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Recién es julio, Manuel se digno (?)

Despiértenlo en Septiembre

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reposteando cositas de twitter \o/

tenía un artblock horrible así que usé a Manu para practicar con unas poses de referencia que tenía guardadas disculpen la inconsistencia de estilo lol

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      “ --- what happens in Berlin stays in Berlin, Alí.  Don’t worry, though. You’re a difficult man to forget. ‘Glad to see you’re as lively as always. ”

@atontoweon | tickle my fucking pickle, panx

“ Well, it’s nice to see you again, wee man – I was beginning to think you forgot about me, and what happened in Berlin.”

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kheweaelmano:

“¡Pero son del otro día po!”

Yep, he’s gonna walk over to Manu’s room and pull off the sheets to lie on him and annoy him.

“Pero ManuuUuuUUUuUuuUUUU… Manu, quiero cazuelaaaaaaaa…” he whines, laying his face on the other one’s back to blow a little air there.

      “ No me voy a levantar a cocinar weon, que paja. ”

Pause again. Loading . . .

He’s totally wiggling his body and letting out small groaning noises beneath his brother, but he won’t admit he’s having a berrinche.

      “ Puta la wea, me pegaste las ganas de comer cazuela también. ¿No habrá una picá’ por acá cerca? ”

||GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN||

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Retomando con Tincho y Manu fem! <3 :)

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Martín: You're smiling, did something good happen?

Manuel: Can't I smile just because I feel like it?

Martín: ...

Manuel: Fine, Julio tripped and fell in the parking lot.

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kheweaelmano:

@atontoweon

¿Qué año es este..?

-stomach growl-

¡MANUEL, TENGO HAMBRE!

Pause. Loading . . .

        “ Creo que quedaron sopaipilla’ del otro día en la cocina, a menos que te las hayai’ comio’ en la noche. ”

                           Shao loh vimoh (?.

||GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN||

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I've been wondering this for a while, but why does it appear that all South Americans hate each other? Like I've noticed a disliking for Argentinians from Chileans.

It doesn’t appear, we actually do. We’re a bunch of fugly, dirty, and lazy brown people, what did you expect. We get envious of each other’s accomplishes and refuse to advance further.

As for Chileans, all of our neighbours hate us because we’re superior to them. We’ve never lost a war, we took the North from Bolivia and Peru, and the only reason Argentina was able to seize the Patagonia was by backstabbing us.

Basically:

@neeetsocks @faith-n-reason want to add anything?

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grantgust: Self portrait: An artist reflects.

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willaaaahh: tonight on super flarrowgends barry was gonna send a group invite but his data ran out

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glennisdair:

        Alisdair was busy in his kitchen, sorting out the gifts his friends stopped by to give him; putting cakes in the fridge - well away from the cat - and fancy drinks in respective racks, since they were too good to be left in the cellar. The day had gone by incredibly well, with friends whom he assumed didn’t care, actually stopping by to wish him well. It was by far the best day he’s ever experienced in years, hoping to return the gesture in upcoming birthdays, with gifts and cake for the people who made his day special.

       He was snapped out of his daydream, upon hearing the knocks on his front door, figuring it was perhaps a neighbour coming to wish him a belated happy birthday, considering it was now the later hours of the evening. His friends would all be home by now, right? Regardless of that, Alisdair went through to the front entrance, opening up the heavy wooden door; soon enough feeling his expression drop in shock, in reaction to Manuel on his door step, surprising him with wishes and flowers.

                  “–Manuel, you came, you remembered!”

      If it was possible for Alisdair to cry, he would be. The fact that someone he considered special was visiting him on his birthday was just too much, the strong emotions making his cheeks blush a dusty rose, while accepting the generous gift. The flowers were beautiful. There was only one way to thank him – by tugging on the Chilean’s tie, closing the distance between them for a longing kiss.

   A feeling of pride swarmed inside of his chest as he took in the shocked look before his expression quickly turned into sudden concern, as the older nation looked as he was about to start weeping. For a second it crossed his mind that no one had wished him a happy birthday, taking in count his choice of words --- but any possible elaborate thought vanished when he was pulled in, lips crashing against each other as Manuel let out a small squeaking sound of surprise.

    It didn’t last long, however; his free hand flew to cup his face while the other let go of the bag, ignoring the loud thud as it banged the floor --- there was a bottle of pisco in there and luckily the clothes kept it safe during the fall ---, both arms now wrapped around his neck, fingers grasping his hair as he pulled him into a deeper kiss, one that lasted less than he wanted due to the lack of oxygen.

     Pulling apart slightly, hands now resting on his chest as he looked up at him ( just how tall could the scot be ? ), Manuel let out a short, genuine laugh, before taking a step away to grab the bag again, flinging it over his shoulder. While he wasn’t blushing as much as the other, there was a sheepish smile on his face after the laugh passed.

            “ Can I come in ? I brought you--- well, us a present. ”

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@glennisdair

    Dates are his weakness. At least, dates that don’t concern his nation --- there were at least a hundred important dates he was forbidden to forget, out of respect or out of security. But, between all those war dates and presidential elections he had memorized, there was one special date he had marked down a few months ago. A birth, or a celebration, actually. Countries weren’t really born.

    It was hard leaving the country this time, with all the political troubles he was having --- he could trust his brother, but at the same time he was scared of leaving him on his own with all the drama and problems they held ---, but in the end, and several hours later, Manuel was finding his way around the scottish city, trying his hardest to remember exactly where the house of his... friend was.

    Four, five, six knocks --- he was patient, but for some reason today he was feeling restless, cold sweat on his back as he stood in the doorway waiting to be received, one hand on his back and the other holding onto the travelling bag he was carrying. Just a couple days, he had planned, but as soon as the door was opened he realized his couple days would turn in perhaps a couple weeks.

                                                     That was the Alisdair effect.

    There’s a bright smile on his face when he sees the other, his head tilting slightly to one side as he shows his hidden hand --- flowers, white roses with blue thistles, to be exact.

           “ --- Happy birthday. ”

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glennisdair:

The downing of the last king was a sight itself. Alisdair let out a chuckle over the man’s sheer dedication, acknowledging the fact that Manuel had proven himself to be a worthy drinking partner, despite losing in the game. The fact that he kept up with him this long was recognised, as well as admirable. Alisdair’s inner conscience wondered if perhaps the Chilean had enough already, but that was quickly silenced with his own chug of whisky. The night was still young.

It was no secret that the Scot was also drunk, quite literally smashed out his nut. He was still somewhat able to keep his head for longer, forming intelligible speech and rational thinking, his liver was a warrior - but one more bottle of drink, and he’d be gone. On the floor. Gone.

“I see – considering I’ve caught my brother makin’ out with a street light after a pub crawl… Well, I’d personally take that as a compliment, myself.”

Alisdair took another drink of his alcohol, before the sudden actions of the other demanded that he’d be dragged up for a dance, his hand trapped by the other’s insistent hold. It was fine with him, he was always a sucker for dancing, it was in his culture. However, there was no denying he felt lightheaded from the constant drinking, albeit he wasn’t going to let the other catch on that fact - he was more surprised that the other didn’t faint upon standing up too fast, considering he strode with a sway. To Alisdair, it told him Manuel was a man who loved to have fun, and he appreciated that.

“Aye, alright – I’m no’ one for that wee beaver’s music though, let’s put somethin’ on the jukebox…”

The Scot leaned his arm against the machine, scanning it’s options for something (preferably) upbeat and likable, literally considering anything at this point. Anything to switch off B/ieber.  His content smile formed into that of a smirk, as Alisdair selected the finest song from Bon J/ovi. The hard guitar took him back in time, to when rock and roll was his lifeblood. It sent a calming rush of nostalgia throughout him, as he held onto Manuel’s hand, guiding him to the floor. His thrilled smile couldn’t be any more genuine. “– I hope you’re into stuff like this, because this is an anthem!”

The chilean was anything but picky when music was the subject --- he had dealt with different styles being popular through all his years alive, but rock would always hold a special place on his heart. Nevermind that his seventies were nothing alike the ones the scot lived, but latinamerican rock had saved him from going insane for more than a decade during the not so pleasant dictadorship days. He was a sudamerican rocker, after all.

Being drunk made everything more exciting for him. It was perhaps a matter of one more drink ( or one wrong spin in place ) and he would lose his feet and fall to the ground. Nevermind that Ali was standing next to him to catch in case anything happened --- or at least he hoped he would catch him if and when his face tried to meet the floor on a not so pretty kiss.

But it wasn’t his fear of smashing his skull against the cold tiles what made him hold onto his friend’s hand, or what made him move his free hand to place it on his shoulder, steadying himself while he tried to dance to the beat. Had Alisdair always had such a strong jaw or was he imagining things ? He blinked a couple of times, focusing on his question, but he couldn’t help but just stare at him for a few moments, mouth slightly opened.

                                                       What a good time to show off his gay.

“ – A’Ah, sí, sí. Of curse I like Bon Jo/vi. I might be from the third world but I’m not that lost. ”  

His tongue clicks once, then twice, and he can’t stop mentally blaming the alcohol for giving him weird ideas. He doesn’t even realize his hand had let go of his, and now both of his arms are around Ali’s neck.

“ I’d like to show off my dance moves but I think I’m gonna passout real soon. ”

For some reason it feels okay to be swaying with him to a rock song, and Manuel --- a man always worried about what others might thing --- for once doesn’t give a crap that the people around them are staring.

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The thing about Manuel’s alcohol tolerance, though stupidly high, is that it followed certain rules. In a good night, he could down two bottles of pisco on his own and only feel tipsy --- but the thing is, as soon as he started mixing several drinks, his tolerance started to fade in front of his eyes. And he knew, he knew he had to stop and lower the drinks to something more watery --- say, more cocktails, or even beer. But when has that been part of his personality ?

So he drank every single glass he was offered, and even got beyond that when he finished his own drink before downing the last King, a high pitched noise already ringing on his ears from the dizziness he was feeling. He was okay, however, or would be as long as he didn’t stand up for a couple minutes.

His laugh is loud this time, his brain no longer filtering what comes out of his mouth, while one finger raises to rub his right eye as he was also having a slightly blurry vision. God damn these scots and their damn whisky.

“ -- I would say the same, but my brother isn’t much of a drinker. ”  

It’s amazing that he isn’t slurring, even though his tongue feels heavy and dry. He doesn’t notice that his spanish accent is showing more than usual, though.

“ But I’ll take that as a compliment. Buen juego, Ali. I think I’ll wait a bit before moving to the pool table, tho’. ”

That doesn’t stop him from serving himself another glass of whisky, stopping at the half full glass when he hears a familiar up beat song blare through the speakers. Putting the bottle down, his face falls serious, head tilting to one side, listening.

                            --- Is it too late now to say sorry ---

Standing up, he has to place one hand on the table to support him, the room spinning thanks to the sudden action. However, there’s a smile on his face, another laugh, and his hand is reached towards the scot.

“ Let’s go dance ! ”

Alisdair began to sneer, almost offended that the other would underestimate him so easily, as he was planning on giving him a run for his money tonight. While the delightful piscola began to take it’s affect, he had a long way to go before he’d be considered ‘smashed oot his nut’ - Manuel would need to pull his weight in order to keep up. He flashed him a wink, the gesture proving that he wouldn’t be giving up any time soon.

Still, he couldn’t help but chuckle over the continuous innuendos, but he figured he had to stop them, before he actually fell for them. Who knows if they were still talking about horse-riding anymore? A game he initiated began to play him. Perhaps it was better to cool it now.

“That’s defeatist talk, Wee Man. I’m not about that lifestyle. I expect you to do your worst, when playing with me.”

“--Let’s get it on.”

With a look of determination, and a liver fucking ready to be blessed by the heavy percentage, he accepted the Chilean’s invitation to play. If Alisdair’s competitive spirit hadn’t clouded his focus, his cheeks would of been red over the fact that his fingers brushes over Manuel’s, upon receiving the phone. A sensual accident, conveniently right after their exchange of innuendos. Whoops. Now that the phone was in his hands, he activated the virtual dice, letting out a light laughter over being presented number one. They got off to a fun start.

The game play went on for a full hour, with more drinks being ordered, the more the waitress strode past the table. Things gradually got heated, while the two fought vigilantly over the chance of triumphing, as only one King remained. Alisdair was a man of confidence, fully believing in his tolerance, though the other was able to down drink after drink - with no error - despite the odds not being in his favour tonight. His endurance was impressive, to say the least. If the other was attempting to impress him, it was sure as hell working. 

He smirked to himself, wondering how Manuel felt, after watching him down the last King. Did he feel like a winner yet?

“Y’were quite the opponent, I must say… Lasted longer than my brother!”