Marta, Paños, Irene … Alexia … they were your motherly figures, the people you could always rely on to love you regardless of what else was happening in your life. Did they think you didn’t want to be there? Barcelona was the single most greatest thing that had ever happened to you.

You looked at the bag Alexia had shoved at you. It was full of healthy smoothies, nutritious snacks, and your favourite chocolates. You could even see a soft teddy instructing you to ‘Get Well Soon’. It made you sob even harder. Eventually, you moved to the sofa. Once you started crying, you couldn’t stop. You cried over everything – disappointing Alexia, having no hot water, being benched, your parents' dislike of you, your seeming lack of support system, how you appeared to fuck up the one good thing in your life. You cried yourself to sleep on the sofa, clutching the bag to your chest and feeling so incredibly sorry for both you and the girls you had failed.

The next morning, you looked horrific – puffy, red eyes, dishevelled hair, blotchy skin. You didn’t even try to hide it as you made your way to the bus stop, ignoring the weird looks thrown your way. You were in a daze as you walked through the metro system and onto the second bus, forgetting to hurry down the side alleys instead of the main road. You didn’t see Ingrid’s car as it drove past you, a concerned Mapi, Ingrid, Ona, and Lucy in it.

“Era que?” Mapi asked, pointing over her shoulder.

“Y/N? Sí, fue” Ona nodded.

“Why, though? She said she gets dropped off by her dad on his way to work.” Ingrid was just as perplexed. You seemed to know exactly where you were going and had stepped off the bus with an ease only known to someone who took the same route every day.

“Maybe it was a one-off? He couldn’t take her today, so she had to get the bus? Although I don’t know why she wouldn’t just ask one of us – she lives on most of our routes to work.” Lucy pondered, all of them confused over you.

“Hey,” Ingrid said as you walked into the changing rooms. You didn’t even smile at her, just nodding and moving to your cubby. “Um … so, how come you were on the bus?” You froze. How did she know you got the bus?

“It’s just that we saw you as we were driving in. If you needed a lift, you could’ve just asked; you know we’d all be more than happy to —” Ona explained.

“Yeh, my d-dad only told me this morning that he couldn’t take me the whole way, so … he dropped me off near the metro, and I just got the bus from there,” you lied, rushing to gather your boots and head to the pitch. It was a blatant lie. Your voice was too high, and your hands shook slightly as you tried to devise a realistic excuse.

“Todas sabemos que era una mentira, verdad?” Mapi looked around as the door swung shut.

The following month in training was awkward, to say the least. After your slip-up with the bus, you made sure to take the earlier trains, getting to training before most people had even left their beds. You figured you’d use the time to prove to Alexia and the others that you wanted to be there. You were still benched, but your name was still on the game day sheet, so you liked to believe they weren’t thinking of selling you or cancelling your contract after the season ended. The issue was getting home. If you stayed late, you were often questioned, but if you were seen walking out of the car park, you were also questioned. You really needed to learn how to drive ... quickly.

Eventually, Jona could no longer justify you sitting on the bench. Barca had the Champions League semi-finals coming up, and everyone noted your absence on the pitch.

“Y/N, you will be playing the next match. You’re going to be a sub around 60 or 70 minutes.” It was a short announcement, but you couldn’t help your heart soar. Did this mean they finally believed you when you said that Barca was the best thing that happened to you? Alexia still hadn’t looked at you since That Day, but she was no longer actively seething, which you took as a win. But now you would be playing in the home leg of the Champions League semi-finals. You were nervous, but not because of the match; you were on a 0 – 3 aggregate, and you were going to be playing at Camp Nou – it was an almost guaranteed win –but because you knew the team would be more suspicious of your lack of parents.

You decided to do what you always did – never look to the crowd, do a lap of the stadium for the fans, hurry back into the changing rooms, and slip away. Simple. Easy. You had been doing it all your life. But you hadn’t accounted for how attentive the team would be. They watched you wearily from a distance, concerned when you made no effort to look to the friends and family section during warm-ups or after the match when everyone usually went to see their loved ones. You stayed back, signing more things for fans, and then headed straight to the tunnel. After the celebration in the changing rooms, you gathered your things and disappeared before anyone could bring them up. You had mastered the art of vanishing like a ghost after matches.

But now it was the final. It was obviously an away game, but everyone’s family came. Even the coaching staff brought their loved ones. Not you, though. Your parents hadn’t known you’d left the country, let alone understood that you were playing in the most prestigious match in Europe for clubs. You were in the Starting XI, but you weren’t nervous. You knew you could win this match; this Champions title was yours for the taking. You didn’t realise that the fact that you had no family would be exposed the minute the final whistle went.

You played the full 90 minutes and an extra 5 for injury time. You were exhausted, but that didn’t matter as soon as the clock ran out. You had done it. Champions of Europe. The screams and shouts were so loud it hurt your ears, but you didn’t care. You felt unstoppable.

“Vamos, pequeña. Donde esta tu mamí? Quiero finalmente conocer a la mujer a la que debemos agradecer por regalarle al mundo contigo.” Mapi said as you sat on the grass, your medal around your neck.

“Más tarde. I just want to sit here and soak this all in.” You waved her away. She took you at your word but made meaningful eyes at Alexia, having an unspoken conversation as you moved away. Alexia watched as you leaned back, resting on your arms, legs outstretched, and eyes shut – head tilted to feel the sun on your skin. She waited for 10 minutes, watching you make no effort to see your family. It was the first thing she had done after the trophy celebration. She had run straight to her mother and sister, thanking them profusely for all their sacrifices and expressing so much gratitude towards them – throwing her sweaty body at them and tackling them into long, tight hugs.

“Do you want to see your family now?” It was the first non-football-related words she’d said to you in well over a month.

“No, I’m ok. I’ll see them later,” you dismissed her quickly.

“Do you know where they are? We could bring them down onto the pitch if you don’t want to stand up.” She wasn’t letting this go. She had an inkling that she hoped was wrong.

“It’s alright, Ale. Honestly. I’m fine sitting here, soaking this all up by myself.” You hadn’t opened your eyes, so you had assumed from the quietness she had moved away. “It’s not like you’d find them anyway,” you whispered as an unwanted tear escaped you.

“Qué quieres decir, cariño?” Your eyes snapped open, coming face to face with Alexia, Ona and Keira. You sat up, trying to hide your face.

“Oh, noth-”

“No me mientas. Dónde están tu mamí y papí?” Alexia asked sternly. You misunderstood her, thinking she was angry at you. You shook your head, refusing to answer.

“Neña, are your parents here?” Ona asked quietly, coming to sit next to you. You took a deep breath.

“No. They aren’t.”

“Do you want to phone them?” Keira suggested, hoping that it was just because they couldn’t take time away from work to attend in person. She also sat down, gesturing her phone to you as an invitation to use it. You took another deep breath.

“I don’t think they even know I had a football match, let alone a Champions League final.” Another tear slipped down your cheek. Alexia sat in front of you, reaching for your hands.

“Qué quieres decir?” She asked again, thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of your hands.

“My parents … I don’t really know how to say it,” you paused, Ona gently rubbing your back comfortingly. “My parents don’t really … parent?” You chuckled lightly.

“They don’t support you?” Keira asked, her hand resting on your knee.

“They don’t care enough. They leave for weeks on end without telling me. I get food and stuff like that on my own. I’m basically raising myself at this point. I don’t think they know I have a contract with Barca. I doubt they even know I play football. They just let me do whatever I wanted as long as I was out of the house, not causing trouble and quiet; they didn’t care. They’re lucky I haven’t turned into a criminal or something.” You tried to add a joke to lighten the mood.

“But you said you meet up with your parents after home matches,” Ona couldn’t imagine achieving half the things she did without her family supporting her from the sidelines.

“And you told us your dad drops you off every morning on the way to work,” Keira added, equally disbelieving – her parents were her biggest fans.

“Yeh, I lied. I just go home after matches. And I get the metro to training.”

“But training is nowhere near the metro, and you don’t live near a metro station either.” She still didn’t want to consider what you were saying to be true.

You explained, “I get a bus from mine to the metro and then a bus from the metro to training.”

“That’s why you were getting off the bus that day when we saw you,” Ona realised. She hadn’t trusted your story but had considered no other possibilities.

“That’s why you're late to training sometimes? Because of the buses and trains?” Alexia asked, her hands never leaving yours.

“Yeh.” You looked down, ashamed of your situation and lying to them.

“And that day when you missed training. You weren’t sick. What happened?”

“I … um … the boiler broke, so I had to wait for someone to come fix it. Which they never did, by the way. I had to phone some random company that massively overcharged me, and the water definitely doesn’t get as hot as it used to.” You babbled nervously. “It wasn’t because I don’t want to be at Barca. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, knowing that I have you guys looking out for me. It makes everything else seem not as bad,” you whispered, needing them to know just how important Barca was to you. You looked around. Patri and Pina tried to do the perfect chest bump as Jana and Bruna filmed. Lucy was chasing her niece and nephew. Ingrid and Mapi were with Ingrid’s parents, smiling widely as they talked. Marta and Caro were sat off to one side, talking quietly. You could see the others dotted around the stadium, talking to fans, speaking to parents, and enjoying the support.

“Cariño, I am so sorry,” Alexia implored. I shouted at you and benched you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t believe you took Barca seriously.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, neña?” Ona asked.

“We only want what’s best for you, kid,” Keira added.

“Um … I don’t really know. It doesn’t really matter. It’s been like this my whole life, so…”

“Cariño. It does matter. But we know now, and that’s all that matters, sí?” Alexia stood up, dragging you with her. “Let’s go see my family. Mi Mamí has been asking to meet you for ages. And before you say no, she already has plans for you to come round for dinner one night. Y en secreto, ella siempre quiso una tercera hija.” She said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Ona took your hand.

“Oh, Eli will have to fight my Mama on that one, Ale. She always wanted a goal-scoring daughter.”

“Well, my mum says you are more than welcome to stay at her house if you ever visit the UK as long as you cook her paella.” Keira smiled.

Maybe your biological family was shite, but your found one certainly wasn't.

I hope you liked it <3

#barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso fluff #woso oneshot #woso angst #woso #womens football #woso soccer

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rionsanura · 8 months

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my family has spoken of this movie wistfully for decades. we saw it, once, perhaps, in an earlier age, and remembered it—not for its plot, passable enough, nor for its remarkable CG achievements (first completely digital protagonist), not for the hapless charm of Bill Pullman. no, we are a family of Building Appreciators. we wanted to look at that *house* again.

and now we have.

a service I have access to finally re-acquired the rights, probably seasonally, to stream the 1995 Casper movie, and I have avidly re-watched it with my mother for architectural reasons.

ye gods, the sets. the sets. I need to speak to the art director and the production design team and the set dressers like. how were the decisions made. cause I need to analyze this house. I couldn't tell if it was sets or a Location for the longest time, because they really heckin' Committed, but the consensus (and my architect uncle joined the council after some time as well) ended up at yes, it's a set, but they looked at the Gaudi apartments in Barcelona and the doors in Prague and the Vienna metro stations because we recognize those curves and proportions.

I suspect I am going to spend awhile Appreciating this thing now that I have acquired it again, but for now, just revel in the Grand Pan of Foyer Reveal.

#casper 1995

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jow99 · 2 months

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Tokyo-London-Barcelona-Girona-L’Escala

What a day! After a 13 and half hour flight we landed in London this morning and enjoyed the lounge for a few hours. Then we flew to Barcelona, a pleasant enough flight.

Next was a shuttle to Terminal 2 to catch the Metro into the city and then the train to Girona. Unfortunately being a Sunday the buses run on a reduced timetable. Having said that the train is way more comfortable.

Happily Martijn and Marjolein picked us up from the train station in Girona and drove us back to L’Escala. It was lovely to see them again and try to catch up on the last 4.5 months on the trip home.

As we approached L’Escala there was this weird thing going on with the sun’s dying rays. It looked like something out of a Monty Python movie (see photo). I think it was L’Escala welcoming us back.

Not only the sky but also the Tramontana was here to welcome us back 🙄. It was nice however arriving at the apartment to find the bed already made, a couple of bottles of our favourite rose and some lavender in a vase from Marjolein’s garden. This was all thanks to Charlie and Cathy our Canadian friends who have spent the last two weeks here and of course Marjolein ❤️

We dived into the clothes cupboard and pulled out some warmer clothing before heading out to dinner. I had felt like a total trooper but now I was starting to fade.

For dinner we went to one of our favourites, Cal Galan. It’s seriously only about a 3 minute walk but with the Tramontana in fine fettle it wasn’t much fun. Thankfully Cal Galan is very cosy and inviting. We love the couple who run the place.

For entree we shared our favourite, melted provolone with chorizo - heaven 😋 Tonight uncharacteristically we said no to the chupitos at the end of the meal. By now we were in serious danger of falling asleep at the table.

I did try to finish this blog before I went to sleep but my eyelids weren’t cooperating. So after a nice, long sleep here it is.

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arbandes · 2 months

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El Timbaler del Bruch

Isidret Lluçá Casanovas (1791-1809), Hero of the War of Liberation of Spain from the napoléonic régime (1808-1814).

Barcelona, Carrer de Balmes, near metro station "Padua" (Linea 7). Coordinates : 41.4033,2.1428 Original model created by Francisco Mares in 1951, 68 cm, exhibited in Fr. Mares' Museum, Barcelona.

#sculpture #male beauty #bronze #barcelona spain

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1upcrew · 1 year

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Barcelona Station Wholecars #1UP #OneUnitedPower #Oneup #1upCrew #Berlin #Kreuzberg #Graffiti #AllColorsAreBeautiful #PutSomePaintWhereItAint #CatchUsIfYouCan #PaintedTrains #Wholecar #Panel #Subway #Metro #Traffic #Travel #Worldwide #Active #Urbanart #Fpv #Drone #Action #Adrenaline #Color #Spray #Spraypaint #MakeGraffitiGreatAgain (hier: Barcelona, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmRJ2T0tm6n/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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dankomaksimovic · 5 months

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ph. Danko Maksimovic - Barcelona, Spain (2023)

Film: Kodak Portra 800

#film photography #analog photography #danko maksimovic #35mm #barcelona metro station

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neonbutchery · 9 months

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i wake up for an important trip and the app with my metro card isn't working because the servers are down so i have to pay 2,40€ to buy a fucking single pass ticket just to get to the damn train station i hate you transports metropolitans de barcelona

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justsomeguycore · 1 year

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not to be like wHeN i wAs iN sPAiN but literally the metro in barcelona was…… so beautiful …… so convenient…. went so many places….. so easy to use so many lines so many stations……………. i miss her

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footballffbarbiex · 2 years

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The Vow. Chapter Two.

Player: Oscar Mingueza Words: 1614 Warnings: brief mentions of sustaining head injury (not like the movie which this is based on, there’s no car accident)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

She remains in the box for longer than normal after the game. Both sets of fans are filing out, with some having already left before the final whistle had blown, and she watches as the seats become more visible as bodies leave the rows. It was never going to be a good match, especially with the title race fully on with each game switching between Real Madrid and Barcelona for the top spot. El Clasico just made everything worse in terms of rivalry and with 3 points swiped away from under Real after a teeth clenching VAR review and penalty awarded to Barcelona at the 89th minute, securing them the win, leaving away fans furious and home fans celebrating.

Drinking in the last of the atmosphere here, she pushes away from the railing and begins to make her way out, swiping a few grapes and cracker biscuits which she pops into her mouth as she begins the descent back down the stairs and through the winding maze of corridors. Smiling and giving a little nod to some of the staff that she recognises, she briefly exchanges a few lines of conversation as they pass one another, and asks another to tell Oscar that she’ll be outside waiting with Sara and not in the carpark like usual.

Oscar had played amazing. A few moments where he’d lost possession of the ball but he’d moved on autopilot, body twisting and recovering the ball before passing it on. He would have been down for an assist had the goal not been ruled offside, something which she knew that he’d be proud of. He’d worked hard to build up his minutes once more. He’d kept his head down in training, pushing himself to be the best he could and prove his worth to the team. With no errors which had led to a goal, she knew he’d be proud of his performance.

The streets are still alive, with dregs of the evening sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything that it touches through the pink tinted evening sky. Fans wearing the two clashing jerseys are taking over, filtering out of the stadium like ants. Some to the carparks, some back to the metro and others simply walk. Some of the fans are able to speak amicably, others are taunting one another as they part ways but from what she can see and hear, it’s mostly playful teasing and nothing too aggressive. It’s the main reason she waits safely away, especially with some fans now knowing her face since Oscar made it into the first team.

Checking her phone, she sees that Sara is on her way but won’t be here for another five or so minutes, prompting her to stuff her phone back into her jacket and lean against the nearest stable surface. She listens to some of the arguments over the match results, some of which can be valid criticism, but some is just bitterness and point scoring from both sides. Something she’d learned early on was that there was no such thing as a neutral football fan, everyone had their own opinions and everyone was right.

She also learnt not to check social media after a game, realising that fans were not forgiving and found it far easier to write their abuse and hateful thoughts in the moment, not realising the long lasting effects it would have on those around the player. Oscar refused to check social media after most games, except for a few fan accounts who he trusted could be a safe place and even though today would be a good day, it was still better not to look at all.

Her gaze snaps to a few fans who are a little louder, their voices and body language are equally boisterous, drawing attention from many who stop what they’re doing to watch. She’s got a perfect view of those who are streaming to and from the station and smiles as she sees Sara’s bright yellow jacket. She knows when her friend has spotted her because Sara begins dancing, making her want to shake her shoulders in response and shimmy over to her.

With the two fans gaining more attention and their heated debate quickly becoming an argument, other’s step in to try and diffuse the situation with some trying to get in between, yelling at the two of them to calm down and stop this madness. Her eyes are focused on her friend as she side steps several of the people joining the group, but with her focus momentarily off the chaos, she doesn’t notice the way it escalates faster than anyone can anticipate. Several punches are thrown, causing some of the men to tumble into one another like dominoes.

By the time she realises that her friend is no longer dancing and is pointing to warn her, two of the men have stumbled into her with such force it knocks the breath from her as she loses her footing. Her arms stretch out to try and help but it’s pointless, her body slumps to the floor causing a blinding pain to shoot through her head as her vision blurs and the image of Sara rushing towards her is short lived.

Oscar’s arm wraps around Riqui’s shoulders as he continues to speak with Frenkie and Araújo, a large grin spreading out over the defender’s face as he becomes excited as he jokes. The team are elated, their voices bouncing through the tunnel and hallways, no doubt travelling back towards the frustrated away team but for a moment, Oscar doesn’t care. Once more at the top of the table, this couldn’t have gone any better.

“Oscar?” Eliana calls out to him, as she comes out of one of the rooms with her arms full. He towers above her, much like he does his girlfriend, and gives a soft smile as he says hello. “Your girlfriend said she’ll be meeting Sara, so won’t be in the carpark like usual.”

He holds back a chuckle, thinking so much for the continuation that was promised this morning but he could be persuasive if need be. It was by no means a title winning night but this was a huge feat and not something which should be ignored. Oscar would always try to take each match as it came, he was able to be more positive that way if he did, but he did want to celebrate a little because this was a big win.

He’s able to call out a “thank you” as he’s pulled into the locker room where the good mood continues. He watches as they dance around, music is playing from someone’s speaker and the temptation to get up and dance with them is overwhelming. Xavi stands and watches them celebrating, full grown men dancing around like children with pure happiness. It hung in the air, grasping everyone with a contagious hook in a tight grip.

The moment Oscar gets to his cubby, he checks his phone, eagerly anticipating a text message from her but there’s nothing there from her but a few texts from his family and standard app notifications. Swallowing back the disappointment as he replies to the others, he then drops his phone back onto his clothes and turns back to look at the room as he pulls his jersey from the back of his neck up and over and drops it by his feet as he begins to unlace his boots. He tries to take in as much as he can as Xavi talks about the match and the upcoming one. He’s half registering the words, half wanting to just go and shower and get out of here but he keeps himself rooted with what he hopes is an expression which is convincing enough to say he’s still paying attention.

The second he can, he’s up and stripping, desperate to feel the heat from the water and get the dirt and sweat from his body. He chuckles when Riqui appears in the stall beside him, sensing that something isn’t quite right and does his best to try and distract him, which thankfully for Oscar, works. Heading back from the shower, Oscar loses himself in conversation with Riqui about how he’d be spending the evening, the disappointment now at the furthest point in the back of his head - though it still lingers. His hand remains where the towel locks together, ensuring it doesn’t spring open while he’s walking, but tightens around the material when he sees the look upon Xavi’s face when he glances over. In deep conversation with another member of staff, he now glances over at the young defender before turning his back on him.

“That’s…weird.” Riqui whispers, looking up at Oscar as they make their way back to their places. A few of the other men nervously glance at the two of them and any uneasy feeling he had previously now rears its ugly head again. Unsure if his anxiety is simply getting the better of him, he keeps quiet and tries to dry himself off as much as he can before pulling on his clean clothes.

“He’s still looking,” Oscar hears him whisper but he keeps his back to his coach, not wanting to tempt fate and confirm that whatever they’re discussing is about him. Instinctively though, he reaches for his phone, still no message from her, not a location of where she and Sara are but there’s one message which makes his stomach begin to work, threatening to reverse and bring everything back up. He’s still trying to process the words when he hears his coach’s voice say

“Mingueza, I need to speak with you.”

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forever non smut: @yagetintoit |

Oscar Mingueza: @petitharicot |

#oscar mingueza one shot #oscar mingueza imagine #oscar mingueza blurb #oscar mingueza drabble #oscar mingueza fanfic #football one shot #football imagine #football blurb #football drabble #football fanfic #football fanfiction #footballer one shot #footballer imagine #footballer blurb #footballer drabble #footballer fanfic #footballer fanfiction

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yasmijn · 1 year

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A place I want to come back to

My 2017 visit to Basilica de La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona was hands down my most cherished architectural experience to date. As I had long let go of my past dreams of wanting to become an architect, back then I had very little knowledge of what the structure looks like, the details, its back story. From the outside, it just looks gothic to me (as a layperson in the architectural world). And gothic cathedrals can be found all across Europe (like Dom van Keulen).

I was in charge of the itinerary, scheduling all transportation, and buying up tickets in advance because they sold our VERY fast. Like most of the tourist attractions in Europe, each ticket has a specific time window for entrance and that morning we had to rush to be in time for our entrance to Sagrada Familia.

This is pretty much how I saw the structure up close, the very first time we came out from the metro station:

[disclaimer: pictures are taken from the internet, my Spain pics are still in my SSD]

Beautiful was an understatement.

When I first entered the building and saw the interior I was blown away. How could it look like this?

And this?

The design was... eerie, futuristic, sophisticated - it does not look like something someone had design almost a hundred and fifty years ago (Gaudi started designing it in 1882). I felt as if I was walking inside the skeleton of a massive creature, shimmered by the light coming through the stained glass windows. During the two hours I spent wondering around this monstrous structure, I was constantly amazed. It was majestic, it was too beautiful.

I was also amazed to find out how Gaudi model the structure upside down, resulting in parametric designs:

There are just too many intricate details to be explored in one visit.

I need to come back.

How Barcelona and the Sagrada Familia look like at night.

#personal

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poseida · 1 year

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i was running sm thinking i was gonna lose my bus...... that i ran over to the OTHER metro/subway exit and only realised when i was on top of the stairs :-) literally mumbled shit! to myself and then screamed out loud CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING TO MEE .. incorrect order besties

so yeah i had to ran even HARDER to the other exit, looking insane,, almost fell down the stairs in the process, if u even care (imagineee falling down in one of the fullest subway stations in barcelona like 🫵🏻🤡)

#im not new guys like i know where i had to go i just ran in the other direction with my boots squeaking in fitting clown antics

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beardedmrbean · 1 year

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1. EU officials warn Ukraine of 'no shortcuts' to Union membership

Ahead of an upcoming EU-Ukraine summit in Kyiv on Friday, with EU officials arriving in the embattled Ukrainian capital, European officials have warned against overpromising on Ukraine’s EU prospects. Read more.

2. Brussels university opens brewery, bakery and mini chocolate factory on campus

When thinking about what makes a typical university campus, a microbrewery, a bakery and a mini chocolate factory are not likely to be the first things that come to mind. However, this is exactly what you will find at one university in the Belgian capital. Read more.

3. Beyoncé to play in Brussels in Renaissance World Tour 2023

Music superstar Beyoncé announced on Instagram Wednesday morning her world tour to support her seventh studio album Renaissance, making her way to Brussels on 14 May to perform at the King Baudoin Stadium. Read more.

4. Night trains: EU to support Brussels to Barcelona connection

Ten pilot projects for new railway links between major European cities, including an overnight train between Brussels and Barcelona, have been selected by the European Commission to receive support. Read more.

5. A dying breed? Aristos still hold vast parts of Belgium's wealth

Belgium's aristocracy is older than its monarchy. Although this group no longer enjoys special privileges, they still hold disproportionate sway in society: 56% of the total wealth of Belgium's 500 richest families belongs to nobles. Read more.

6. The Brussels Metro’s underground art museum

Many metro travellers merely think of it as a system conveying them between two points. However, when the Brussels Metro was conceived, the authorities wanted to offer a deeper, underground experience, showcasing artwork in each station. Read more.

7. Hidden Belgium: Essentiel

Esfan Eghtessadi and Inge Onsea founded Antwerp fashion brand Essentiel in 1999 with the aim of selling flamboyant women’s clothes in multiple colours. The window display of their store in Antwerp’s fashion quarter shows how passionately they believe in bright colours, loud checks and clashing styles. Read more.

#nunyas news

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