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THAT'S SO THEM !!!!

FERRIC AS TEXT POSTSS✨

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https://www.tumblr.com/fatigue-d/786968106501357568/i-just-read-two-gadri-fanfics-with-bottom-pedri-in?source=share oh yeah fic number 26473372727 bottom by pedri, something never seen before, you really can't find that anywhere, right?

It's just that the Pedri bottom ratio compared to other Gadri fics ( with Top pedri/bottom Gavi ) is really low (17.6%). I'm talking specifically about Gadri, not Fedri or anyone else. Maybe it's because you're seeing a little more than before (which makes me happy, btw), but there aren't thousands of them either 😅

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I just read two Gadri fanfics with Bottom Pedri in a row without having to search to the ends of the earth.

The world is healing 🙌

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The idea seems very interesting 👀👀

And yes

IT'S TIME FOR FERIC PROPAGANDA🗣️‼️‼️

Okay I have a super random Feric headcanon inspired by a dream I had last night

An AU where Eric is a real estate agent (he always wears glasses in this. I know you all and Ferran would appreciate it) and Ferran wants to buy a house of course BUT he always brings Pedri with him (because he needs someone with working braincells to help him make the right decision). So Eric thinks that they are a couple looking for a place together and never tries anything with Ferran until one day where another guy (= Gavi) tags along as well and Eric thinks "oh my god he has TWO BOYFRIENDS?? HOW CAN I COMPETE WITH THAT" but then finally finds out that neither of them is dating Ferran, they are just his best friend and his best friend's boyfriend - not only that, he also finds out that Ferran is SINGLE and yeah they end up hooking up on the couch of one of the houses Eric is showing him because fuck professionalism and work ethics

*for those who are interested (= nobody): my random dream was that Ferran took part in an Italian tv show where people who want to buy a house are shown three houses by three different real estate agents and at the end of the episode they have to pick one

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MES QUE UN CLUB

I'm testing the magazine format ( maybe make some new pages ?👀 ), of course it's feric.....

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Despite the poor quality (I had to compress it from 25 MB to 11 MB 🥲)

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I actually write a fic , but idk what type of student would be Eric Garcia:

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PEDRI POTTER ! 🗣

( i'm gonna do the Gavi version later , after all they come as a pair )

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HAPPY FERIC FRIDAY !!

inspired by the post of @hufflepuffhabs

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F1 + Pride month + Barça = Perfection

Happy Pride Month from Ferric going on a date to the Spanish GP ❤️

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WE ARE IN THE FINALS VS BROCEDEEEESSSS. Please VOTE MAXIEL FOR THE WIN PLEASE 🦁🍯🦡

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Not driver Au ! :

Lance as head of Aston Martin F1 subsidiary ( because he's still a F1 fan )

Esteban engineer Au !

I HOPE SOMEONE GET IT TOO !!!!

( I can yap it about until the end of the days )

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How to love? -Cubyamal/Nyamal

(500 words )

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Yamal couldn't fall asleep, no matter how tired he was, but blue eyes probing his soul and the vague memory of a late-night call kept him from falling into the arms of Morpheus. He was looking forward to a new season with his beloved club, he was even terribly impatient, but it wasn't this feeling that kept him awake. Rather, it was the waiting. Slow and winding, it seeped through his veins like a devilishly effective poison. He'd tried everything: training, playing video games, endless surfing on the Internet, but nothing helped. The thought of football was like a leech on his psyche, occupying all the space in his brain that wasn't dedicated to soccer. Sometimes he feared it might become an obsession - it probably already was - but he preferred to deny it a little longer. Accepting it would mean he'd already fallen too far, and that even if he tried, he'd never be able to get back up.

This admiration mixed with pride and "slight" affection liked to disguise itself as love. A word far too terrifying for the adolescent Lamine. Not that he shunned it, or had ever known anything approaching it. It was rather the realization and acceptance that it had always accompanied his steps since he'd met those bluish irises, that made him frightened.

Did he love too much?

Or not enough?

Was it obvious?

Or perhaps too clingy?

Should he pull away to give himself some personal space?

Or get even closer?

Fortunately, he doesn't ask himself these myriad questions every day, or he'd go mad. But in these quiet moments, without the weight of trophies and titles on his shoulders, Yamal becomes a sentimentalist.

He's learned to despise, to detest, to hate.

He learned to weep, to lament, to regret.

He learned to covet, to leer, to envy.

But has he learned to love?

He's not heartless.

Far from it.

But when you realize that you've loved the same person for so many years without realizing it, it's overwhelming. He'd never felt that way with his exes, let alone his friends. A simple but brutal realization hit him in pre-season.

He had never learned not to love Pau.

Their relationship didn't slowly evolve from friendship to love. No. From the outset, it was an affection far too great and particular for them to fit into a box like "childhood friend". And it's fair to say that the love he felt for his friend was obvious, almost written into their destiny. A love that anyone would have seen, looked at, questioned. But that wasn't even the case, because Pau loved in silence, and Yamal followed only his own desires - which were often in line with those of the Catalan -.

This link, which had been the basis of his relationship with others and which he had never questioned until now, resembled a large ball of wool that now had to be untangled, each thread being a memory, a moment, an emotion.

But Yamal wasn't the thinking type, so he left that to his soulmate, the dark-haired man being smart enough for both. So he gently pressed the green call icon, the sound of the answering machine being the umpteenth wait until the object of his desire.

"Lamine? Why did you call me?" asked Pau with a growl.

A soft warmth enveloped him at the sound of the older man's voice.

Fuck....

He's really hooked.

- For nothing."

--

Inspired by my obsession around Cubayamal , the fic of @lecfoscism and his work in general. ( READ THEIR FICS ! )

I hope you liked it !

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Original picture :

For all RBR's haters !

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I started a One-shot , but I'm pretty lazy , so there is what I write until now ( I just want to share more Gadri content ) :

Is he good enough?

He knows he's not a bad player or even an irritating team-mate, let alone a selfish companion. But faced with Pedri, all these assertions and certainties seemed to melt like snow in the sun. The older man was, for the Sevillian, the most perfect thing God could have created, and he's not even a believer. But when he stared a little too intently at the black man, he detected a little divine something, perhaps it was in his brown eyes, or even his three-day beard. On a less physical note, the Tenerife native's voice enchanted him, as much as his laugh or his pout. And he hasn't even mentioned his game yet. His passing, his dribbling, his shooting, everything was both precise and instinctive, creating a magic he had rarely seen in the sport he loved so much.

He trained with him almost every day and yet he still couldn't understand how Pedri did it. Everything about him exuded talent, this reading of the game could not after all come otherwise, a divine gift given only to the most deserving. And Gavi could attest to this, the two players sharing their long and gruelling training sessions, he could see the sweat beading, the tension building and the fatigue accumulating on his team-mate's face. Yet the man had something more, a flame that seemed to glow, a singular attitude that allowed him to do things Gavi could only imagine in his wildest dreams. And against this magic, the Sevillian knew he was no match.

It was a simple and unequivocal observation. Despite all Gavi's willpower and hard work, he would never reach the level of his elder.

That was one immutable certainty.

And the midfielder didn't need to accept it, it was obvious, a statement that matches had made unshakeable. He never complained about it, never even thought about it, after all there was nothing to complain about. This constant feeling of inferiority wasn't even bad in itself, Pedri was a generational talent, Gavi was a good player. A simple but important distinction. His dedication to the club wouldn't change a thing. Nor would his dedication to Pedri.

And perhaps therein lies the problem.

Gavi never felt inferior to Pedri, at least not in the most pessimistic view, they both contributed to the club, complemented each other, harmonised. His evil was more subtle but deeper. He wasn't good enough for Pedri. Not for the club. He knew that his loyalty to Barça was rewarded, that his play was appreciated, and that the fans adored him. But that didn't matter, a mere grit of sand in the desert that was Gavi's ego and confidence. What mattered was Pedri. How his team-mate spoke to him, looked at him, complimented him or even touched him.

All this attention Gavi was overflowing with, revelling in it, while at the same time dreading it. For Pedri was like the tide, it came and went, the Sevillian being only a poor believer who hoped that it would never go out again. But the sea was indomitable and if it didn't want you, it would spit you back towards its deadly rocks, leaving you to be torn apart by the threat you were enjoying earlier. Fortunately, the youngest had not yet experienced this. In fact, he was in the opposite situation. Actively drowning in the love and appreciation of the older man. He hoped to sink a little further every day, perhaps allowing himself to die, happy to be surrounded by everything that distracted him from his shattered ego. But he still had a lifejacket to pull him relentlessly back to the surface, a last glimmer of sanity to keep him from falling into that sweet ocean of attention.

And that reason was a simple fact:

Gavi wasn't going out with Pedri.

But the Sevillian intended to do something about it, despite his flagrant lack of qualities:

1 - He can't cook.

Squatting in Pedri's kitchen every week in the hope of scrounging up a few treats, he'd end up with a recipe he knew was impossible for him, and a ration of his favourite dishes that would be enough for a whole battalion.

2 - He can't drive.

The only time he was allowed to drive was under the supervision of one of his team-mates, despite the fact that he has a driving licence. The Tenerife native often took on this role, letting him have access to his car on clasico days, to, and I quote, "give myself an adrenaline shot by experiencing a near-death experience".

3 - He holds a grudge.

He's already almost fought with the older player over pranks that were months or even years ago. He didn't even do it to amuse the gallery, Gavi's memory causing him to have flashes of memory at the worst possible moment (he once remembered a particularly teasing expression from Pedri during a funeral).

4 - He's possessive.

He knows that some people like this trait in their partner, but it certainly wasn't the case for Pedri. What's more, Gavi had a deep attachment to innocuous objects. For example, he loved his shoelaces and hated having to wash them, even though they reeked of mud. The same went for a simple bracelet that he had refused to give away with his youngest cousins, who were barely 5 years old (sorry, but Pedri gave it to him, no one else had the right to this treasure).

That's it !

I hope I'm gonna finish this One-Shot , I like my " intro "

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Miffy X Max Verstappen :

Another version :

Inspired by this little image and my F1-addicted mind ( also @sillystappen and giov ( Idk her username 😭 ) )