Soccer/Football Imagines

Christian Eriksen [~] Generations of Love

 They say that some relationships encompass life times. Reincarnation after reincarnation of love stories occurring every generation. You couldn't help but feel that your relationship with Christian was no different. There was this odd connection between the two of you, like you had known each other your whole lives, when in reality you had known each other for a grand total of five seconds.

                You were the daughter of an owner of Tottenham Hotspurs, he was a player for the team. The social divide between the two of you made your introduction to each other odd and awkward. You had taken a walk around the gardens outside the building where your millionaire father was holding a charity event. Your mother had died of a brain tumor and that was the cause the charity event was supporting.

                Christian had been a player for the team and therefore forced to attend. It was a great cause but Christian felt out of place. Newly signed to the team, he felt as if he didn't quite fit in with the crowd at the event. Taking a walk himself, he bumped into you in the gardens, literally. You were knocked backwards into a rose bush and Christian spent the rest of the night helping you pick thorns out of your skin. In broken English, the Danish footballer profusely apologized.

                When your hands touched, as cliché as it sounded, a spark erupted between the both of your hands. Pulling back, as if shocked, and stared at each other with confusion. There was an undeniable connection between the two of you and you both felt it. After a few more awkward meetings, you two officially started to date, out of the public's eye. You were afraid they would say Christian was dating you to gain favor with your father.

                One day, you two were walking through the streets of London when you spotted a sign. "Psychic readings," you read aloud, stopping in front of the quaint store. There was no sign of any other customers and you led your boyfriend into the small store. An old woman sat in a chair behind an intricate desk. A woven cloth was draped over it, with various trinkets spread all over the store.

                "Welcome to Madame Spamand's psychic readings, how may I help you?" the woman asked.

                "Hi, we were just curious."

                "Curiosity killed the cat, but don't let that scare you, come closer," the old woman stated. Christian was reluctant but sat down in one of the two chairs across from Madame Spamand. "A reading is what you want, I believe. That'll be twenty pounds." Fishing the money out of your pocket, you placed the money in her outstretched hand. "Thank you, dear. Now where do we begin?"

                The woman stared at the two of you for a moment before asking to see your palms. Running a wrinkled finger over your hands she nodded her head. "What is it?"

                "A love like yours, it has happened before," the woman stated, a smile on her face. "I'm guessing you're the daughter of riches or nobility, correct?" You nodded. "And you, you work for her father, correct?"

                "Yes," Christian replied, looking over at you.

                "You see, there's this neat little folklore about your love. In a kingdom long ago in a far off land, there lived a woman, such as yourself. She came from nobility, her father the king and her deceased mother the queen. She fell in love one day with the gardener's apprentice. He was tending to the garden when they knocked into each other. She fell into the fountain and the boy helped her back to the castle. After that day, they would both sneak out into the gardens, every night to see each other. You see, it wasn't very proper for a woman of nobility to be running around with a commoner. If anyone were to hear of their love, well, the boy would've been hanged and the girl probably locked in a tower. As they met more, their love grew and grew until the head gardener caught them. In an effort to save the boy's life, he sent the boy to the shipyard where he set sail and never returned. The woman, however, returned to the garden every night. Some still say you can hear her footsteps at night, walking to meet a lover that would never show up."

                As you two looked at each other the old woman smiled. "Don't believe me, aye? Well there's more than one story to tell. It was the time of the proletariat, when factories overcrowded the cities. You, boy, were a simple worker, trying to support your family. You, girlie, were the daughter of the factory owner. You two met when you bumped into each other outside the factory. Exchanging talk, you two grew close, dangerously close. The watchful eyes of your father caught the two of you one evening. Now, he wouldn't have any daughter of his be running around with street trash. Could've ruined his reputation. A war was brewing in the East and England fell into it. A draft was in place and the factory owners had to supply a list of their youngest, toughest men. Your name, boy, was at the top of the list. The soldiers marched into the factory one day and drafted you on the spot as you, lass, watched from the staircase, holding back tears. When it was time to ship out, you, girlie, slipped out of the factory and to the docks. A quick kiss and hug was the last memory of your love. The soldiers moved to the battlefield and dug their trenches. Following commands, the soldiers charged and the factory boy never returned."

                Grabbing each other's hand, you two shared a bitter sweet smile. "Well, we'll just have to rewrite history, won't we?" Christian asked.

                "My warning holds true, but it's never too late to take a stand for love. You two are dealing with a powerful force here, savor it, trust it, and above all do not lose it," the woman stated.

                "What happened to the girl, the one that fell in love with the soldier?" you asked.

                "Let's just say, she's still waiting to see her lover," the woman smiled painfully. One your way out the door, you looked at the pictures on the wall. One was of a soldier, a pin was placed in the picture frame with it. Reading it, you realized it was for being killed in action. Another picture showed a young woman, with the soldier.

                "That must be the soldier's girl," you thought. Turning back to look at the woman, you realized that the fortune teller was the woman in the picture. She was the one who lost her love. "We won't lose our love," you promised yourself. And you never lost it, rewriting history with the power of love.