#but when they say things like the argentinians are so kind and helpful

[im-getting-help]

Another day, another panic attack.

I honestly don't know what to do, I don't know what I can do. I can't work and my country is speedrunning economic ruin thanks to our lovely president who hates people and common sense in equal measure.

Even if I can get a job, which is almost impossible at this rate, I won't be able to keep it, I know, and that's IF I can get out of the panic state I enter every time I think about working.

I woke up today and the first thing I did was have a panic attack, and it's been like this for days now. I have to open YT and distract myself cause nothing else works except for completely disengage with reality.

I can't even do the essays and reading for uni cause I get paranoid and start doubting myself, and there we go again to the next panick attack or crying session. It's been only a month and i'm already late on assignments cause the only thing I want can to do is sleep.

Hello depression and anxiety, I did not missed you guys.

In november of last year, when our current president won the elections, I knew that everything was going to go to shit pretty quickly. Here we are, 1 kilo of potato is $1400 pesos. WHO CAN AFFORD THAT? We spent at least $400.000 pesos every month only in food cause everything is so expensive, we are in debt just to cover basic necessities.

And I wish I was fcking normal, I wish I could just pick up any job and go to work and make some money, but I can't.

Yeah, anyways, im going to make some tea and idk pray I guess(???) pray that some psychiatrists in this miserable island gives me a fcking appointment and takes my inability to maintain a job seriously instead of dismiss me with a "well, I think you just need therapy, good fcking luck :)"

[iskandersmuts]

Diplomat's Party

Male Reader x Yuna

Tags: Smut, Yuna Smut, Sex, Blowjob, Creampie

My first attempt. I will be thankful with some feedback with anything.

1

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You see the man on the mirror. That’s you inside the bathroom talking to yourself for gaining courage. “You can do it.” You say. “You did this for the last year.” Finally, you hide again in one of the bathroom’s cabinets. One more time breathe in and breathe out. Is just matter of endure this feeling three more hours.

You leave the bathroom and start counting the hours. Right now is nine o’clock. You can leave freely this party at midnight. As your boss always says “Your job at parties is like being a Cinderella. You arrive show the best you have and before the worst parts of you appear you leave. Nobody wants to know how cool or shitty you are when you are bored or even worse drunk. So no one of you, the diplomats, can show that side. Remember we are representing a country.” He is right we can’t show some parts of ourselves.

But these parties are actually a pain in the ass. The most of the people are here for work. They are not resting. They are not having fun. They are trying to get some confidential information that will help their own interest or the interest of their countries. Is like an international convention of ass lickers, brownosers or whatever you call it. They gather together and start talking about nonsense: “Did you hear about that African president lecturing Macron about colonialism?” or “Did you see what this Bukele did with the cryptocurrency?” You just can’t say. “Of course, dumbass you know that every ass licker here read the same Foreign Affairs subscription that you read.” You just say whatever thing they also know “Yeah and it seems that IOSCO now has a project bill for cryptocurrency.” And then the questions start. “Do you have any notices on the votes of the draft resolution of the injunction… and blah blah” Just things that nobody cares about. Two years ago, you pleaded your boss to let you assist to this kind of events. And now is your third time a week in these events. You would prefer getting a massage with hot stones in your balls right now. But not everything is bad. In this field: the diplomacy. You must be really lucky to find a friend. And you were really lucky, your honest friend is Diego an Argentinian diplomat.

2

In this party at Lotte Hotel Diego does a sign asking you to leave the building and go to the yard. Both of you get outside and start talking.

“Dude, did you hear the big news?” Says Diego.

“Diego if is a diplomat thing I really don’t want to talk about that right now.” You say with your voice showing boredom.

“No is not that kind of thing. You know me. I don’t like to talk about that stuff too. Is about the party of tonight.”

“What? Someone find out about those two gay diplomats that are in a relationship?” You ask.

Diego laughs. “No not that. Something interesting. Korea has changed the main event of tonight!”

“That means that I’m not going to hear the fat lady singing AGAIN the fucking Madame Butterfly.” You say.

“Yes. And also, as they were looking for something new. Moon Jae In used his trick up his sleeve and contracted a kpop group.”

“WAIT WHAT? WHO? TELL ME!” You say almost shouting.

“Is a girl group. JYP…”

“Fucking Twice is coming? Oh my god! Really?”

“No not Twice a bit younger.”

“NMIXX? But they have few songs!” You say complaining.

“Not that younger.”

“ITZY? ARE YOU FUKING KIDDING ME?!”

“No. No. It’s for real. They are coming.”

You guessed correctly.

And now you are thinking: Finally, something good happened on these useless parties. And you are smiling in a weird way. You know is weird because Diego told you. And then you use your experience of these years to act the best you can. As a diplomat you can’t be a crazy fan even more as you are here actually “working”.  

3

The girls finally arrive. All guests are invited to gather and enjoy the show. Itzy is on the scene they greet everybody. You notice that they are not cheerful as they are in concerts of world tours. They are trying to be mature. They start with “Dalla Dalla”. You resist the urge of fanchant with the song. When they end nobody claps. For the awkward situation they start immediately another song. It happens the same nobody claps or even cheers.

This situation reminds you the footage of Red Velvet presenting at North Korea. The public were all quiet. This was the same. These boring diplomats don’t celebrate anything. Yeji as the leader announces that they are going to perform the last song. “Cheshire”. You want to fanchant so bad. But you can’t. They nailed the last song; the others were good too. But in this song, you see that they are trying their best as is their last song and till now they didn’t get any response from the public. When the song ends you don’t resist the urge and you start clapping. The people around you look at you as a weirdo. But then Diego joins you and other Koreans too. Then everybody is forced to do it. You look at them. All the girls are smiling. You keep clapping and you stand up.

“That was nice, girls” you shout.

This time just some of the other guests joins. And the rest of them just look at you and the others as weirdos.

This moment was definitively the most memorable. Because you see the girls looking at the few ones clapping while smiling. They finally thank everybody and leave the scenario.

4

You start walking around the party just remembering the faces of the girls when they saw you clapping. Their expressions. They are shocked at first. They look at you and then start smiling. It was a rough night for them. But you did the night a little bit easier for them.

Now just some minutes till midnight. You made your job and you saw Itzy you deserve a fucking drink. So, you start walking towards the bar.

“Look that old geezer is trying to dance” Says someone.

You notice that this is the voice of a woman.

You laugh.

Someone appears in front of you looks you directly inside the eyes and says. “Are you laughing at us?”

You are caught off of guard. “No sorry I didn’t mean that. Is just that no one here uses that kind of word ‘old geezer’” You look at her face trying to know his name. “Omo. Sorry Chaeryeong-shi. I really didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

Chaeryeong looks at you. “Do you know my name? Finally, I thought nobody here knew who we are.” She pauses and continues. “And don’t worry I’m pretty sure that Ryujin-unnie doesn’t care if you laugh or not, right, unnie?”

“You are pretty damm right, Chae.” Says Ryujin. “Is just that the old geezer…” You start to laugh again while she continues. “looked really hilarious when he started dancing.”

You see that behind both, Ryujin and Chaeryeong, are the other members of the group. You are internally jumping so hard that maybe your head will hit the roof. But you try to keep your composure. “Nice to meet you all of you.” You look at your watch is just past midnight. Fuck it you are not “working” anymore. “I’m really a big fan of yours.”

The other girls gather around you when they see that you are talking with Ryujin. They stand up beside you. There it is Yuna with her scenary outfit.

While you are looking at her you try to avoid looking at her chest. Or at least pretend that you are not doing it. She is using baggy pants. You wanted to look her legs too. That’s too bad. But you are lucky enough to look her perfect flat belly. When she sees you, she just smiles at you. The other girls as Yuna are wearing also an scenary outfit all of them have a blue or sky blue piece. But Yuna is the one that caught your eye.  

“You are not from here, right?” Asks Ryujin. Yeji gives a little slap on Ryujin’s arm. She is the leader indeed.

You are thinking. Thanks Ryujin. You saved me. I owe you one. It was getting weird because I was looking Yuna for too long.

“Yes yes. I’m not from here. I’m a diplomat assigned here at Korea, Ryujin-shi.”

“You are a diplomat?” Asks Lia. “I always thought that diplomats were old men.”

You answer. “Well the ones that appear on television they are. And maybe as they are the most known for the public you think that. But actually in my country if you do the right things. You can start as a diplomat at 23 years old.”

“Yeah you look kind of young. But here the most of them are old geezers.” Says Ryujin. You laugh. “I thought that the reason why nobody clapped was that they are old geezers. But maybe is because they do what you do.”

“Well. Yeah the most of the times the show is a snob thing. Like opera or traditional theather.”

Ryujin interrupts you. “What thing? What did you say?”

Yuna starts laughing. You answer Ryujin. “See your maknae here knows what I said. Yuna-shi would you mind explaining her?”

Yuna looks at you. Doubtful starts speaking. “Snob is like people that likes fancy things just because they want to be different. Right?” She looks at you.

You are melting. The eyes of your Itzy’s bias are looking right at you.

“Yeah… Is just like that, Yuna-shi.” You answer. “The people here like that kind of things. Kind of unique or least popular. The people around here think that the things that they are discussing are the most important things ever. They are so full of themselves.”

“And… You are here... So, you too?” Asks Yuna looking you again.

You smile. “I hope I don’t. Maybe I would be just like them if I answer that. How about you discover if I’m like them.” You look at Yuna.

In your head you ran the entire place 10 times. You are flirting with Itzy’s Yuna. You are nervous as fuck.

“We’ll see. Then.” Answers Yuna and grins.

Yeji looked what happened. Actually, the whole girl group watched you flirting with their maknae. Yeji stands between you and Yuna and starts shaking your hand. “You are the one that clapped for us, right? Let me thank you for that. We’d like to stay around but we actually just came here for a personal matter. We are going to the bar. It looks like you are about to leave this party, right?”

Her words weren’t even smooth. You were clearly kicked out. “Is that true? I see. Well, thank you for greeting me.” You say trying to sound as polite as you can. “Well maybe I should go…”

What you were saying is interrupted by Yuna holding Yeji’s arms with her hands. She starts pouting. “Unnie, please.”

Yeji’s answer is silence pretending Yuna said nothing. Yuna starts pouting again. “Yeji unnie, please. Besides he is a Midzy, right?” Yuna looks at you.

“Yeah. As I said I’m a big fan.” You add.

When Yeji says nothing again. And you think this is lost. Yuna uses his final technique her little kitten face. He is pleading looking directly at Yeji. Just as Pussy in boots in Shrek. You don’t receive fully the little kitten face but you see it by the side.

Fuck. You are willing to give your house if she asks you doing that face. And you start wondering why the governments and international organizations spent so much money training people like you to end wars. When probably all they need is the Yuna’s little kitten face. Dam even if she asks Putin to end the war. Will he say no?

Yeji tries to avoid her face or maybe just look at the others trying to find an answer. Ryujin just shrugs like saying I don’t care. Lia and Chaeryeong that were looking Yuna’s little kitten face just nod. Yeji sighs and says. “Fine. He can come.”

“Yaaaaaay” says Yuna. She takes your arm and pulls you to start moving. Then she releases so you can follow them.

That expression that she just used was the bubbliest yet the most attractive you’ve ever seen. And she touched you. You can die right now. You start walking behind them. You just can’t help and you take a peek at their asses. Ryujin has a really bubbly ass. Chaeryeong has the largest one and seems like is not that soft because has muscles around. Lia has the softest one like you can sleep there. Yeji has a cute butt. And finally, Yuna has a bubbly cute ass. She is using baggy pants but her butt can be noticed trough them.

While walking Yuna turns lightly her head to you to ask you. “Hey Mr. Diplomat how old… are you?” She paused because she noticed you looking her ass. You were caught in fraganti so you just looked at her and smile. “Well mmmmm… I’m actually 25 years old. International age I mean.��

After you answer Yuna says something to Yeji. Yeji also turns her head to you. Look at you and nods to Yuna.

All of you finally arrive at the bar. Ryujin asks for champagne for everybody including you. She didn’t ask any of you. She just ordered. Yeji slaps her arm. “Ryujin yaaa. Why do you always do that?”

Ryujin answers. “It doesn’t matter. All of us were going to drink that anyway. Right?”

You see around and everybody is nodding. It seems that the dominant Ryujin you see trough tv screen is actually a dominant Ryujin in real life.

“Let’s make a toast. Raise your glasses” Says Yeji. And by looking at the girls and you she is ordering you to do it. Everybody raises their glasses. “Our schedule didn’t let us to celebrate properly the birthday of our beloved maknae. Yuna we all love you.” At the end of this sentence. You start nodding hard. Yeji got quiet and looks at you. All the girls look at you too and then laugh. You blush. “Anyway…” Yeji continues. “Apparently everyone gathered here LOVES you Yuna. Happy Birthday.”

The girls take turns to hug Yuna. First Yeji, then Ryujin. You notice that everyone gets closer and say a few words in Yuna’s ear. When is your turn you gather all the courage in your body and swallow the nervousness and try to look cool.  You hug her and whisper in her ear. “Is true indeed that everybody here loves you. Happy birthday. I wish you have a good time tonight.” She grins and whispers in your ear. “Well, you can help me to have a good time tonight.”

Shit. You think. I felt her chest during that hug. And now she says this I really can’t control my excitement.

And actually, you got hard down there. While you were hoping she didn’t notice it the hug ends and she looks down like looking for something.

It seems like she felt it.

Then the girls sited around the bar and ordered drinks. You took place beneath Yuna. She leaned on you.

“Oppa…” She says and you got surprised.

“Oppa?” You ask inmediately interrupting her.

“Yes you are older than me you are my oppa, right?” She questioned.

“Well yeah I can be your oppa if you want.”

“Nice. I want to ask you something. Can i?”

“Okay. But if is something that I can’t say because of my work please don’t use your little kitten face against me. I will give in and next thing will be that I’m fired.”

She laughs. “My what?”

“Ah I named your pleading face to Yeji-shi before as ‘little kitten face’”

“Because of Shrek?” She asks.

She gets me.

“Yeah. I just love that movie. But continue. Go ahead”

She continues “Anyway I’m not going to ask you something difficult, oppa. I just want to know what should I drink? I don’t have too much experience with that.”

“You are 19 now, right? What have you drinked before? and what did you like or not?”

“Well obviously soju. At first, I didn’t like it. But then I was into that. But tonight, I want something fancier.”

“You are lucky. As this is diplomat’s party. I think this bar has international beverage too. Have you heard about pisco?”

“What?! What is that?”

“Is alcohol is made from grapes: the green ones. And well is nice when you drink it with lemon and other stuff. The beverage is called pisco sour.”

“Well why not. Today I’m celebrating my birthday. If I pretend today is my birthday. This is my first time having 20 years. So today is the day of first times!”

“That’s the attitude!”

“Two pisco sours, please.” You ask to the bartender.

The bartender hands you two glasses. And you hand one to Yuna.  

She sips. “This is like lemonade, right? Just at the end I can taste some alcohol. Is not that strong.”

You nod. “So did you like it?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Answers, Yuna.

5

A couple of glasses later you and Yuna are talking.

“You know what?” You start “I think diplomat’s life and idol’s life have something in common.”

“Why do you think that?” Asks Yuna.

“Well, your life is kind of controlled by someone: your company. In my case the embassy. I’m living here in this country just to work. And also, our opinions can’t be radical. Do you remember that time where Tzuyu waved her flag? The… Taiwanese flag?” Yuna nods. You continue “She apologized then. That means that no idol can give political opinions, right? Well, I can’t neither. I can’t say Taiwan is a country or say what I think about any president or government out loud.”

“Well… Yeah, It makes sense. So, you can’t hang out at parties too?”

You are so into this subject. “Well, if something happens like a drunk fight or something like that. I’m fucked up. Because in the headline will appear ‘The diplomat of this country got drunk and…’”

Suddenly Ryujin hugs you from behind and asks you. “Hey, since when Yuna is your bias? Have you fapped to her photos?”

You blush and start stuttering. “I-I-I D-d-d-didn’t do that!”

Ryujin laughs. “Mr. diplomat knows how to be cute!” She pinches your cheek. Then she says looking at Yuna. “Hey if you don’t achieve nothing with him. I’ll ask his number.”

Yuna hit Ryujin’s arms. “Ryujin-yaaaaa.”

You look at Yuna. “Achieve something?” You ask.

Yuna blushes a little bit. “Well did you remember before when we were walking to the bar? When you were… mmmm… looking my ass?”

You almost spit the pisco sour. Ryujin laughs. “It seems like Mr. Diplomat likes to stare asses. Did you peak mine too?”

Fuck Ryujin is so straight when she talks. This can’t be a mess. You must apologize. You think.

“Ammm… I do. Sorry.” You apologize.

“So who has the best one?” Ryujin asks you.

This brat knows how to make you nervous.

“Y-y-y-yuna” You answer stuttering.

“Well, I give up, Yuna. Mr. Diplomat is in love with you. I don’t get him. Everybody’s favorite is my ass or Chae. I’m leaving it to you.” Ryujin says while walks out to join the other members.

“Really?” Asks Yuna looking at you.

“Yeah. You are my favorite in everything! My ultimate bias.” You shout.

Fuck. It seems I’m really drunk.

Yuna stares at you and doesn’t say anything.

You blew up. She probably isn’t looking for a fanboy. You shouldn’t have drunk too much.

But she caught your arm and walks with you. You just follow her. “What happened, Yuna?” You ask.

She looks at you and keeps walking. “Today is the day of first times.”

She is leading you to the bathroom. She enters and locks the door.

You are in disguise. What to do now is pretty obvious but is Yuna so you are doubtful.

Before you decide anything Yuna kisses you.

Fuck. Is the best kiss you ever had. So this is how it feels when you kiss someone you really really like. Is like an explosion. Like there was nothing and then a big bang.

The kiss breaks. “Did you like it?” Asks Yuna.

You don’t answer just kiss her again. The sensation is something different. Like you can be here forever. But the night was just starting.

Yuna starts touching your back while kissing you. Then your chest. Your neck. She stops. “You don’t want to touch me?” She looks directly in your eyes.

“No, no. Is not that. Is just I didn’t want to ruin the kiss.” You say.

“Oppa. You know what are we doing next, right? I know you are not so innocent!” She says. And starts kissing you again.

Now you touch her. Her neck, her back you go down. Her delicious ass is being groped by your hands. You lean her closer to you by pressing her butt.  

You start kissing her neck. “Yuna. You are so beautiful and cute. Your mouth, your face, your ass.” You press your hands in her butt harder. She just moans “Mmmmmm….” But then she speaks. “I can feel your dick poking my abs. Just like before when you hugged me.”

You press her butt stronger. So, she can feel it more. Then you lift her up by grabbing her legs and kiss her neck again. “Mmm… I want to see your tits, Yuna.” While being in the air she manages to take off her blouse. You see her lingerie and anxiously you start kissing around her tits. While she is trying to untie her bra. Finally, you receive in your view her heavenly boobs. Her nipples are totally pink and are like inviting you to suck them.

This is the best feast I’ve ever had.

You kiss and lick her tits while the only response from Yuna is “Mmmm.” When you left her legs touch the ground, she kisses you again and she kisses your neck this time. Now she is trying to get your formal shirt off. You start undressing yourself. She kisses your neck and starts going down till she is in front of your crotch. She is in her knees.

“Mmmm… I want to know if you are a big fan as you said.” She touches your crotch. And starts undressing your pants. Then she just puts down your boxers.

Your dick is hard as never was. When she puts down your boxers your cock jump off and slaps Yuna’s face. She looks at you and then stares your cock.

“It looks that you were right. You are the biggest”

Then she starts stroking. You just moan.

“I thought you said it was first times’ day.”

“Yes oppa. This is my first time with a foreign guy and my first time sucking cock big like yours”

She starts licking the tip of your cock.

“Oppa I’m starting to doubt if this can fit in my mouth.”

“Let’s find out.” You say. She nods and starts putting it in her mouth.

First the tip and then she tries to push deeper. Her mouth is full but there is plenty of dick left. She starts moving. You can’t deny that you had better heads before. But… She looks at you while sucking you. Then you are aware again that the one sucking you off is Itzy’s Yuna. So, you start to feel better. Fuck you could say that you are even about to cum. You caught her head with your hands and start pushing.

“Fuck Yuna. I can feel your throat!”

She just says “Mmmm mmmm” as she can’t talk.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck. Fuck.”

You start cumming and you relax the grip on her head. And she frees. Some of the cum goes in her face.

“Mmmm… You are rough, oppa. I like that.” She picks some toilet paper of the bathroom to clean her face. “But you know what this is only starting. I want that big thing inside me now.”

She starts unbuckling her pants and puts it down and also her underwear at the same time. She has a shaved cute pussy and is already wet.

“Oppa, fuck me.” She says and then she bends and you have a total view of her ass. That beloved ass.

“You want me to fuck you?” You spank her.

“Aah. Yes, oppa. Fuck me with your cock!”

You grin and start to play with your dick around her pussy. “Oppa, just fuck me already!” She says.

You put your cock inside her. And you feel tightness. You haven’t feel something like this before. “Yuna you are so tight!” You say. And try to go deeper. “Fuck Yuna really I’m not lying you are too tight!”

“Mmmm… No oppa is just that you are too big. Just keep going. Mmmm…”

You start going deeper in a slow pace. Finally, you get to get your full dick inside. Yuna is moaning already. “Yuna, prepare yourself”

“Whaaaaaaa… aaah… mmm… mmm” She starts moaning. You are slamming her in a rapid pace. And then she says “Cumming aaaah” You don’t slow down. And then she shouts again moaning again but this time her legs start to shake. But you don’t slow down.

Fuck you’ d love to see Yuna’s cumming face. But right now in exchange you have a full view of her cute butt and her pussy while your cock enters and disappears. She is moaning so hard.

“Aaaaah… Oppa. I love how you fuck me. You are really deep into me.” She says.

And is true is almost like your tip is kissing her womb. This tightness is almost like her walls are never letting you go. Like their insides are sucking you up. Is this heaven? The pleasure right now is out of this world.

While dreaming off, it happens you cum inside her. Fuck you really fast up the pace because now you are out of breath. Yuna stands up looks at you smiles and kisses you. “That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. And really orgasms because it happened multiple times” Yuna says. “You are special and fuck you cummed so much”. At the moment white liquid starts to drip from her crotch.

Suddenly the door sounds. There are lots of knock knock and then a voice: “Yuna we need to leave now. They found out about the manager bribed. We will be waiting for you on the car outside.”

You look to Yuna. And she starts explaining. “Have you heard anytime about Itzy joining a party where they were having a show. Or have happened ever that the last entertainment show joins the party in your diplomat events?”

“Well… Being honest I never heard of that. And that never happened. I don’t remember that the fat lady singer ever joined the party after her show.”

“Yeah. That’s what’s normal. But we bribed our manager to tell JYP we were already at the dorm and we sneaked into the party.”

“So you weren’t invited to the party? And wait did you lie to Jyp?” You ask.

While this conversation was made Yuna started dressing up. As you see it you start looking for your clothes too.

Yuna answers “Yeah, that’s why we were just in the bar. I mean we didn’t want to catch too much attention. And also, we were with our stage clothes if we were invited, we probably were wearing some fancy dresses or something like that. And yeah, we lied to Jyp. He is nice but sometimes he is just a pain in the ass. You know if it was for him, I’ll be virgin even now.”

“Well yeah if you had gone to the main saloon, you probably had caught more attention. Then I must be really thankful for that bribe because if that wasn’t happened, this wasn’t happened.”

“Yes, oppa. And also, is thanks to Yeji. When you looked my ass, I was asking Yeji if I can be with you and she nodded. But sadly, I must say bye now. I really want to have another meeting with you and that big thing of yours.” She kisses you and continues. “and maybe we can try other things. You know Ryujin says that anal sex is way better than normal sex. But I don’t know maybe I need to experience it by first hand.” She hands you a piece of paper.

“Is your number?” You ask like pleading.

“Aww you can be a cutie pie too. Yes, it is. I must be going. Is better if I leave alone. Wait inside here and after a couple minutes leave. Ok?” She says.

“Yes. I’ll be expecting our next meeting.”

“Me too.” She kisses you and then leaves the bathroom.

That actually happened. You think. I had sex with my ultimate bias.

And now you remember all the things the view of her precious ass. Her eyes while she was sucking you off. The taste of her lips. Her essence. Her ass in your palms. Her surprised eyes when she saw your cock. The sensation of his tongue in your cock and her throat.

The sound of your phone wakes you up. Some text messages.

“Hey Oppa is Yuna. It seems like you weren’t the only diplomat getting fun. Ryujin also had fun with an argentinian diplomat. And he knows you, so the girls and I got his number and yours. Let’s have another meeting soon”

You smile. What is even better that you fucking your bias from Itzy is that your friend could do it too and maybe he even had anal sex with Ryujin. It seems that this kind of parties are not so bad.

[luvinmads]

Hannibal's ocd headcanons!

cw: very basic talk about mental health and ocd, can be triggering so be aware.

Three people said I should share my headcanons so here I am, first of all what's ocd? OCD is the acronym for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a mental disorder that affects daily life making the person have intrusive thoughts that distress them and lead to compulsive behavior like the ones I'll be talking now.

Why do I headcanon that Hannibal has OCD?

through the series Hannibal shows a lot of subtle ticks, changes of behaviors, change of tones, subtle facial expressions that really made me realize that he has a lot of moments where their thoughts seem to fight his actions, something I feel a lot when I'm on a bad day, and I have a great amount of ocd symptoms (another undiagnosed thing, thanks argentinian healthcare) and so I made headcanons about it I won't extend to much on this.

What kind of OCD could distress Hannibal Lecter?

I know I know, a cannibalistic serial killer seen to be feeding his intrusive thoughts, but I don't think so, Hannibal's ocd has nothing to do with killing, hurting, made anything unmoral, Hannibal's OCD lays on dirtiness and rudeness.

Hannibal hates rude people, he hated rudeness as a whole and same thing with dirtiness, but not necessarily as something that's inherently bad, but something that he could never be and disgusts him profoundly.

What kind of intrusive thoughts does he have?

I've been thinking on a few and his consecuences.

Screaming in the middle of a lecture with other professionals, it distressed him to the point he stopped going.

Talking too loud or aggressive to someone else, he never ever raised his voice and sometimes even talked in whispers.

Yawning in the Opera, he ends up with his hand bleeding because he pinch himself from time to time to avoid it.

Forgetting his plastic suit, he can't even remember how many times he looked at himself, he knows he's wearing it, it can be so frustrating that he sometimes had to walk back and make sure of it twice plus times.

Being rude himself, sometimes his brain will scream insults and curses and he would go purposefully mute to avoid saying those words out loud.

Accidentally throwing garbage out of the trashcan, he has to make sure a lot even when he knows he did throw it in place.

What about Will rudeness?

I think Hannibal found Will's rudeness endearing because he was pretty not gonna lie, still there's moments when he seems about to correct him, but he doesn't, because for him correcting an adult man on his manner would show rudeness on his part.

Thank you for reading !

I'm one of those people who like to think a lot and I can't help but spiraling on some headcanons, maybe this could gave you all some fanfics ideas too.

[spanishskulduggery]

how can i help get rid of my english accent in spanish? for example i notice spanish speakers usually curl their L's more (kind of like an R? I speak mandarin it's like how asian ppl pronounce R and L similarly) but one thing i cant seem to mimic is how spanish seems to lie in the front of the mouth rather than the throat (as in english) so it's kind of misleading the way so many syllables are similar yet so different.. any tips??

This is somewhat outside of my area of expertise, but I will say a lot of Spanish sounds are indeed in the front of the mouth, though many regional accents [like the Cuban accent] are placed further back in the mouth, as are some of the South American accents (or a Brazilian accent for that matter can sound like that)

My accent is somewhat more on the formal side so my tongue is generally more right behind my front teeth when I speak which allows for more of a trill, though I notice that because my accent feels very "precise" it comes out as very official and not informal at all

Part of it is mouth placement and practice, but sometimes with L's it's entirely dependent on the accent [and I can't fully explain without trying to point to the phonetic alphabet to explain different sounds, so it is often something I would recommend wiktionary for]

But do keep in mind that Spanish accents vary a lot by country and L/R (and LL) have very different pronunciations and variations; Puerto Rican Spanish sometimes treats R's more like L's, while Costa Rican Spanish really emphasizes the R's

The Argentinian accent is known for sounding very similar to Italian, while pronouncing LL sounds like SH, instead of the more common (almost but not quite) Y-ish sound; if you can do an Italian accent at all, it is a good place to start for practice

All of that to say that your accent is going to be very different depending on where you are and I would not worry too much about your accent - it is something you can practice by practicing speaking certain words over and over, but I have noticed a lot of the time it has to do with tongue placement and if the tongue curls

[princesandromeda]

finally got around to reading the Gigantomachia bc of Reasons and it's been… a wild trip tbh. My impressions so far (beware cringe):

The concept of Shun going to a Greek play is funny. The concept of Shun going to a Greek play and watching someone die… is still funny. Ironically.

idk if i'm too paranoid or whatever, but Altar Nicole being unable to help during the Greek theater fiasco is a little suspicious.

I love Mei's concept! He's got that big brother (heh) energy. And the fact that he didn't graduate bc his master (Deathmask) died is so funny to me. I'm sorry my sense of humor is so skewed, I blame Argentinian parodies.

Should I make a counter for every time Shun has been compared to a girl/called maiden? idr him being feminized as much in the manga. and the times where he would be "feminized" were… pretty tame tbh.

There's this part abt the history of Sicily which includes THE WHOLE Italy independency History and I'm like. Am I reading a Saint Seiya light novel or a Hetalia fanfiction? like???

Mei: What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Sicily? Seiya: The mafia. Mei: It's because of The Godfather, isn't it?

I KNOW IT'S A NOD TO THE FACT KURUMADA LOVES THOSE MOVIES, NO I WILL NOT STOP TALKING ABT IT.

It's also curious though that Mei mentions mafia being sort of a taboo topic within Italy (it is, I was actually surprised they'd done this much research into it), and also the mention that economically Sicily is better off than mainland. That kind of thing (satellite[?] islands being better off than mainland) seems to be a pattern????

idk if it was the translation or smth but Saori got called a whore???? my jaw was literally on the floor, what the heck.

My honest to god reaction to reading Hyoga jumping in to save Shun: UN LOBO SIEMPRE PROTEGE A SU LOBA, AUUUUUU

like ofc the maiden in distress trope w Shun used to bother me sosososo much a couple of years ago, especially bc of the damage it did to the mainstream audience's perception of Shun's character, but at this point i learned to accept it as it is: fanservice. Man the anime team used to feed us three-course meals everytime Shun and Hyoga appeared together on camera, huh?

Hyoga: Are you ok, Shun? Thaos: He's about to die, actually. Hyoga: I wasn't talking to you.

Shun about to faint!!!! Hyoga: You've lost a lot of blood. You shouldn't move like that, rest up a little. Shun: I'm fine. Hyoga, smiling: If you say so. But that doesn't mean much coming from you.

[cieloclercs]

sliding doors , chapter two

pairing: joão félix x fem!oc part: 2/? warnings: swearing, fluffff just lots of fluff, kind of dumb esperanza word count: 4.8k

SLIDING DOORS, "Seemingly inconsequential moments that nonetheless alter the trajectory of future events."

02. in which they both fear their newfound feelings are unrequited

previously: chapter one

read it on wattpad!

"UGH, THIS IS so confusing."

The sound of Esperanza Cabrera's head hitting her desk caused at least a dozen eyes in the lecture theatre to snap towards her curiously - but she didn't care. Her brain was a muddle of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings, all centred around one person: a certain dark-eyed Portuguese footballer to be specific. João Félix, and the lingering feeling of his lips on her cheek, was haunting her.

"I don't understand why you won't just ask him." Doutzen Van Aalsburg huffed in her seat beside Esperanza, growing increasingly frustrated with her friend's dramatics, "You have his number, right? Just text him!"

It was true, she did have João's number. Only hours after they had parted at the tube station following their kind-of-but-not-really coffee date, he had texted her, just as he promised he would. That had been three days ago. For three days his text had remained unanswered in her otherwise empty inbox. Esperanza simply didn't know what to say. She must have planned out hundreds of responses in her head, but none of them ever felt quite right. If it weren't for the fact she'd seen him briefly a couple of times since (nothing beyond waves across the road and fleeting 'hello's' as they passed each other in the hallway, though), Esperanza was sure the guilt would have eaten her alive. She just had to hope that João wasn't offended by her thus far lack of response.

"You're overthinking it, Anzi." Doutzen told her with a tired sigh. She felt like she'd repeated those words a million times over the past three days, since Esperanza had recounted to her, breathless and with flushed cheeks, the events of that morning with João. "From what you've told me, it's pretty fucking obvious that he's into you. What more do you want me to say? Now text him before I lose my mind."

Esperanza groaned, slumping down into her chair in defeat, "I can't do it, Doutzy. I'm too scared. He's famous for fuck's sake! How do I know he's not just looking for a friend to show him around London - or worse, he's playing with me? I mean, have you seen him? He could have any girl he wants, so why would he possibly be interested in me?"

Doutzen could tell Esperanza was beginning to spiral. It had been like this for three days - she would get herself worked up, and start to question João's motives; over-analyse every little thing he had said or done whilst they were together. Then she would descend into a pit of self-deprecation and doubt. That was where Doutzen drew the line. She was perfectly happy to entertain Esperanza's crush (Lord knows the poor girl needed to spice up her love life a little bit), but not when it put her in such a state as that, convincing herself she would never be good enough or pretty enough for someone like João. Doutzen knew she either had to get rid of this guy once and for all, or help her friend overcome her self doubt. And considering it sounded as though Esperanza genuinely liked him, she chose the latter option.

"Do you want me to text him for you?" Doutzen offered. Almost immediately, the Argentinian woman shook her head.

"No, I need to do it myself." she spoke gravely, "I just need to figure out how."

Once again, her friend let out an exasperated sigh, "Anzi, I really think you're stressing about this too much. It's just a text."

"But it's not!" Esperanza shot back. She dropped her head into her hands in despair, "I need to know what he wants before I do anything. I need to know if it was a date or not! I can't go getting my hopes up that he wants to be more than friends until I know - imagine how embarrassing it would be if I flirted with him or something, and it turns out that he doesn't even see me like that. I would genuinely die."

It didn't really help Esperanza's predicament that in the short time she'd known João Félix, she'd grown to really like him: much more than she'd ever liked any other man. So while her struggle to contact him may have seemed dramatic to some people (aka Doutzen) to Esperanza, it was a kind of method of self-preservation. If he rejected her, she would be much more upset about it than she'd like to admit. Besides, genuinely having feelings for someone, however fleeting and fanciful those feelings may have been, was exciting. Esperanza didn't want to give that up just yet.

"Well if you won't ask him, you're just gonna have to take the risk." Doutzen shrugged, as if the solution to her problem was obvious (to her, it really was), "But it's no use asking me whether he saw it as a date or not. I'm not exactly very qualified in that area."

She certainly wasn't - Doutzen had had her fair share of admirers in the time Esperanza had known her, but beyond a casual hook-up or two at parties, she'd never given any of them the time of day. She had too many years of liberty ahead of her to even consider the idea of committing to one person: that was what Doutzen always argued, anyway. Esperanza thought it was bullshit.

"Or you could ask Millie what she thinks." the Dutch woman went on when her friend fell silent, "She has a boyfriend, doesn't she? If you don't trust my word, hear it from her instead - João Félix is definitely into you."

Hours later, after their international law lecturer had finally let them go, Esperanza found herself doing exactly that. Milagros Vallejos, or Millie as she had been affectionately named by her best friend's family ever since they first met at age five, was the kind of person who always seemed to know exactly what to say, no matter the situation. As well as being her closest friend, Esperanza was convinced she doubled up as some kind of therapist or life coach - she honestly wasn't sure what she would have done without her growing up.

It had been hard for Esperanza to leave Millie behind in Bariloche when she moved to London. They'd barely spent a day apart for thirteen whole years, after all. But Millie had a different path already laid out for her. She'd always wanted to give back to the community in some way; to help improve the lives of young, disadvantaged children like she had once been, so that no one would ever feel abandoned in the way she had growing up. Who was Esperanza to stop her from doing that? Though it meant they'd been apart for the past three years, neither of them would have changed anything for the world - Millie was fulfilling her dreams and making a difference in Bariloche's most disadvantaged communities, and Esperanza was finally seeing the world (even if it was only London for now).

"I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now." the voice of Millie Vallejos sounded through the tinny speakers of her best friend's laptop. Their face time call read two hours; that was, two hours of Esperanza explaining all of the ways in which she could have misread João's signals, whilst Millie tried to get a word in edgeways to convince her she was being stupid, "But I think Doutzen is right. You just need to text him."

Esperanza groaned loudly. That wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for. She'd been hoping for a clear solution, some kind of step-by-step guide illustrating exactly what to do in the event of either situation: rejection, or reciprocation. Unfortunately, Millie couldn't give her that.

She remembered, a year before she had left Bariloche, having a similar conversation to this one with her best friend on one of their weekly sleepovers. The roles were reversed in this conversation, but the message was eerily akin to their first one years prior. Millie had recently met who would become (and still was to this day) her boyfriend, Cruz Muñoz Acosta. For a while, their relationship had hung in the strange limbo between friendship, situationship and something more - that was, until that conversation in Esperanza's bedroom in which she encouraged her to simply take the plunge and be honest with Cruz about her feelings. She probably should have taken her own advice in her situation with João. But the difference between Esperanza and Millie was that Millie could put herself in such a position of vulnerability and bounce back from it if it didn't go her way - Esperanza couldn't.

"I don't know why this is so hard." the young woman sighed, rubbing her temples in exhaustion, "He's just a guy! I've dealt with loads of those before and I've never been so stressed about something as simple as a text message. What is wrong with me?"

"Oh cariño, there's nothing wrong with you." Millie smiled sympathetically at her through the screen, "You just like him. That's all. It's normal to be scared when you genuinely have feelings for someone."

"How can I, though?" Esperanza shot back, "I met him what, a week ago? I barely know anything about the guy."

"Feelings don't have a time limit, Anzi." came her friend's swift reply, "Sometimes it only takes a few minutes, or even a few moments to form a bond like that. And from what you've told me about him, I can kind of see why. He seems like he treats you well. Isn't it worth taking the risk if you think there's a possibility he could like you back?"

In an ideal world, Esperanza would have just been honest with João. He'd been stuck in her head, whether it was on the periphery or right in the forefront, invading her thoughts to the point where she couldn't even focus on her university work because of him, for as long as they'd known each other. It was driving her crazy.

"I don't know, Mils." The young woman sighed, "It's not just because I like him – yes, I'm admitting it, you don't have to look so shocked – I really don't understand what he could possibly see in me that would interest him. Don't say I'm being self-pitying here, because I'm not. Just think about it. He's famous and good looking; I know pretty much for a fact that he has a lot of girls chasing after him. He could quite literally date supermodels if he really wanted to. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

It was something that had been weighing on her mind for a while. Though Esperanza didn't view João any differently just because he happened to be good at football, she did fear however that João would view her differently.

"Do you know what would be even worse than him rejecting me?" the young woman asked; mostly rhetorically, but Millie prompted her to elaborate anyway, "If he took advantage of me. You know what I mean, right? If anything did happen between us, I think I'd always be scared that he'd find someone better than me – a model, or an actress or something. I wouldn't even blame him, that's the awful thing. I wouldn't even be surprised." Esperanza trailed off sadly. Her gaze dropped to the floor, "But it doesn't matter anyway. We're not together. I don't even know why we're having this conversation, it was stupid to think he would ever –"

"Esperanza Ines Cabrera Ríos!" Millie interrupted her with a sharp hiss. Esperanza's head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock, "Stop saying things like that! He would be lucky to even have you speak one word to him!" she sat forward with her phone in her hand, bringing her face closer, furiously furrowed eyebrows and all, to the screen, "I know I can't pretend to know what he's thinking right now – but he is clearly interested in you. Isn't that enough to tell you you should at least give him a chance? I think you'll regret it if you don't."

Esperanza fell silent. Her gut instinct had told her, when João had kissed her cheek and left standing in a daze outside the tube station, that he wasn't just humouring her for the fun of it. She'd felt a genuine connection with him, and at the time, she'd been almost certain he felt it too. With the benefit of hindsight, Esperanza had been able to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't quite so simple. But maybe Doutzen and Millie were right; maybe she just needed to take the plunge. Personal pride be damned — sometimes the best things came when you took a risk to attain them.

Never mind that he was her neighbour. She'd just have to find a strategic way of avoiding him if things went pear-shaped.

"Maybe you're right." Esperanza spoke up after what felt like hours. Her best friend internally rejoiced, "I'll end up dying alone if I don't learn to take some risks."

Millie frowned, "Well I think that's a little bit dramatic, but —"

The sound of the doorbell ringing cut her off. Esperanza's head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing. She listened out for a second ring for a few moments, but it didn't come.

"Are you expecting someone?" Millie questioned. The young woman shook her head.

"It's probably just the postman. I ordered some stuff last week. I didn't think it would be arriving until Sunday, though." Esperanza shrugged, before swinging her legs over the side of the couch and standing up. She padded softly in her fluffy white socks to the door, bringing her laptop, and by extension, Millie, with her.

It was lucky Esperanza didn't bother to take a look through the peephole at the person on the other side of the door. If she had, she may have been tempted to run and hide, or simply pretend she wasn't home. Instead, Esperanza opened her front door completely unprepared, mid-yawn, and with eyes that widened to the size of dinner plates as soon as they caught sight of the person waiting for her outside.

"João!" Esperanza squeaked. She flushed bright red, cleared her throat, and tried again, "Uh — João. Hi. What are you doing here?"

João opened his mouth to speak, but a high-pitched screeching noise coming from Esperanza's laptop caused the words to die in his throat.

"Oh my God, is that him?!" Millie squealed excitedly. Her friends eyes — if such a thing was even possible — widened even further. Esperanza slammed the laptop lid shut in a split second.

"Sorry." she mumbled sheepishly, "That was my friend from back home — uh, Millie. I think I mentioned her when we...uhm." she trailed off. João nodded in understanding, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Esperanza had mentioned her briefly; and part of the problem for him was that he remembered that fleeting mention perfectly. In fact, João remembered every single word she had spoken to him three days ago like they had been etched with a hammer and chisel into his brain. How could he possibly forget?

Ever since he'd left her standing outside the tube station, João had been unable to get her out of his mind: the faint pink flush in her cheeks, her shy smile, the way she'd looked at him, even if only for that moment, like they were the only two people on Earth. He was surprised his teammates weren't losing their minds with him — João had barely been able to concentrate on the ball beneath his feet for more than two seconds at training recently, because, though football should have been the only thing occupying his brain, he'd found himself coming back to her over and over again. Like some kind of broken record stuck on the same old melody; Esperanza Cabrera was stuck in his daydreams.

At first, when she hadn't replied to his text message, João had begun to worry he'd done something wrong. It was surreal: normally, he wouldn't even consider such a thing. Every girl he'd met since becoming João Félix, young football prodigy had practically fallen at his feet anyway. But with Esperanza he was conscious of everything he did, fearing that just the slightest wrong move would scare her away. Seeing 'read' by the text message he'd sent her three days ago filled him with dread. He all but convinced himself she must have changed her mind.

That was, until he began to see her more regularly. João couldn't lie — he'd taken to setting off on his morning runs a little later than usual, just so he might by chance intercept Esperanza on her way to a class. Sure enough, they'd passed each other in the corridor a few times since then. She would always stop to say a quick 'hello' or, if she was in a rush, shoot him a little wave and a shy smile as she hurried past. João noticed, her eyes were the same as when he'd kissed her cheek three days ago. Their bright, intrigued spark hadn't faded in the slightest. They didn't, to him, seem like they bore the look of someone who wanted to be left alone. He couldn't describe it — they looked wishful, yet sad and reserved at the same time. Try as he might, João simply couldn't decode what exactly that meant.

It was only due to that half-baked optimism that he found himself standing outside of her apartment door, fresh out of the shower after training, his heart beating like a drum inside his chest. Once again, it was purely impulsive. João had checked his phone (for what felt like the millionth time) in the hope that she might have replied to his message, just as he had done every night since it was sent. When he found nothing but 'read' staring back at him, something had changed, like the flip of a switch. He wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge easily. João was sure Esperanza had felt the spark he had felt when his lips touched her skin. He was sure of it. It had been so long since he'd felt anything remotely like that, anything that could give him the kind of nervous butterflies he felt now, standing outside of her apartment — that had to be worth fighting for. He needed to at least try.

"Uhm, is there something you needed?" Esperanza asked, prompted by his sudden silence. She picked nervously at the stitches of her jumper, thinking that, if only she'd had some warning he would be turning up at her door, she would have changed into something a little nicer.

"Oh, right. Yeah." João cleared his throat awkwardly. He hated it, but he turned into some kind of teenager with a high school crush whenever he was around her. The words he felt the need to express simply wouldn't come to him, and he'd end up speechless; looking like an absolute fool. Esperanza was stood still, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate. He cleared his throat again.

"I was wondering if you'd like to maybe go out for dinner some time?" João rushed out. The words tumbled over one another like a waterfall crashing over a cliff face, but she heard him loud and clear, "With me, I mean." He flushed crimson. Why he felt the need to clarify that (as if it wasn't obvious), he would never know – João decided to blame it on her. She looked like an angel in the faint golden hour glow of late afternoon. He couldn't focus on anything except the way it lit up her eyes.

Esperanza was all but losing the ability to function. She only became faintly aware of her long silence when João's hopeful face seemed to fall just a little. Like it had three days ago. There were a thousand words on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill out; a thousand ways she could have said yes, of course, I'd love to, yet none of them were voiced. Esperanza couldn't fathom why. She blamed it on him: his slightly damp hair, like he'd just got out of the shower, and his obsidian eyes, which looked more like melted chocolate in the golden sunlight. João Félix left her – for the first time in her life – utterly speechless.

"Dinner?" she repeated in a barely audible whisper, "You want to go out for dinner... with me?"

The absurdity of it all baffled her. A famous footballer, a national team's golden boy, on her doorstep, fidgeting nervously as he awaited her answer to his proposal. João's brow furrowed for a moment in confusion.

"Yes..." he nodded slowly.

"Like – as a date? A date date?"

Again, he nodded. Esperanza fought of the urge to laugh out loud. It wouldn't have surprised her if she'd woken up in her bed in the next moment and realised it was all a dream; a lovely, yet very much fantastical dream. As if things like this ever happened to girls like her. She wasn't Taylor Swift – her life wasn't embroiled in romance and tragedy. Yet it felt a little like it was now.

"Ok, good. Thank God." Esperanza sighed, pressing a hand to her chest in relief, "Sorry, I just had to ask – you know I've been trying to figure out if last time was a date since Tuesday? It's honestly really stressed me out. So uhm... thank you for clarifying that."

João eyebrows raised a little, "Did you want it to be a date?" he asked suddenly, without really thinking too much about it before the words were leaving his mouth. Esperanza looked away shyly.

"I mean... kinda." She shrugged, then seemed to rethink, "No, not kinda. I did. But I wasn't sure you did."

His lips parted in surprise, "Do you think I ask every girl I meet out for coffee?" a faint chuckle escaped from them next, "Of course I wanted it to be a date. I was just – I guess I was scared you didn't."

The realisation hit them soon after. They'd been skirting around each other for the past three days, afraid of exactly the same thing, when the reality was the opposite of those misplaced doubts. They shared a quiet, tentative laugh. Esperanza's cheeks flushed pink, but she held his gaze this time. She knew what he wanted, finally. Her hours of fretting and debating and doubting had been pointless, and she never would have thought she'd be so happy about something turning put to be such a waste of her time.

"Is that a yes, then?" João prompted with a raise of his eyebrow. Esperanza giggled.

"Yes, it is." she smiled shyly, "What day did you have in mind?"

"Are you free tomorrow?"

That was a lot sooner than she had been expecting. João didn't want to have to experience the agony of waiting any longer than was absolutely necessary — he'd been left on tenterhooks by her unanswered message, after all. He would have taken her out at that very moment, fluffy pyjamas and all, if logistics and common sense hadn't made it implausible. Tomorrow night was his best bet after that.

"Yes, I am." Esperanza returned with another faint smile, "What time?"

Again, booking a restaurant in advance would have been a smart idea, but what with his recent impulsiveness, João hadn't even thought about it, "Uhm... I'll text you the details. Let's say... around seven thirty?"

"Sounds good."

"You won't leave me on read this time, right?" He teased. She rolled her eyes playfully in response.

"No, I won't." Her feigned annoyance didn't last long — it simply couldn't have, with the way he was beaming down at her. They stayed like that for a minute, comfortable, familiar silence engulfing them, like how João's eyes engulfed Esperanza's when he looked at her. He knew he should leave her in peace, but he was rooted to the spot.

"So... I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asked, reluctantly breaking the silence. She answered yes, breathlessly, as if he’d stolen all the air from her lungs with his sweet smile. They laughed in unison, and João took a single step away from her door. “I’ll come to you – pick you up out here, yeah?” he confirmed as he began to walk backwards.

“Ok. Just text me when you’re outside.” Esperanza agreed. She was pulled in too deep when he ducked his head shyly, before looking back up at her through his long eyelashes. It gave her goosebumps, the way he watched her. João was reluctant to leave, but he knew he had to at some point. His lips turned upwards into a soft smile, in the hope she’d answer it with one of her own – the one that made his heart race.

“Alright, well – uhm…” João stammered. He felt his cheeks burn as they no doubt turned a very obvious shade of crimson, “Until tomorrow then, I suppose.”

Esperanza giggled lightly, “Until then.” She returned. Her smile blossomed into something more, something as bright as the sun; and something utterly beautiful, in João’s eyes. He had to force his feet to move along the ground, or he would have been stood there, at a loss for words, for all eternity. Esperanza whispered a faint goodbye as he turned to leave. This time, when he glanced back, unable to stop himself from taking one last look before retreating to the solitude of his apartment, her eyes were still fixed on him. João beamed.

As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, he punched the air. This victory tasted sweeter than almost any he had experienced on the football pitch before. Perhaps that should have scared him. Or perhaps he hadn’t realised the implications of it yet.

Esperanza shut her apartment door, and placed her burning forehead against the cool wood. She could hear her heart beating. It seemed to come from every part of her body; thrumming inside her veins. She grinned widely, feeling nothing short of delirious – what had just happened? Esperanza knew it wasn’t a dream, because she’d pinched herself the moment João had turned the corner out of sight to check. No, this was very much real. Completely unbelievable, perhaps, but nonetheless, real.

The panic would set in later, no doubt (despite now being twenty-one years of age, she’d never actually been on an actual date before), but for now, all Esperanza could feel was a mixture of shock and delight. If Doutzen or Millie had told her even yesterday that João Félix would turn up at her apartment and ask her out on a date, she would have told them to, in much less polite terms, get lost.

Picking up her discarded laptop, she opened the it in a daze, having almost completely forgotten the face time call she’d been on prior to João’s surprise visit. Millie’s expectant face stared back at her through the screen.

“That was so fucking adorable.” She blurted out. Esperanza’s lips parted in surprise.

“You heard?” she asked.

“Yep. Every single word.” Millie smirked back at her, “Can you admit now, I was right? The poor boy’s completely whipped already! And you left him on opened for three days!”

“Mils,” Esperanza groaned, “He’s not whipped. He barely knows anything about me.”

“Yet.” Her friend countered with a sly wink. She blushed furiously.

“I swear to God. Stop teasing me!”

But no matter how much Esperanza complained, she couldn’t deny that the thought of João feeling as strongly about her as she did him already made her feel fuzzy inside. The thought of him laying awake at night, unable to sleep because the only thing on his mind was her; or the thought of him talking to his teammates about the situation, asking them what they would do in his shoes – it scared her a little how much she hoped that was the case. Yet still, it felt like nothing more than a silly fantasy. If only Esperanza knew he’d done all of those things in the past three days, and more.

“I don’t think he’s the only one who’s whipped you know,” Millie went on again after a pause, “You really like him, don’t you? Really like him. Much more than you ever liked Antonio.”

Esperanza’s gaze dropped to the floor. It never ceased to amaze her how easily her best friend could read her. Even when she thought she was subtle, nothing ever got past Millie.

“Maybe I do.” She shrugged, “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

The woman in the computer screen smiled, almost sadly, but not at the same time – a strange kind of smile that was difficult to read, “Give him a chance, ok?” she murmured, “He seems like he could be good for you.”

“I will.” Esperanza nodded. She intended to stand by that promise, too. There was just something about João Félix that pulled her in, and she didn’t think she could break out of that now – even if she tried.

— author’s note

first date timeeee

[curiosity-killed]

@ your tags abt trying to get people into ballet and running.. i am very interested in getting into ballet and running but i don't know where to start! tbh i feel like i might be a bit old to start ballet (19), but running seems like something i could start at any age!

FRIEND I have NEVER dived so quickly out of a movie in order to reply to a message as I just leapt from that terrible shitty movie to answer this

this is going to sound cliche but you're literally NEVER too old to start either!!

also oh god i'm sorry this is. it's so long. mistakes have been made

ALSO QUICK DISCLAIMER I'M A STRANGER ON TUMBLR AND THIS DOES NOT CONSTITUTE MEDICAL ADVICE PLS AT LEAST CONSIDER TALKING TO YOUR DR BEFORE STARTING A NEW FITNESS ROUTINE

starting with ballet bc it sometimes has the biggest barriers to entry:

People start ballet young for a couple reasons (for one thing: children are easy to lure in with promises of pretty costumes and fun tricks and then they get suckered in too far before realizing that they're 25 years old and spend more on dance per month than groceries but ANYWAY) including the fact that it's generally easier to build your base understanding of technique and establish the particular musculoskeletal (& proprioceptive) capacities uniquely demanded by ballet.

That said, even professional dancers don't always start super young. Misty Copeland started ballet at 13; there are professional dancers who started in their 20s. And regardless of your aspirations within the field, ballet is so fun. For all the media out there saying ballet is brutal and cruel and competitive (and it can be), ballet is also making silly faces with your friends and laughing when you mess up and feeling a whole different knowledge of yourself bloom in movement and joyful struggle. I've continued ballet for 20 years not because I'm great at it (I'm a decidedly decent dancer and that's about it) but because I love it and the unique feelings it provides.

So if you're looking for ways to start, here are a couple tips:

First, look for dance schools near you. Depending on where you live and if it's rural or urban, you may not have a ton of options, but if you do, I would recommend looking for adult ballet classes. These tend to have a mix of levels (i.e., I regularly dance with Legit Professional Dancers and also people who are on their 5th ballet class ever in my weekly classes) which to me helps the environment feel more friendly and welcoming. They also will often have recommendations for what you need for class and where to get it locally (if you ever need more info on this, there are lots of lists online and I'm always happy to help out!). You may have to make an actual phone call if you live in a small enough town (or go through your mom's childhood bestie's mom's cousin. small town dance is a whole different post).

There are also a lot of free online ballet classes which are very cool but I'm hesitant to recommend those for starting out simply because a lot of ballet is not intuitive and you can injure yourself by doing it incorrectly. Being in a studio with a teacher helps not only provide you with useful feedback but also have someone looking out for you and reducing risk (like a spotter in lifting but they may also be an extravagant Argentinian woman who swoons while loudly asking, "May I TOUCH your gluteus??" which is honestly way better).

WAIT ALSO: if you're in uni (or there's a university/college near you), that has a dance program, many have youth or community schools (this is what my studio was when I was growing up!) which can be DOPE.

Two quick notes: every dance school has its own environment. Most are a mix of good and bad, and they can all be a little overwhelming at the start. I usually recommend giving it at least a couple classes as a try (if that is an option) before deciding some place is Bad, Actually.

Along with that, ballet is kind of a lot. It's a demanding athletic activity combined with artistic components plus all these French words (often mispronounced and used in weird ways. That being said, there are frequent chocolate and cheese metaphors for fondu so...that's a win??). It is both a-okay and also super normal to feel a little overwhelmed or lost. One way to help is to make sure you introduce yourself to the teacher either before or after class. This can be super simple: "Hi, I'm [name] and this is [my first time taking a dance class/my first class in a long time/etc]." This helps the teacher get to know you and provides an opportunity both to see if they feel the class is right for you and to ask for help on any steps that were particularly challenging or confusing that day.

okay I'm stopping there but seriously pls feel free to holler if you have questions or anything else comes to mind!! i am the Anti-Gatekeeper of Ballet i want everyone to try this shit (with the appropriate safeguarding beforehand so as to be better protected against the various in-field issues and uhhhh quirks of the art)

also here is an article with things to know before your first class! i confess i skimmed it but it seemed like a starting point?

ON TO RUNNING

this feels like a good time to admit that while I am very enthusiastic and very excited to help/provide info on these things, I've been doing both ballet and running since i was. a child. and so am not actually a great resource on starting out because my brain was basically wrinkle-free mush when i did but ANYWAY what we lack in knowledge we make up in being So Excited about getting to talk about this shit

The number one thing I would say about running is extremely counter to my entire existence but: don't jump in 100% of the way at the start. Going too hard too early is the number one way to get injuries (hi chronic tendinitis, my old friend).

The number two thing is please for the love of god get running shoes if you really want to get into running. They are expensive, but a) it is much more expensive to fuck up your feet/knees/hips/back from running in shoddy shoes and b) I am extremely skeptical about the quality of the average person's general shoes and even if you don't wind up doing tons of running, they'll save you pain if you wear them for like. walking. and shit. Also they come in fun colors so that's a win. Anyway, if you can, try to get to an actual running store and have them fit you properly for your first pair. As with most things, you can try to guesstimate based on suggestions/lists online but it's a large enough purchase and important enough for your health that I would recommend not doing that until you at least have a stronger sense of what you need/want in your shoes. A fitter goes a long way towards making sure you don't drop $100 on shoes that tear your feet apart. bc that's what pointe shoes are for not running shoes!

Aside from shoes* (and socks*), I think a lot of running gear is...pretty subjective? Like sure, having basic athletic clothes is a good place to start, but the specifics are really up to you. I still run in shit from middle school, other people I know run only in high tech fancy ass shit. you do you boo

*technically also subjective but we're not getting into that here

Once you are, presumably, dressed and shod, my other recommendation is: fartleks. Both because they're funny to say and also because they're a great and versatile training method. A fartlek is, essentially, a run where you switch up your speed periodically (I'm sure there's a more technical definition somewhere but like hello it's 1 AM and i have lost control of this response). For starting out, I'd recommend trying to do a 1:1 or 1:2 run:walk ratio. That can be running 1 minute and then walking 1-2, it can be running for 5 minutes and walking for five. No one is actually keeping time. The idea is basically to incrementally increase your amount running while providing your body with lower-impact walking breaks, which are still exercising your legs/core/etc. and lungs. As you continue to do these a couple times a week, you'll gradually build strength and endurance which will enable you to do longer/faster runs.

Like dance, and most things at the start especially, running can kind of suck. Don't get me wrong I love it and think it's great but it takes a while to build strength and endurance and get to just run as opposed to making yourself run. Getting through the slog stage is often easier if you associate it with something you like: for instance, go for a run at your favorite time of day (with considerations for safety), have a special playlist of fun songs just for running or a podcast you like for it, or run a route you really like (to a favorite park or along a fun sidewalk, etc).

I also recommend getting into the habit of telling someone when you're going on a run and where you're going/about how long you think it'll take. If you have a running buddy (highly recommend), this is less important but it's a good habit for safety. Whether it's rolling your ankle or getting lost and winding up in the middle of very featureless corn fields, you never know when you're going to want to have someone ready to come pick you up.

You can go into a whole rabbit hole on running form and the real nitty gritty but I'm definitely not qualified to speak on that and also wouldn't be much help from here. I will say that, in general, I've found that the more relaxed you can be while running, the better. Places that tend to hold tension include your hands (instead of holding them in fists, try to shake them out and envision a heavy grapefruit or pomegranate held loosely in your hands) and neck/shoulders (try to think of dropping your shoulders and letting them swing naturally from the socket).

Also if you have the option between running on soft surfaces (dirt, grass, etc.) as opposed to hard (concrete, sidewalks, etc.), soft surfaces reduce impact on your joints (but may also be uneven/etc., so be safe).

And now a Runner's World article

oh: if you feel a tightness in your chest while running, a feeling like you can't fully exhale/inhale, have wheezing/rasping breaths, and/or a dry cough after running. that is asthma. pls don't do a me and wait almost a decade to get that checked out

[alumort]

at first my job was sooo frustrating but they promoted me from customer service to medical and i actually like it now LOL i even have fun! i dont find it as a chore as before xd

for context im a medical spanish-english interpreter and theres many funny tales, cant go too deep bc of hippa(and bc i literally forgot when these happened too XD) but some are:

me helping out a woman answer the personal info questions for her insurance, she saying her pronoun is "ella"(she/her) and being in auto mode, instead of saying she/her i said "ella" in spanish. the three of us laughed

i had to do a dial out to an old lady, tried 4 times but she didnt reply. client went "can you help me write an email" so hence began a funny scene where i translated the message, and helped her spell it (example- radiology in spanish is radiologia, so id say "radiology but with an i and an a at the end instead of a y" and things like that)

a woman said her husband gave her a cookie. in a latam country(idk which one bc i struggle telling some accents/dialects apart if theyre not from countries neighboring argentina), "cookie" in that context meant that her husband hit her

older people LOVE chitchat but im not allowed to chitchat... tho if i think they Need To Talk or that they just need to relax, i do. they love to ask where im from and one of em even said i sound like a machine; argentinians are the italians of latam and we sound Italian (bc of lots of italian immigration), but i prefer to use a more neutral voice and dialect so more people can understand me. LITERALLY EVERYONE IS SHOCKED WHEN I TELL THEM IM ARGENTINIAN bc i sound like a machine when working.

related to the above, an old man was happy to hear i could work from home and help. and that i have a job bc everyone is aware of the Disaster that my country is in rn. thank you, kind old man!

another man excitedly telling me he wanted to be a french-spanish interpreter! so i told him that he might have luck, but he had to look up online.

my neutral ass voice and dialect literally help ppl calm down xD

i'm still amazed at the amount of people who have diabetes/get pregnant like. theres not been a single day since i got promoted that i havent received both a diabetes and a pregnancy-related call

when i worked in customer service and told people to have a nice day after i was over with interpreting, people were always shocked... i feel so bad bc thats a sign on how shitty people are to customer service employees in usa xd

USA INSURANCES ARE SO CONFUSING AND SCUMMY????????

in the almost 7 months ive been working here only 1 person asked me how i was before starting to translate lol but everyone is nice now that im on medical ^_^

i still confuse a, e, and i when people spell them out to me. PLEASE SAY A AS IN APPLE, E AS IN ECHO, I AS IN ISLAND...... SAVE ME

latine people say god bless you so much LMAO and theyre so thankful to me for helping em out. ive been blessed by god at least a hundred times now

thats all i can think of rn xd it is fun now

[llendrinall]

Hispanism in OFMD

Hispanic representation in OFMD is very well done. I won’t say it’s the show that does it best because there are many other shows out there, but it certainly stands out. So I thought I would write something like a primer to appreciate the good work and maybe help with fic writing.  For each episode I’m transcribing (but not translating or it will be too long) all the Spanish, as well pointing fun things.

Episode 1

Olu: “Oye, te traigo comida”.

Kudos to Samson Kayo for his correct pronunciation. Too often, actors will mangle the Spanish to the point that it is unrecognizable or they will be so focused on making it sound right that they forget it should be acted. Samson delivers the line naturally.  

Spanish is weird in how one can address another person. There is formal (usted), informal (tú), archaic (vos, os) and the Argentinian brand (vos squared). Here they use the informal “tú” which is common in modern Spanish but still shows a certain degree of familiarity. In the 18 century this form would be extremely intimate. 

Episode 2

In the diary, left page, Jim writes “me asegure que el [h]ombre que mató a mi familia pagará con sangre”. There are some spelling mistakes, mostly accents, as well as the missing h-. Lovely detail. Jim is more literate than the rest of the crew, but still miles away from Lucius. It shows that while Jim received more education than most, it’s still lacking.  (For more on literacy check this post).

Diary, right page: “Día 28 a la fuga. Debido al alto precio de mi cabeza, estoy atrapado en este disfraz, en una prisión de mi propia creación. El pecio de la venganza es muy alto. Pero aquí estoy, al borde de la cordura, sudando hasta mis supuestos cojones.” Woa, so Jim speaks of themselves with –o which can be either masculine or neutral, rather than the –a for feminine. Interesting choice, when in the same paragraph they speak of their lack of balls. 

Episode 3

Lots of things in this episode! I’m putting most of Jim’s lines together and then explaining some stuff.

Jim: “Ese bastardito caught me unawares.”; “¡Cállate hombrecito!”; “Me tienes hasta el–” (this is said while Lucius begs not to go back to the trunk, so I can’t quite catch all of it).

Jim: “She did! Estaba ahí, clarita, on Stede’s stupid fucking nose!”; “You are pushing your luck, hombrecito!”; “Jiménez. ¿Qué pasa?”

 People focus a lot on the fact that Spanish is a gendered language (like all romance languages) but this isn’t such a defining trait. What really identifies Spanish is how much it likes to use suffixes to provided nuance.

(A suffix is a morpheme added at the end of the word to change its nature. Examples in English are the –s to make a plural or –tion to make a noun). Now Spanish gets all hot over suffixes. To give a quick example, if we take “rojo” (red) we can have: rojillo (small and affectionate), rojito (even more affectionate, maybe not so small), rojazo (very big or intense, not affectionate but not derisive), rojuzco (not nice, not complete), rojucho (not nice and possibly sick), rojeras (derisive while also affectionate, somehow).

Where am I getting with this? Jim consistently refers to Lucius as “hombrecito” and “bastardito” which is a mostly affectionate diminutive. This means that Jim doesn’t consider Lucius much of a threat, but also, out of all the suffixes options -ito is not one charged with contempt, far from it.  

“Bastardo” is not that common as an insult and it comes a bit soft (pendejo o cabrón would be more appropriate and much harsher) but it would be understood by English speakers. Since Jim is a Floridian it makes sense that they would have linguistic interferences. Later, Jim calls Alfeo “pendejo” which is much stronger, so, again, Jim refers to Lucius in the softest of terms while also insulting him.

 Jim’s name is Bonifacia Jiménez. Two things about this.

The name: Bonifacia is kind of an ugly lower class name that was never in fashion. Funnily enough, the male version is way more common than the female, although still not pretty. A baby would be named Bonifacio either because it runs in the family (to honor a grandparent or parent) or because it is the saint of the day they were born. In case anyone needs Jim’s birthday: June 5th.  

The surname: Jiménez, one I two E. You can find it as “Jimenes” sometimes, but never, ever, Jiminez. Spanish culture has always been very anxious about surnames so women never, ever, change their surname. In some contexts, if they married someone important, they might use something like: Name Surname of Husband’s surname (Bonifacia Jimenez de Boodhari) but they wouldn’t drop their own family name. Children receive both surnames (Father + Mother) and in everyday life they may use just one, to shorten things, but in legal documents they will use both. This is to say that we still don’t know Jim’s full name, we are missing their mom’s.

Beautiful detail: they included the accent over the –e- in the dagger’s carved handle. Jiménez.

 Whoever though of naming Jackie’s husband “Alfeo de la Vaca” is a genius. It sounds like a Spanish name, but it is not. Alfeo is close to Alfredo, an actual name, but by shortening it they underline the sound “el feo” (the ugly one). I have never seen “de la Vaca” (of the cow) as a surname, but there is “Vaca” and “Cabeza de vaca” (Cow’s head) so it doesn’t sound wrong. Altogether, Jackie married someone called Ugly from the Cow.

 Roach has Berber inspired tattoos. All sides of the Mediterranean have been in permanent contact with each other, but especially in the 17-18th centuries there was a lot of traffic of goods and people. I don’t want to type all the historical background, but it is pretty likely that Roach is familiar with Spanish culture, either because he has been in Spanish territories or because he has met Spanish communities in Turkish/Ottoman territory. The tapas are an accurate representation (although most Spaniards would say those are “pinchos” or “raciones” rather than tapas) up to the presentation itself, like the clay dish Geraldo holds. Stede is wrong: “tapas” does not mean little plates but “lids”.

 This is very trivial, but the word “pirate” entered relatively late in the Spanish lexicon. The Spanish soldier’s line (“así tratamos a los piratas”) echoes nicely with Alma’s line, but at the time Spaniards would’ve most likely say “corsarios”.

 Bald Soldier: “Filtry scum. Anda y vete a comerte una mierda por ahí.” (Wow, Don Bald Soldier, that was crass).

Jim: “Felicidades. Cara de culo”. Jim’s choice of insults is really something.

 The Spanish captain is Nacho Vigalondo, who directed this episode.

 Episode 4

Not much Spanish in this ep.

Ed’s assertion that the Spaniards die dramatically is probably right and God is mentioned often in common speech. However, in Spain (not so in Latin American where they have some semblance of piety and respect) it is very common to say “me cago en Dios” (I poo on God). I love to think that what Ed took as cries of “I beg to God” included some “I poop on God”.

 Jim: “¿Qué te pasa?”; “Dios bendito. Look everyone…”

Buttons: “Hola”.

 Spaniards would absolutely understand some ecclesiastical Latin. Not enough for an in depth conversation, but enough to make some basic requests at least.

 Spanish man in grey shirt: “Mira.”

Spanish captain with really good outfit: “No puede ser. ¿un faro?”

Spanish man in grey shirt: “Es un faro. ¡Cambiad el rumbo!”

Someone in the background: “[la otra] vela.” (not sure about the first words)

Spanish captain with really good outfit: “Me has vuelto a ganar, Barbanegra.”

 All this is said with the Spanish accent, in contrast to Jim and Nana, who have Caribbean accents.

 Episode 5

Nothing. No Jim in this episode.

 Episode 6

Nothing. Jim is very quiet in this episode. Although, during the duel, they mimic some moves for Stede to copy. This has nothing to do with Hispanism, I just think it’s neat.

 Episode 7

So much in this ep! I am including all the lines first and then the explanations.

Jim: “¿Qué te pasa?” … “Cálmate.”

 Nana: Sí.

Jim: Nana, soy yo.

 Nana: Me gusta. ¿Es tu marido o están viviendo en pecado?

Jim: Él habla español, Nana.

Nana: Muy bien, ay, muy, muy bien.

 Nana: Eres una decepción.

Jim: La vida es la decepción. ¿No fue eso lo que me enseñaste?

 Jim’s dad: “vete, vete, vete, ay…”; “¿Puedo ayudarle?”; “Esta es nuestra tierra.”

Alfeo: “Qué buenas naranjas, eh.”

Jim’s dad: “Toma todo lo que quieras.” (Huh, Jiménez goes from formal you in the last line to informal you here. Is this why he was killed? Was Alfeo offended?)

Alfeo: ¿En serio? (stabs)

 Nana: “Vamos.”; “Adiós.”; “Lo siento, hijo. La vida es dolor.”

Olu: “La vida es dolor.”

 The siete gallos. “Ser gallito”, literally “to be a cock”, figuratively “to be cocky”. Good name for a group of bandits.

The convent.  From the habit, it seems Nana is a Benedict nun. Benedictines are supposed to stay put in their convent and be self-sufficient and independent. Their motto is “ora et labora”, pray and work. They famously make really good liquor.

Nana. Not a typical Spanish name, but it could be a nickname. Nuns used to change their names upon taking their vows so Nana can be a nickname of her old name or her nun name (like, Natividad, Nazareth or something like that). Nana may be a random murderous nun, a relative of Jim, or their actual grandmother. In Catholicism, being married and having a family is no obstacle to later becoming a nun/monk/priest.

Is Spanish Jackie Spanish? No. If Spanish Jackie existed, she was of French and Haitian descent. I don’t know why they call her Spanish either. Is it the red?

 Episode 8

Jim as priest: “Adelante, m’ijo.” (A contraction of “mi hijo” my son).

Jim: “¿En serio? ¿Geraldo?!

 Episode 9

Nothing. There is no Jim, probably because they would have murdered Badminton with one single hit. We sit sadly like Olu.

 Episode 10

Jim: “¡Carajo!” (When Lucius walks on them); “¡Vete hombrecito!”. (Aww, it’s definitely and endearment now).

 And that’s it. Overall, all of Jim’s line are thoughtfully chosen and their insults vary depending on Jim’s respect and appreciation of the person. And it is possible that Alfeo murdered Señor Jiménez because he was too familiar.

[fahatesyou]

Explicit/Sexual Content (Max/Daniel)

Part 3.

Prev related works 1 , 2

Tw: drugs, cheating [not between them]

Daniel snorts the second line like it's nothing. He can feel the tingles running down his spine, the electric shocks going off inside his face muscles. It's good, really fucking good. Lando'll probably get twenty-five years for it when he gets busted, because there is no way this isn't pure as it can be. The only thing close to this that he had tasted was back in Vegas, when some Argentinian DJ invited him to his suite in an awkward effort to get inside Daniel's pants. 

It's so good he almost forgets about the boy next to him. Max's bare ass on display, his skinny jeans around his ankles, facing the stall, hands clenched by his sides as he waits for Daniel to finish. Daniel's already on his knees. 

It's not the most sanitary way to snort coke, but Max insisted that they couldn't go to Daniel's place or a hotel. They had to do it here, he said, because she has lots of friends everywhere and someone could see them. 

He wipes his nose clean and licks the credit card, sniffing for one last time the tiny dust left on the metal surface. He can kind of see his reflection on it, a blurry image of himself. Max is starting to move, his patience running out. He's polite about it, doesn't say anything to Daniel when he stares at his reflection some more while he lets the real high kick in. Just parts his legs a bit more and bites his bottom lip, his neck so red it must burn to the touch. 

Daniel closes his eyes for a second, hears his own heart thumping inside his chest, it's so fucking good he can't help but chuckle, feeling euphoric.

Lando never disappoints. 

"Daniel," Max says. Daniel forces his eyes open and nods, dragging his knees until he's close to him, trying his best to focus on Max and not the itch around his nose, the involuntary spasms in his fingers. 

"Yeah, babe. I'm here." Daniel slurs, face tight and tense. Max is a sight to see. He's so pale and smooth, his ass fuller than any other part of his body, baby fat lingering here and there. Daniel can see him clenching, the shy arch of his back growing as he squirms more and more in eagerness, trying to get closer to Daniel's mouth. "So fucking pretty everywhere, baby. " Daniel says, or thinks, he can't really tell at this point. 

He must have said it out loud because Max whimpers something he can't comprehend. Daniel grabs him by the hips, hard, pushing both hands until he can see Max's ass jiggle, taking a bite of the fullness there and leaving the marks of his teeth behind. Max whines, jerking himself frantically while Daniel keeps sucking and biting Max's soft muscles.

The sounds Max makes play in the background like a song, beautiful and comforting as Daniel loses himself in Max's skin and turns it pink with the rash of his stubble. Daniel lets go, reaching for the almost empty baggie resting on the floor, giving it a squick final sniff and licking the inside of it for what's left, so he can be able to fully focus and not worry it'll fly away once he's nose deep into Max.

Max's hand stops.

"Daniel." He begs, his breath agitated and body shaking against the wall. Daniel touches him again, kissing his hip twice for reassurance, letting Max's nervous fingers tangle in his hair as he pushes Daniel closer.

"Sorry, baby," Daniel apologizes.

He spreads Max with his thumbs and licks over the pink muscle, sucking harder than he should until he can feel Max's leg tremble and see the way his full balls go up inside himself and almost disappear from his sack as he tries not to come. Max is very vocal, has always been each time Daniel fucked him, whimpering and whining when Daniel's tongue gets more and more inside, riding Daniel's face and pulling at his curls until his scalp feels tender. Daniel loses himself in Max, kisses and bites around his hole and presses a finger under Max's balls to hear him yell his name as he comes all over the graffited stall.

"Oh my God," Max moans. Daniel can see him stroking his pretty cock in agony, he's still coming, making a thick white mess around his fingers, the sticky sound filling Daniel's ears as he waits for Max to stop trembling, his left cheek resting on Max's ass, enjoying the view of his youthful pleasure. It takes some time but it finally ends, Max heavy breathing as he squeezes the base of his cock, protecting the tip from any more contact.

Daniel chuckles, pulling and helping Max to sit on his lap. He comes down easily, resting all his weight on Daniel, chest heaving. Daniel brings Max's fingers to his mouth and licks them clean and Max squirms at the sight. His face is ruined, a deep blush going down his chest, lips wet with spit and obscenely plump.

Daniel grabs him by the neck and kisses him, he yelps, surprised, but rapidly joins him as Daniel starts sucking his tongue. He sneaks a hand under Max's shirt to pinch one of his puffy nipples, making Max squeal.

Daniel's touch trails down until he cups Max gently, feels how he's still half hard, his small dick messy and pretty, red and hot everywhere. 

Daniel almost forgets about his own hard on until Max starts moving in circles over him, trying his hardest to make Daniel cum inside his pants. It doesn't take that much, even under the coke haze Daniel is in, he ruts against Max's bare ass and jerks him off harshly, finishing with a groan and milking Max's cock for a second time. They sit there for a while, Daniel hugs him close and Max doesn't complain, melting on Daniel's chest, sucking Daniel's fingers until they are clean. He lets them there, getting them wet inside Max's mouth, watching Max suck harder every time he tries to pull them out. 

"You're so fucking amazing," Daniel sighs, kissing the skin under Max's ear. Max shakes his head and Daniel pushes his fingers deeper into Max's throat; he doesn't even gag. "You are. So good for me every time. Shit." 

Daniel has to kiss him again, it's too hard not to when Max stares at him like he's the fucking sun. Like he's not fucking him for Lando’s grade A coke and because he's a creepy cunt. 

People use the stalls around them, Daniel can hear muffled voices, the music louder each time someone opens the door, sees some pair of shoes as a guy probably shits next to them. He closes his eyes again, drowning in Max's warm body, relaxed and beautiful over him. Daniel mouths over Max's hair and fixes it softly, gently rubbing his sides and soaking in the last moments they'll have together before someone knocks for them to get the fuck out. 

"Daniel?," Max says, voice a little wavery and unsure. "Daniel, can we— can we dance, before you leave?"

"Here?" Daniel asks, a bit far away from reality but present enough to hear Max's giggle. He giggles too, inhaling Max's perfume and trailing more and more kisses over Max's neck and face. 

"Outside," Max says, he grips  Daniel's hand, forcing his fist open until their palms touch. "If you want, of course, I don't have to go home yet." 

Home.

Max's home. Where he has his beautiful girlfriend and his little family, where he lives with two cats and stores his trophies in perfectly organized shelves. Max has a home. A home where he doesn't have to take two planes and cross the whole ocean to get to.

"I have to work." Daniel mutters, "Sorry." 

Daniel does have to work, that's why he's here, that what he's been doing for ten years in this place. Cyril is probably looking for him right now. Daniel has to wait for the DJ, be friendly and charming to him and search the floor for some girls that look easy but hot enough; so the guy wants to come back and play again without charging Cyril double next time. When he drops another song and thinks of himself as the new next hot shit.

"Oh, of course. ." Max says, no longer touching Daniel's hand, stiff as he gets up from Daniel's lap, struggling with his hunched up jeans around his ankles. "Thanks."

Daniel watches him fix his clothes, he's not even wearing underwear, the reason he's here is more obvious as Daniel gets his senses back.

"No problem, mate." Daniel smiles, taking Max's offering hand. "Part of the job." He jokes.

Max doesn't laugh. He stares at Daniel and then scans the floor, he's looking at the empty plastic bag, he nods again.

"Yes, of course."

Daniel wants to pull him into his lap again. Get his finger inside Max's mouth so he gets sloppy and happy as he was a minute ago. Daniel reaches, weak and jerky, just has to touch Max one more time so he can go on with his life. So he can focus and to his job, get enough money for his over due rent. Max flinches, but Daniel's hand is firm, kissing Max's lips quick and hard. "I'm joking."

"It wasn't funny." Max mumbles.

"Yeah, I'm just too high. I'm sorry." Daniel says, practically speaking over Max's mouth. This time is Max the one who kisses first, hand's gripping Daniel's shirt until they're completely over each other, making out desperately, stopping only when Daniel runs out of breath.

"Next Monday, I'm free. The office is in the back, my boss is leaving to Paris." Daniel says, not really knowing why. But Max smiles this time, his grin too big for his face, eyes wrinkling. He's such a fucking kid, dear God, Daniel thinks.

"Okay." Max beams, Daniel has to kiss him again in order to not say something even more stupid. "Next Sunday is good."

Daniel doesn't ask but he's sure this is no longer what it was. He knows Max will show up by himself, that this is not just some horny fun night.

He wonders what Max will say when he gets back and sees her there, sleeping perfectly on their bed like some stupid movie scene. It's not good, it's not a good thing to do. Because Max obviously doesn't have an idea of what life is like, but they do. Him and her know it, Daniel could see it on her face. He doesn't feel bad for her, but that doesn't make this better. Doesn't make Daniel the better person. But then again...

Who gives a fuck?

"Let's dance, yeah?, fuck Cyril, he'll be better off me, anyways."

[koutarostiddies]

Ready, Set, Serve

Part 7. of The Beginning of a Beautiful Thing

Summary:

It’s game day and thanks to a bet the losers buy the winners food which leads everyone to Onigiri Miya.

Bokuto figures that now is a good time to confess, except he doesn’t know how to do it. Thanks to a certain Argentinian setter’s idea, Bokuto decides to use reader as “practice” for his confession.

CW: Suggestive, Pet name, pet name Princess and Babe are used, Oikawa (haha he’s not a warning but I just felt like adding him here)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt 6

Atsumu and Reader

Bokuto and Reader

“When is a good time to tell someone you love them?” The sudden question sent Hinata into a coughing fit as he nearly choked on the piece of meat he had stuffed into his mouth.

“Or like how do I even know if I’m in love?” Out of all the questions Bokuto could’ve asked, no one expected that to ever be one of them. And despite the text exchange you had only an hour prior, even you weren’t expecting to hear him ask it in front of everyone.

“You’re seeing someone? How come you never told us?” Hinata asked after recovering from his near death experience.

“It’s only been a couple of months.” Bokuto dropped his head as he wrung his hands. 

“How about you practice on y/n?” Oikawa shot you a mischievous grin. What a menace. 

“What?!” You glared at the setter as you watched your boyfriend have a near panic attack at the suggestion. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Atsumu grumbled knowing full well he didn’t want to see his teammate confess his love for you, even under the guise of practice. 

“Maybe it’s not a bad idea,” Osamu rested his head on his fist as he looked at you with a smirk that rivaled Oikawa’s.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want, Bo.” But it was too late, he had already started to make his way to you. You felt your body heat up as he reached for your hand. “May I?” The mood shifted as he looked into your eyes. In that moment it was as if your surroundings had melted away. No longer did you feel everyone’s gaze on you as you took your boyfriend’s hand, now it was only Bokuto’s gaze that mattered. Bokuto pulled to your feet–a little too hard causing you to fall against his chest. “Sorry,” he whispered as you straightened yourself out. “It’s ok, Bo.” The tension started to build as he reached for your face. On instinct you leaned into it, smiling as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “I’m not good with words, I’m not even sure I’m good with anything outside of volleyball.”

“You’re pretty good at eating me out,” you whispered loud enough for only him to hear, causing him to cough and turn his face. You couldn’t help but giggle as he started to stammer the rest of his speech.

“Um, I know you’ve told me I’m very emotionally intelligent, kind, welcoming and all around loving. I hope you know I see the same in you.” Atsumu scoffs at Bokuto’s remark earning him a kick from his brother and an elbow to the ribs from Sakusa. “Geez, sorry.”

“Man, this is harder than I thought.” His hand started to drop from your face as he lost confidence.

“Bo, I’m here. Look at me. Trust me, whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.” Bokuto stood there wide eyed, his heart thundered in his chest knowing that you had offered him a modicum of hope.

“Babe?” He reached up once more, his thumb traced your bottom lip as he looked into your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” your chest tightened as he cupped your cheek and leaned in.

“Y/N, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me it would hurt?” His breath ghosted over your lips. You could hear his small sniffles as he began to tear up.

“I love you too, Kou.” Before Atsumu’s protests could even register, Bokuto kissed you. His kiss was slow and careful, much gentler than your first kiss. He held you close as your kiss deepened. Doubt no longer had a home in his heart, he found solace in your arms and love in your every touch. He could handle the occasional ache in his heart when he was away from you or the guys, if it only meant that once you were reunited that everything felt right again; that he’d feel whole once more. He’d do anything for you and the guys, anything, and now he knew it was mutual.

You found yourself lost in his kiss as it deepened, everyone’s voices merely low murmurs in the distance.

“Babe.”

“Mm,” you hummed against his lips as your fingers raked through his hair.

“We should probably save the rest for later. I think everyone’s staring.” Bokuto gave you one final kiss before pulling away. By the time you looked around you, you were met with a disgruntled Atsumu, an unfazed Sakusa, a shell shocked Hinata and a smug Oikawa.

“Yeah, guess we should.” As soon as you took your seats Atsumu cleared his throat. “Well, now that I lost my appetite, I think I’ll be heading home.”

“Was that all it took? Shoulda had ‘em kiss right away.” Osamu teased as his brother stood up. 

“Yeah, well I’m just glad everyone knows now. Swear Bokkun was ready to explode if he didn’t tell everyone.”

“Was not,” Bokuto pouted.

Hinata and Oikawa were the last to leave; Oikawa preferring to stay a while longer just to gloat some more. Hinata was full of questions and Bokuto was more than willing to entertain him. Suna smiled as he looked on, “He’s really happy, isn’t he?”

“I mean it was weighing on him. Hey, did he ever say anything to you guys?” You looked at both men and they chuckled. “Yeah, he blurted it out before we headed out. Tell you one thing, sure wasn’t as romantic.” Osamu sighed as he watched his boyfriend chatting away with Hinata and Oikawa.

“I don’t know, his kiss was just as good as the one he gave Princess,” Suna traced his lips as he recalled their kiss.

“I think it’s time we head home and celebrate, what do you think?” Osamu stood up and started to clear the table.

“Yeah, I think I need to relieve some tension.”

Oikawa and Reader

Tags: @sugaslilsugabby @daddyissuesmademe @fantasycantasy

[cazzyf1]

My favourite quotes/quotes I found interesting from Niki Lauda - The Art and Technicalities of Grand Prix Driving:

"Völker: Nightmare days of crashes like 1975 Barcelona Grand Prix or the 1976 Nürburgring, when you nearly lost your life, must surely leave a scar on your mind that's so deep that you can't stop thinking about it for a long time afterwards?

Lauda: It shakes me up, it does affect me, but it doesn't unbalance me. I can't allow it to overwhelm me, just as I must not be afraid or worry about it.

Völker: But no man can control his emotions like fear, can he?

Lauda: It's just a matter of will-power. You've got to develop a strong will and stubborn head, as well.

Völker: this stubbornness - does one have it, or does it have to be developed first?

Lauda: You've got it already and you can cultivate it. I can be insanely obstinate and immense egoist as well." - page 15

-

"Völker: Don't you need to do a kind of mental gymnastics to keep such 'evil thoughts' at bay?

Lauda: No. You learn to switch off. I throw a switch in my brain, then I'm a racing driver and nothing else. A racing driver without feelings and hence without fear. Then you drive, and nothing 'occurs' to you. The big problem comes in finding how long it takes to switch back on again - in other words to change back from racing driver to human being again.

Völker: how long does it take you?

Lauda: Relatively little time compared to other drivers. But things do happen that I wouldn't normally do. You meet people over-taunt from the atmosphere of the race, and you don't easily see eye to eye with them. For instance, there was this track official in Canada who panicked when I flew off the track and just kept shouting 'master-switch'. He wanted me to switch off the master switch. I had everything under control, and I told him quite calmly I just wanted to get my helmet off first. At that, the man went off his rocker, grabbed at the car and of course, switched on the fire-extinguisher instead, and that went off. I was so bloody mad I thumped the man with my crash helmet - something I'd never normally so and I'm deeply sorry to have done, but my own mental switch was still pointing 'racing' and not to 'Niki'. Or after the Argentinian Grand Prix: I'm coming out of the drivers quarters with Mariella, and somebody pulls me round and shouts: 'Photo' so I jumped on him as well." - page 18

-

"Völker: Even so you're in the nation's showcase and you must have some influence on your admirers. Do you act accordingly?

Lauda: I try to behave decently. It's easy enough for me as I was well brought up and I'm used to good manners. I won't attract attention by rowdy behaviour or drunknness because I would never behave rowdily and I hardly touch alcohol. And if the journalists go wild because I kiss Princess Grace's hand all I can say is: I thought nothing of it, it struck me as perfectly normal to kiss her hand as that's the way I have been taught." - page 19

-

"Lauda: Monte Carlo is the worst. After the race you get claustrophobic. We had a steel rail left and right of our pits, holding back thousands of Italians whose only desire was to shake my hand, hug me, or pull me apart from sheer excitement. If you don't watch out you'll get torn apart. I had to put up with things there that anybody else would define as bodily assault. For instance somebody snatches my cap. Don't get me wrong - I couldn't care less about the cap, I've given away hundreds of them to people who ask me for them. But in that instant when somebody brutally tugs off your cap you just see red - what gives that bastard the right to treat me like that? Maybe it's the highest token of admiration, I don't care: to me it's assault and theft. In a situation like that at Monaco your only bet is to scream for help and that's just what I did. The mechanics just drove through the mob with a van and literally liberated me." - page 21

-

"Völker: So it doesn't boost your inner ego when people applaud?

Lauda: No, it just embarrasses me." - page 22

-

"Völker: What part does your wife play in your career?

Lauda: I try to keep my career and private life separate as far as possible. In my job that's not always 100 per cent possible, so Marlene does get drawn into the hurly-burly. And she's magnificent at it: and she's a halo and a support to me without coercing me in any way, and that's something that means a lot to me. I found Marlene's attitude after my bad Nürburgring crash in August 1976 particularly splendid: any other wife would have taken the opportunity to talk me out going on racing. Not Marlene! It's largely thanks to her that I got back on my feet again, and there was never a world from her about my giving it all up." - page 24

-

"It is a good thing when my team mates and I are of the same build, so we can swap cars without having to make any kind of adjustments. The bucket seat is adjusted to fit the driver once and for all - and obviously a Hans-Joachim Stuck would not find enough room in a Ferrari marked with the Number 11." - page 50

-

"The oil temperature must not exceed 120 degrees. I did hit record temperature - I would prefer not to reveal just how high they went - at Monza in 1974 when a water hose coupling worked loose." - page 52

-

"We Ferrari men belong body and soul to our engines...I am no less affectionate than the others: I call each new enguine I get 'mio nuovo figlio' - my new son. I do not really care much for technology, but I always end up feeling something like a love-affair for my engine: for instance if I am careless and crash the gears I often feel like driving straight back to the pits and chucking up the whole game, I am so furious with myself." - page 63

-

"Interlagoes is the only Grand Prix track in the world that laves me with neck pains for two days afterwards. Once I found myself doing exercises two weeks before the races to strengthen my neck muscles." - page 127

-

"Monte Carlo: Victory, with knocking knees!" - page 152

-

"Paul Ricard: No problem. I managed to put myself across the finishing line before James Hunt, with a bit of effort." - page 153

-

"Hunt noticed of course that I had hit problems and that was just about the best moral tonic he could have hoped for, and he hounded me pitlessly. Just before the last lap fortune played into my hands a little - fortune in the person of John Watson. On the long straight he was in front of me and I knew: You've got to overtake him and then break whatever happens, so as to put him between Hunt and your car. This hair-raising manoeuver came off, and victory was mine." - page 153

-

"In what follows you will not hear much about emotions, and I think that is quite right too. The movie scenes of racing drivers going off to the start with thumping hearts, meaningful stares into the eyes of their beloved, twitching facial muscles and the like - there just is not any of that to be seen, at least not amongst the men who are really fast." - page 165

-

"As far as I myself am concerned, all I need are the very last few minutes before the race to collect my thoughts, to programme what I am going to do, to throw that switch and concentrate on the job in hand for the next two hours. And if people will not allow me these few moments - when I am already sitting in my car! - then I do tend to snap at them. There was an absolutely ridiculous scene just before the start of Monaco in 1974 - when I was already edgy enough as we had just had the whole circus with the swap over of starting places between Regazzoniand me: I was already sitting in my car, trying to put everything around me out of my mind, when a gaggle of Johnny Walker types in top hats waddled up, posed in front of the TV cameras, rabbitted on about something and roared with laughter - and put their hands on my Ferrari. This is when I blew up and brought my fist down on the fingers of one of them. To fly off the handle like that - in other words, to let your emotions get the better of you - is however one of the rare exceptions." - page 165

-

"So I drop back again like a good boy." - page 202

-

"By top class drivers I think of (in alphabetical order) Fittipaldi, Hunt, Peterston, Reutemann, Scheckter always, and Depailler, Javier, Regazzoni sometimes." - page 206

-

"Many drivers find they are bothered by sweat running into their eyes and inflating them (you cannot rub your eyes because of the visor) I have only heard about the problems, as I myself hardly perspire at all." - page 208

-

"Nature has given me a simple system that is in fact highly professional: because of my buck teeth it is an easy matter for me to breath out in a downward direction!" - page 210

-

"I am never going to let any more race managers blackmail me. There must not be anymore Barcelonas! I have got to say that I regard the men who allowed the race in Japan to proceed as lunatics." - page 220

-

"I am always being asked about 'my favourite race' or my 'favourite track' But I do not have a favourite track, and I do not want to begin thinking in terms of whether I like a particular track or not." - page 220

-

"In fact I was a bit of a physical weakling and I noticed it when I came to drive the Porsche 908 - my arms were not strong enough and I used to get tried very early on. So I made a concerted attack on this weakness; by going to the Fitness Center in Vienna's Kreuzgasse and going in for bodybuilding work there with dumb-bells and everything else they had. I gained twenty pounds in weight - which brought me up to my present ideal weight of 141 pounds (I am 5 feet 9 inches tall). Sometimes I may put on weight during the season to around 150 pounds, and I have to lose them again during the winter training season." - page 222

-

"What matters most for my physical well-being is sleep." - page 222

-

"What would be ideal would be to sleep right through the Monday and Tuesday after that." - page 222

-

"I pay far more attention to getting my proper ration of sleep, and I only go for a daily half-hour run when I do not feel tried any more. As there was scarcely a day in 1975 season that I got all the sleep I needed, I hardly went running at all." - page 222

-

"Obviously I try not to burn the candle at both ends. I do not smoke, never drink - expect for something very small if I am tempted, perhaps twice a year - and I am not a great party goer. On a race weekend I go to the usual Marlborough dinner, but that is all. Nor do I like to go out, it does not do anything for me. I think most of the other Grand Prix drivers like a 'healthy' life as I do, there are not any playboys amongst us - because if you are a playboy you just will not be up to the job. Perhaps in earlier years it was different: there were not so many tests and trials then, and you had more spare time between races. But not now." - page 222-227

-

"My own hobby sport is skiing, and I am quite good at it. But I never really lose my fear of breaking a leg. There is no escape clause in my contract with them, but even so I would not like to see Ferrari's faces if I turned up just before the season began, wearing one leg in plaster. So I make a point of skiing particularly slowly if I can. For a while I manage, then I find myself picking up speed again. What I never do, however, is go skiing if the visibility is poor - then my fear of injury gets the upper hand." - page 227

-

"There is a table-tennis outfit in a hall at our Fiorano test track, and the team go there for a game if we have time to kill. Not that it has done me any good, I am something of a rabbit at table tennis and easy meat for everybody else to beat. I have tried a bit of tennis - for instance in the tranquil days before South African Grand Prix at Kyalami ranch; I liked it a lot and I can well imagine I would like to take it up seriously if ever I should get enough time to do so." - page 227

-

"I have never been badly ill. Since I have been a professional, I have always taken great care not to catch a cold: from washing my hair, right down to the car's ventilation system - I adjust it so that it only gradually cools down. By and large my attitude to my body is this: I try to live sensibly. The doctors tell me that this is the only reason I managed to survive my crash on Nürburgring." - page 227-228

[sigmaleph]

@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

[tma-ficrec]

Five All Time Mod Recs

To start off this blog, we decided to submit ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known and show y’all our TMA top fic recs!

These are fics of very different premises and categories that stayed with us and soothed our souls. Feel free to ask for more recs (or more specific stuff) because we’re definitely not done. Enjoy!

Mod Ami:

Statement Ends  by @martivist 4k words. Jonmartin. Angst. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. S5 AU.

"Final statement of Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement given… I think it’s June? We haven’t done very well counting time since the days stopped. Summer 2019, call it that. Statement begins.

We’ve found a way to send them back where they came from. All of them."

Forty-some years after the apocalypse abruptly ends, the final acts of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood come to light.

Mod note: This fic... goddamit this fic. I read it halfway through s5 and I genuinely think this is one of the best endings the show could have had. It hit all the points Jonny made and then some. This fic is pain, yes, but the best kind.

Ninety Feet To Home by @judesstfrancis 33k words. Jonmartin. No Powers AU. Baseball Players AU. Fluff. Pining.

Jon isn’t really Martin Blackwood’s biggest fan. And he knows it’s a him problem, because it’s not like Blackwood is a terrible person or like he loses on purposes just to ruin Jon’s life, but he can’t help it. In his defense, if you were on a hot streak and the same person kept coming in and ruining it for you every single time, you'd harbor a bit of resentment towards them, too.

Mod note: I’m so obsessed with this AU that I broke my vow of not making fanart for TMA and made fanart of it. Yeah. Sue me. It’s the perfect levels of pining, ridiculousness and it brought me (an argentinian whose only baseball reference is the HSM musical number) tremendous joy. As the us-statians would say: home fucking run. ALSO, MARTIN BLACKWOOD IS LATINOOOOO.

Maybe not the stuff of legend by imperfectcircle. 14k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. S5 AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending.

Martin forgets slowly at first, and then all at once. One moment he's grasping at memories, desperate without knowing why to retain even a single image of an angry, scarred stranger saying incomprehensible things about eyes, and the next, nothing. He can't even remember what had him so anxious just now. A car alarm, probably, or a dog barking in the distance. He's always startled easily.

Mod note: I still quote it to myself from time to time. ‘’Martin, you ate the megalodon’’ makes me giggle and also terribly sad. This is an excellent way of exploring entities lore, as well as grief and hope. 

the garden of forking paths by @bibliocratic. 49k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending. Use of Spiral Doors.

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Mod note: I’m argentinian and the major element in this story is a Borgues book. OF COURSE IT’S HERE. This fic is an absolute ride and so so so beautiful - multiple universes and Jon and Martin doing the same thing over and over and over again, with hope of finding each other.

Family, Found  by Dribbledscribbles. Gen fic. 9k words. S4 Divergent. Canon Divergence. 

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

Mod note: Do you want to hit the Eye? Do you want all the Entities’s plans to be twarted by the power of found family? Do you want everyone who blamed Jon for everything in S4 to sit down and apologise? This is your fic.

Mod Ebby:

the apple of the eye by  gocrazygostupid. 2.8k words. Fluff. Lore speculation.

TELL ME, ARCHIVIST

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG?

i'm not sure. i don't really get the chance to listen to music

if i told you, what would you do with it?

Mod note: I am absolutely weak towards any fic that gives the Entities some form of sentience, no matter what canon said. Especially when these interactions are so surprisingly soft. 

I WOULD PLAY IT

I WOULD LISTEN

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by  imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow). 19k words. S4 Divergent. Canon divergence, in the space between 159-160

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

Mod note: Everytime I read this fic, I end up at least a little teary eyed. It’s not exactly happy, more bittersweet, considering, but I still love it.

Come Love This World (Come Hate It, Too) by cedarbranch. 3.3k words. Character Study, fluff and angst, spans s1-5. Canon Compliant. 

Jon never liked poetry, until Martin.

Mod note: Yes I am picking fics that personally came for my heart one way or another, not much else to say, besides that “it feels like loving you” haunts me still to this day, in a good way.

i love you, i'm glad i exist by kissyourlocalmoth. 1.7k words. Scottish safehouse period. Fluff.  Established relationship.

Martin was thinking of a poem. It’s name sat on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. It was a lovely one, too: something about how life felt easy now, at peace; how the small things felt like everything, a poem about… the importance of the little moments. These last few days had been like that, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself recently, and even Jon teased him about it sometimes, though he was hardly less giddy. He thought of the immense joy the little things brought him now, the mugs of tea they made for each other, how he would lay in their bed late at night staring at the ceiling, his love nestled against his chest, overflowing with so much contentment and fondness he did not know what to make of himself.

Mod note: Short and sweet, it was the first time I read that particular poem, and now it’s forever intertwined in my head with little scenes of jon and martin in the scottish safehouse before 160 happens.

exit wound by autoclaves. 3.1k words. Post-canon AU. Ending speculation.

Suppose there is a house on a hilltop. Suppose there is a story. There is always a story, and every universe is always expanding.

Mod note: I would’ve liked to tag this more, but it would probably spoil the twist it has. Reading back on it, the narration reminds me of the statement from 196, which I find fitting and a funny coincidence, considering. 

[wingingitonwheels]

Fear, risk and reward

“Please know I am quite aware of the hazards. I want to do it because I want to do it. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be but a challenge to others.” — Amelia Earhart

“Aren’t you worried about her going over there? I’ve seen the dark side of humanity so my starting point is that you can’t trust anyone…”

“You’re so brave!”

“You shouldn’t be doing this alone in Patagonia. People are bad…how will someone save you?”

It has taken me until today to realise that whilst I’ve seen mainly a few solo men, a few guys and mixed couples, and my large group of all male lawyers, at this point on the road, tomorrow crossing half way of the total length of Ruta 40, I haven’t seen one solo woman. That’s not to say women don’t do this kind of thing. Of note, Sarah Outen, Jenny Graham, Juliana Buhring and Rosie Swales, although not a cyclist, of recent times, she pulls her sleeping pod behind her as she runs. All of these people have had far more of a mission than me. Sarah, Jenny and Juliana Buhring cycled around the world, both Jenny and Juliana setting world records. Sarah also rowed the oceans in between over a number of years, broken up with returns to her home in the UK. In her book, “Dare to Do”, she repeats the same question people asked: “isn’t it dangerous being a woman on your own in such remote places?” And her response, most people are good, and you’re unlucky if something bad happens as a result of human intervention, or words to that effect. You could argue, like most things, the more you do of something, ride your bike, disappear into the wilderness, eat too much fat, smoke too many cigarettes, drink too much wine too frequently, play too many console games, sooner or later, you’ll be that statistic, that 0.01% chance that something that could go wrong DID go wrong, and people will say: “well, I said it would happen and it did” or “she had it coming”.

I don’t generally feel fear. The Argentinian lawyers tried to put the fear of God in me, describing how Argentina and in particular, Patagonian Desert were not safe for a solo woman, and in fact, outright dangerous. Be aware. Hide everything. When people from their own country describe it as corrupt, and particularly the law enforcement/police, you can’t help but question your own experience and potentially naivety. In the months of preparation for this trip, I looked up as many sources as I could find on crime and safety. There is a database called the Crime Index (CI). From this index, where governments report data, and based on information available in the public domain, countries are scored annually on various crime statistics. In South America right now, one country you shouldn’t visit is Venezuela. It scores as very high risk (in fact, worldwide in 2021, the highest) on the CI whilst Chile and Argentina are lower risk. Looking deeper into the data, this and other sites describe where crime occurs and what types of crime, which is in these two countries at least, the cities and suburbs. Non-residents are also surveyed on what their perception of safety is - “how safe do you feel?” And a score is generated. Again, these figures are more likely to be drawn from experience in cities and tourist hot spots than the wilderness in the Patagonian Desert.

My daughter was so worried when I told her about my trip, she couldn’t bare to talk about it. I believe she honestly thinks there will be a gang of banditos waiting to ambush me at the top of any climb. There are places where I am planning to visit should borders allow, Bolivia.In Peru, there are certainly trouble hot spots, and kidnap, robbery and extortion are more likely, with occasional impromptu protests thrown in for good measure.

So with all these “facts” and possible outcomes, the worst being either that I die or equally as bad, I’m somehow left maimed for the rest of my life, I have to rely on my inbuilt risk radar, and the research I’ve done.

Going back to the CI, the UK is as you’d expect on this list. Let’s consider this CI is “gospel”. The worst place in the world to visit in 2021 was Venezuela and the safest is Qatar, of the 135 countries for which there is data and Venezuela first, UK are positioned 65th, Argentina 18th and Chile 41st. Bolivia are 35th, Peru are 13th, Ecuador are 38th and Columbia 32nd. I should also mention USA who are 56th and Canada at 82nd, as ideally, these are all countries I want to visit, with Paraguay and Uruguay as back up plans. Of particular interest for the UK is the very specific description of risk relating to terrorism. “”. It would seem that any visitor coming to the UK should be on high alert for terrorism, as it’s likely to happen. Really? Let’s look at the facts…

Considering fear and bravery. I’m lucky that fear doesn’t stop me from doing most things. Fear is something I feel when things are out of my control. I don’t consider that I’m brave, as I’m not scared and don’t fear what I plan on doing. I think you’re brave if you are afraid to do something but find the courage to do it. I was fearful when my tooth extraction started going wrong and was incredibly painful. I wasn’t brave as I didn’t have a choice. All this said, I did definitely say to Mark 6 weeks before I set off, “Am I really going to do this?”. The closest feeling I can describe is like jumping off top board. The thought is scary but once you’re committed, any butterflies have flown away.

So risk. This journey is a calculated risk. I think that if I rode the same number of miles in the same way anywhere in Europe, I would say I was more likely to have an accident with a vehicle or bad road surface than to run into trouble in South America. I pulled a few time trials in the last few years due to the increased risk on certain courses and in certain conditions. The probability of something bad happening on those particular courses, either compounded by weather or by the speed and volume of traffic, the reward no longer deserved the risk. That’s not to say I won’t do time trials again, or ride my bike in the UK which I certainly will, but I like to think most of the time, I make good choices. For this trip, I may not make it home. I bloody well hope I do, but the rewards I’ve already had are great and many, therefore for me, whilst there is risk, it’s worth taking and I truly believe I’ll be going home to all the good people and things I love. And let’s face it, it really is now or never. As I write this, it’s exactly 7 months till I turn 50. My knee is currently dosed up with cortisone…here’s to drugs. I’ll keep going as long as I can 😊

I’ve done a few things to manage risk. Dyed my hair from blonde to brown, wear a wedding ring, make sure my bike isn’t too clean, don’t stay out late, wear my money and cards in a bra wallet, and if something just doesn’t feel right if I arrive at a place or in a town, keep moving.

San Juan De Los Andes felt like somewhere I should keep moving, and so I did, and had it been necessary, I would have ridden through the night or found somewhere to hide where I did. Fortunately as I rode out of town, I found the last remaining hotel room, and paid whatever they asked for a bed and some security for the night.

The rides: (I am completely losing track of days - maybe dementia is on the way too! 🙄)

7 Lagos Hostería - San Martin De Los Andes - San Junin de Los Andes (Wednesday 9 February)

The joy continued from my Hostería by the lake, meandering and cascading roads, hugging the contours of the mountains, serene and satisfying. After 80km, I arrived in the lake town of San Martin de Los Andes. Beautiful but again busy, and built for tourists. Operation HQ had wired me some readies to Western Union. This was a godsend as the most you can draw from an ATM is £43 - for which the exchange rate is criminal, there’s a bank charge at the ATM and another for your UK account. If you do a trip like this and don’t want to carry loads of cash to be seen going in and out of ATM booths across a country, Western Union is the way forward. Thanks for the tip, Suzy!

After some lunch, I pushed on to San Junin de Los Andes. As the road descended and turned east, I felt slightly depressed that I’d be heading away from the Andean Lake District, but just as my heart began to sink with the prospect of more desert and headwind, the asphalt swung north, and lo and behold, only a bloody cone shaped volcano, rising from the plains! Crikey! Wasn’t expecting that! There’s three ways to climb it, and it’s not erupted for 10,000 years. I wasn’t fussed about climbing it today, but it made for an incredible addition of a back drop for the next two days!

It wasn’t long until M-powered delivered me to my destination for the day. It looked like accommodation wouldn’t be a problem, but alas, after riding nearly every unpaved street in the town, nothing. There was a very large street market which I’m sure was fantastic, but just something about the place made me want to get out as soon as I could. Bizarrely, at one set of traffic lights, a trombonist decided to entertain all the waiting motorists. The trees around the streets were filled with parakeets now, squawking with no rhythm at all and threatening to drown him out. It appeared I’d moved through into another climate: first Glaciers, then hurricane desert to mountains and lakes and now sub- tropical volcano strewn landscape and who knew what else lay up the road?

I found a hotel just as I’d started to ride on into the night, and was serenaded to sleep by parakeets as the sun dropped below the horizon. Along with biting insects, I noticed that the days were becoming notably shorter…from near midnight sun in El Calafate to British summer, only with sun and a volcano, oh and parakeets, in Junin. All in three weeks. Mega! 👌

San Junin de Los Andes - Zapala-Las Lajas (Thursday 10 - Friday 11 February)

The Lord of Bike Gods was with me. Whilst it may not have been howling, it was definitely going to be a mainly tailwind kinda day. And it was. And far from the landscape of Southern Patagonia, I now had table top mountains, canyons and condors for company. There was absolutely no habitation for 200km, but I couldn’t have been happier…in fact, there’s no metaphor or simile that fits here. The miles ticked away and I barely noticed…for the first half of the ride, I finished off a book that had been designed to send me to sleep, but ultimately turned into a page turner, and did nothing for my insomnia. What Lies Buried by Kerry Danes. It turns out that the sub heading: “A Forensic Psychologist's True Stories of Madness, the Bad and the Misunderstood” should have given me all the information I needed to know that the book was no substitute for melatonin, but was an excellent accomplice for a ride. I really recommend it for a read, if you’re into understanding the minds of the misunderstood, but one particular observation stuck with me. Kerry talks about an entomologist called James Wallman, who coined a word: “Stuffocation”. Interested in where this derived from, I see also he wrote a book called “Time and How to Spend it.” Next on my reading list!

For a ride of 200km where there is NOTHING to resupply, I need 2.25 litres of fluid, fig rolls, Rice Krispie bars and sweets, as long as the wind is on my back. This ride felt so jubilant, it deserved some cracking beats as I approached the town of Zapala, a place nobody has been heard of. In before my self-imposed deadline of 4pm, and with no Wi-Fi at the apartment, I headed to find the town, which was very hidden when I arrived. I feared it was a casino town as there were only two casino hotels when I checked all available sources, and managed to find an apartment through Google the night before. Having made my way to the beating heart of Zapala, I took my seat and began to catch up on comms and admin, only to be entertained by more street artists, this time jugglers on stilts and unicycles, and a few with hoola hoops. What a cracking day! One bottle of beer gave me a hangover (I ordered a large beer and got given a 1 litre bottle of Argentinian cerveza! Lesson learnt!).

Today’s ride from Zapala to Las Lajas was short and uneventful but needed. Tomorrow I cross the halfway point of Ruta 40, at 2500km, and am less than a week from Mendoza. Rock y’all!

[chancelloramidala]

Staring at the Sun ➤ Evan Buckley

Chapter Five: Growing Pains.

Masterlist.

Marceline Pierce was trying her very hardest to move on from Evan Buckley. It sucked because yeah, maybe this should’ve happened long ago when it was obvious that he didn’t return her affections, but hey at least she’s learning.

She got tired of waiting, of being filled with sadness and jealousy whenever Abby was brought up (especially whenever the subject of "Abby made me a better person!", god that made her blood boil) or whenever she was around.

It made Marceline feel… ugly if that made sense. She didn’t like those feelings brimming at the top of her surface and sort of gave up on her feelings for Buck.

She went on a few dates, finding that the men, women, and non-binary folk she met were just trying to find a one-time thing. And in most cases, Marceline was fine with that, nothing too serious and just a little fun for one night, but she craved something more than a quick interaction like that.

She wanted to get to know someone, figure out what they like and dislike, what they’re allergic to, what drives them to be a good person, and many other things. Marceline wanted a human connection that lasted longer than one night, one that would be reciprocated instead of one-sided.

And that’s how she met Elena Chavez. A beautiful Argentinian-American woman who's easy on the eyes and had the ability to make Marceline actually laugh without trying too hard. They’ve been on a few dates, namely four, and kissed for the first time towards the end of their third.

It was strange for Marceline to be dating again after several years of remaining single and then the several months quietly pinning over a goddamn oaf, but she was proud of herself. She realized that Buck was just never going to love her back in the same capacity she did and decided that she deserved better, even if it wasn’t with him like she initially hoped.

Even if something crucial was just… missing.

Nicolette was ecstatic to see her moving on from Buck. She even helped set up many of Marceline’s failed dates, but she was glad that Marceline was leaving her options open to people other than Buck. Nic has spent the better half of her days listening to her best friend go on and on about her unrequited love for Evan Buckley, and watched her cry when he attended her get-well-soon party with his new girlfriend.

Plus, it helped Marceline think Elena was actually there for her when she watched the other woman interact with Gemma and Nic. Because if there was anything you had to know about Marceline Pierce was that her friends and somewhat co-parentship to Nicolette and Gemma Pierce were an added deal into dating her.

And after the sixth date, Marceline worked up the courage to introduce Elena to another set of important people in her life: her team. Even if they didn’t know they were that important to her.

“Hey, guys, uh,” Marceline cleared her throat at the table whilst Bobby laid out the food with the help of Chimney and Buck. “Can I talk to you?”

“Hm?” They all turned their attention to her, and at that moment she kinda wanted to disappear.

“So,” she pressed her lips into a thin line as she recalled the dialogue she made up last night. “I know I haven’t been the most… open person here with my personal life, but I do consider you to be people I hold very close to my heart.“ she paused for a moment, her green and brown eyes glancing around the table to find they were all looking at her with soft expressions and a small smile tinged on their lips. ”So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to introduce you all to my girlfriend?”

“Of course,” Bobby nodded without any hesitation and smiled softly at Marceline for taking a step at opening herself up to them.

“Aw, so the Ice Queen does have a heart.” Chimney jokes, thus earning a smack to the back of his head from Hen. “Hey, hey, I was joking, I’m very excited to meet her, Mars.” He winked at her as he rubbed the back of his head and shot Hen a playful glare.

“Great,” then she checked the watch on her wrist, “she’ll be here any moment. She’s bringing a pie.”

Marceline then led Elena towards the table after she arrived, and gestured to each person as they introduced themselves. “This is my dysfunctional team, El,” she said with a small firm.

Elena smiled brightly at everyone and waved, “It’s great to finally put faces to the names, Mars talks about,”

“Please, sit,” Bobby gestured to the table, specifically at the open spot next to Marceline.

Chimney, ever so the man to break the ice eyed the tin towards the end of the table. “So, what kind of pie did ya bring for us?”

She grinned as pink tinted her cheeks. “I baked you guys some peach pie,”

Bobby was instantly intrigued. “You made it yourself?”

Buck laughed, “We’ll you’ve already sold, Bobby huh?”

“Yes, I’m a baker and owner of Delicate Taste Buds downtown.”

Then, for the majority of the meal, Elena and Bobby exchanged their favorite dessert recipes with Marceline smiling softly at the woman next to her. It didn’t go unnoticed that the two women were holding hands at this point. Their clasped hands could be seen on the table when Elena talked about herself and grew nervous, wanting to make a good impression for the 118. So Marceline carefully reached over and put her hand on Elena’s, and gave it a gentle squeeze

Hen and Chimney whispered conspicuously to one another, smiling at Marceline and Elena’s display of affection and talking about how cute the two women were.

Buck sat there, nodding and listening to Elena talk about herself, and would add his own inquiries every so often. Then his eyes would flicker to Marceline who seemed to be only staring at the woman beside her with this soft, gentle gaze that matched how he felt he looked at Abby.

Evan Buckley never thought he’d see Marceline Pierce like this. So entranced with another being. But perhaps he wasn’t looking hard enough, to begin with.

Because if Henrietta Wilson knew the long, pining gazes of Marceline Pierce, it certainly wasn’t directed to Elena Chavez. While Buck, Bobby, and Chimney were busy talking with Elena, they never caught Marceline staring at Buck with heartbreak in her heterochromatic eyes.

The facade of warmth she thought she was holding together for her own sake slipped whenever she even spared a look to Evan Buckley.

Eventually, Elena had to go stating that she had errands to run and a business to manage. The team gave Elena and Marceline some time to say their goodbyes as they cleaned up from their meal before smirking at the woman as she walked up the twisting stairs.

“What?” she asked, dubious as to why the hell her coworkers were acting so goddamn weird. “Do I have something on my face or…?”

“We’re just happy for you, that’s all.” Bobby cut in before Chimney or Buck could make a fool of themselves.

“Oh,” Marceline replied, dumbfounded at how her team seemed to enjoy Elena’s company. “Well, don’t be too happy,” she mumbled under her breath as she walked over to the sink since it was her turn to wash the dishes.

As she rolled up her sleeves, Buck slid beside her with a red rag in hand. “You wash and I’ll dry?”

For a moment, she eyed the other man strangely, knowing very well that they had a drying rack for this very purpose but whatever, to each their own. “Sure,” she mused before turning the water on.

Silence washed over the two firefighters by the sink, one passing a wet plate or fork the other’s way as they dried it with a dishrag. But just because it was quiet, didn’t mean it was uncomfortable. Marceline and Buck were in sync with each other’s movements, the only sound coming from the splashing of water from the sink or the small squeak from the cloth against a plate.

This gave Marceline a lot of time to think about where she was in her life right now. And the more she thought about it, the worse she felt. In the end, no matter how hard she tried to get over Buck, he would still tug on her heartstrings and linger in the back of her mind, and that was in no way fair to Elena. Even if she was the perfect person to be dating, Marceline had too much shit to work through and Elena didn’t deserve to be used as a distraction of sorts.

(In short, her efforts of shoving her feelings for Evan Buckley into a box locked away deep within her wasn't going so well.)

After they finished washing and drying each and every dish in the sink and the epiphany she was having, Marceline took a blue rag nearby and wiped her hands before turning to Buck. “I think I’m going to break up with Elena,”

“What?” Buck was absolutely floored to hear this because he thought Marceline was head-over-heels with Elena.

She shrugged lamely as she threw the towel onto the counter after she finished drying her hands, “She’s a great person, but… I lack that spark with her, you know?” she turned her head to look at him, curious to know if Buck would understand.

Buck tilted his head to the side for a moment, pondering at the word spark. Because if anything, he’d think that he has that special spark with Abby. She brought the best in him, Buck 2.0 which was the best Buck, so that had to mean something, right? “Yeah,”

But then Abby’s mom died and that spark he thought he had with her started to dwindle when she walked past the glass doors and into the airport.

@skyslowalking @beelarson 4 u <3

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ AUTHOR’S NOTE: we in season two now bitches