#guatemalan!reader

[inthelibrarybtw]

CENTRAL AMERICAN READERS

MAIN MASTERLIST

inspired by @zyafics ethnic gfs moodboards

➺ guatemalan!reader

➺ salvadorian!reader

➺ honduran!reader

➺ nicaraguan!reader

➺ costa rican!reader

➺ panamanian!reader

➺ belizean!reader

i DO NOT allow copying, translating, publishing any of my works somewhere else. if i see that happening i will be reporting and blocking you. just be respectful and mindful of the effort that people do on writing things on here is not hard to be nice.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[tiredfox64]

Hi! I love your work, especially your Bi-Han writings. Not sure if you're taking requests, but would you write something for Mavado x Reader? Honestly any prompt is fine, there's literally no Mavado/Reader content and we need some 😭

It Only Takes 7 Días

Yip notes: Everybody stfu and let me cook. Gotta make something sweet for the fuckin people. (PS I actually had this set up in my drafts before and this encouraged me to finish it seeing that others are desperate).

Pairing: Mavado x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive kinda?

Everyone knows Mavado dedicates himself to the Red Dragon clan. He’s a man who listens and obeys Daegon’s command. A man who will bring hellfire upon anyone who disturbs his clan such as Kabal and Kano. All he knows is his duty and his clan. He is uninterested in such things as dating.

Or so everyone thought.

Mavado isn’t dumb. He could never allow anyone to know about you. It’s for your own safety. Heaven forbid Daegon finds out about you, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you just to keep Mavado’s attention. Kano and Kabal would do so much worse. They would probably hold you hostage to force Mavado into giving up every piece of information about the Red Dragon clan. He would never forgive himself if he let the one person he truly loves get hurt. He had to be all hush hush, sometimes meaning he spent little time with you. He’ll make it up to you. He’s a man of his word. This whole week will be for you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You heard tapping on your balcony door. Little taps as if rocks were being flicked against the glass. You got up from your bed and slid open the balcony door. When you looked down below you saw Mavado holding a bouquet of flowers just for you. He had a smug grin on his face. He knows how to capture your heart.

“Trying to make up for lost time?” You asked.

“I think it’s obvious, mi reina.” Relax, papi chulo.

You smile as you begin to back away from the railing of the balcony. You knew Mavado wouldn’t come up the regular way. You saw his grappling hook wrap around the railing before he flung himself up. Of course, he landed perfectly since he had done this a thousand times. He handed you the bouquet before placing a kiss on your cheek.

El domingo empieza el juego de seducción

It’s never just one kiss. It’s always more. On your cheeks, on your forehead, on your lips, and on your neck. His stubble lightly scratches your skin, causing you to giggle. His arms wrapped around your waist so he could pull you in close. You jokingly told him to stop but you knew he never would. In fact, he started placing quick kisses on your neck before returning to your lips.

“We should get you back inside. I’ll help warm you up.” He whispered in your ear before picking you up.

Anyone with a somewhat developed frontal lobe knows what’s about to happen. Mavado was being truthful. He would help warm you up…without any clothes on. Body heat does count. It worked, didn’t it? You were sweating and panting by the end of the night. Knocked you out and left you curled up in his arms.

Monday night, una velada entre tú y yo

By the morning, Mavado was already gone. That’s not unusual. What was unusual was how early you got to see him again. He was back by the early evening. The sun hadn’t fully set yet.

The moment you walked through the door he came up behind you to give you a hug. You were spooked at first before you felt that familiar scratch when he kissed your cheek. You immediately relaxed from his touch and he chuckled about your tiny freakout.

“What? You didn’t expect me to come back?”

“Not really. You’re not really a man who stays for two nights in a row.”

Mavado acted like he was shocked but his face did not portray that. He still had that devilish smirk on his face which meant he had plans for you and him.

“I did want to make up for lost time.”

“Does that mean we are going for a second round?” You asked with a grin.

“If that’s what you want. But I was thinking of something more romantic. Whatever you want, mi reina.” Good heavens, Mavado. You’ll strike the hearts of many.

That evening was romantic, Mavado made sure of that. A nice dinner and great music. He literally swept you off your feet. If you didn’t know how to dance bachata before you surely did now. You can’t live your whole life without knowing how to dance bachata.

And as you requested, you both had a second round in bed. The Devil’s Tango.

Martes, te hago mi novia en París

You were surprised to see Mavado still in bed with you in the morning. He really was staying to make up for lost time. His hands traced up your body as your eyes adjusted to the morning light. You looked so majestic to him with the way you looked so relaxed and the only thing covering you were the sheets.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. You ready for another day with your favorite man?” He asked with a cocky tone.

“You plan to spoil me like you usually do?”

“Of course. And what better place to do it but in Outworld. The culture is rich I can assure you.”

A trip to another realm? Fancy. He’s not wrong either. He has traveled around Outworld and knows the best spots to find goods. The finest pieces of jewelry and best-designed clothes will be yours. Just say the word and Mavado will give it to you, one way or another.

Get ready, put your best outfit on, and don’t leave your place without a smile. Mavado wants that smile to stay on all day long.

By Wednesday, you'll love me the way it should be

Y el jueves, el anillo down on my knees te propongo matrimonio, dices que sí

The first half of the week was amazing. You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t smiling or giggling. You thought that this week couldn’t get any better. You are wrong and for once, that’s a good thing.

You were standing outside on your balcony, watching the sunset. The sky was painted with yellow, pink, and orange. The golden light illuminated you beautifully. You were like a shining star in Mavado’s eyes. He came up beside you and you immediately rested your head on his shoulder. His hand rested gently on top of yours. You thought this was another romantic moment before you felt him messing with your ring finger. He was trying to lift it slightly and you felt something cold against it. You turned to look at him before pulling your hand away.

“Heh, I thought I was better at being sneaky. Well, guess I should be upfront with you.” He said.

You were confused about what he meant till you saw him get down on one knee. In his hand was the ring of your dreams. The band was the metal you wanted, shining in the light. The gem was your favorite and cut in the shape you desired. The ring was beautiful. This moment was beautiful. What do you have to say about this?

“Yes!”

Friday, we'll marry wherever you want

You guys got married in secret. No paperwork or the pope’s approval. Your love was true and that’s all that mattered. You guys killed two birds with one stone by having a destination wedding. Wherever you wanted, you went. It could have meaning or it could be fun. The choice was yours. Mavado would make it happen and follow through. All for his lovely bride.

Luna de miel es el sábado, hermoso final

The day after your makeshift wedding you two spent your time enjoying a new destination together. It’s a dream come true. But you did have one question for Mavado.

“I’m surprised you’re not quick to return to the Red Dragon. I would have thought you’d return to them sooner.”

“I am still loyal to my clan of course. But I am also loyal to you. The clan could wait, I couldn’t make you wait any longer.” He brought your hand up and placed a kiss on it.

Your new husband is truly loyal to you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“Where is Mavado!” Daegon yelled in frustration.

This was unlike the cruel crime lord. He doubted Mavado got killed since he was always super careful. So where the heck was he?

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend now.” Hsu Hao suggested.

Daegon snapped his neck to glare at the idiot. His eye might have started twitching as well.

“Hsu Hao, you’re a bigger idiot than my brother. You’re loyal, but an idiot. Never in a million years would Mavado waste his time by dating. Don’t say another word to me.”

Unfortunately for you, Daegon, Hsu Hao is right. There ain’t nothin you could do about it.

Yap notes: unfortunately we never had a chance 😭. I mean when his name is basically malvado (literally accidentally call him that all the time) could we really expect him to love?

This feels satisfying to do and finish. This may be very headcanony but what can you do when we haven’t seen him in a long time. I can’t even find much for him when it came to the 3D era so I can’t figure out his speech patterns. I did my best and I hope this makes some people happy. Adiós!

[sunshineyuyu]

friends with benefits a roommate (p. sh)

★ summary: after hooking up with mingi, you wake up the next morning and share a coffee with his attractive roommate seonghwa. a one night stand suddenly turns into a recurring thing—is the sex with mingi really that great? or are the mornings after with the roommate even better? ★ pairing: seonghwa x f!reader (ft. mingi) ★ genre: fluff ★ word count: 3.2k ★ tags/warnings: consultant!seonghwa, grad student!reader, fem!reader, grad student/best friend!mingi, references to sex but no descriptions, references to drinking, corporate grind woes, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: beta'd by the bestie @starhwas-bunny. also this is my first time posting :') ★ masterlist

like most grad students, you like to work hard, play hard.

which is why you’re at the dingiest bar on campus with your cohort, drunk out of your mind and grinding against your friend mingi to some doja cat song. and once it ends, you tug on mingi’s arm to presumably get more drinks, but instead drag him to the hallway near the bathrooms and stand on your tiptoes to slot your lips over his.

(thankfully, he reciprocates.)

and so, stumbling and giggling, the two of you call an uber back to mingi’s place.

⋆⋆⋆

the first thing seonghwa notices about you are your legs.

after all, how could he not? when all that’s there to cover them is the frayed hem of mingi’s ratty old high school football shirt. and you’re not shy about it—the fact that you’re walking around the apartment in nothing but a shirt that barely reaches the tops of your thighs.

the second thing seonghwa notices about you are your eyes.

surprisingly big and round for so early in the morning, and the fact that they’re trained straight on him.

“‘morning,” he says casually.

“good morning!” you reply, seemingly cheered by his acknowledgement. you scamper to the barstools on the other side of the large kitchen island and plop down on one. “i’m y/n.”

seonghwa is a little surprised at the introduction. he’s used to mingi bringing home girls often after living with him all through college until now, but he’s not used to interacting with them beyond catching a flash of their hair as they make a hasty exit.

the name is also unique, yet familiar.

“oh,” seonghwa says. “mingi’s mentioned you before. you’re in his cohort, right?”

“yup,” you say, popping the p at the end. “we’re besties.”

seonghwa hums, and then realizes he hasn’t introduced himself. “i’m seonghwa. you want some coffee?”

“yes, please,” you say.

“an iced latte okay?”

“um—yeah…?”

seonghwa can hear the apprehension on your tongue. the unsaid question—can he make a latte?

it’s silent for a little while as seonghwa flits around the kitchen, fetching the bag of fresh guatemalan coffee beans he’d picked up only yesterday and meticulously grinding them down into a powder. he presses it in the portafilter and then locks that into place in the group head of his shiny chrome silver espresso machine. it’s a relatively new purchase—or investment, as he likes to call it.

mingi had been wary about the whole thing—understandably so, since buying an espresso machine on a grad student budget is frivolous to say the least—so seonghwa had paid for it. they’d reached a mutual agreement that while the machine belongs entirely to seonghwa, mingi can pay for the beans to earn his share of the coffee it produced.

regardless, the espresso machine is an immediate hit with you, who oohs and aahs as the machine whirs and espresso drips out into two small porcelain cups.

“so fancy,” you say dreamily. 

smiling, seonghwa opens the fridge. “milk?”

“do you have oat?” you ask.

“of course,” seonghwa says, pulling out the carton.

with practiced hands, he pours the oat milk into a metal cup and then takes it over to the milk frother attachment. afterwards, he portions the frothed milk into two glasses filled with ice, before topping them off with the espresso shots. from a drawer, he retrieves two glass straws and then slides the finished drink over the counter to an awed you.

“it’s like a personal coffeeshop!” you squeal. “hold on, i have to take a picture!”

you dash back into mingi’s room, and for a second the spell is broken. seonghwa remembers that you’d come home last night with mingi—that you’d presumably had mind-blowing sex with mingi, that you slept over in mingi’s bed.

when you return to the kitchen, seonghwa has already swirled his drink together and sips on it a little impatiently. you beam as you take a photo of yours, before following his lead. when you take a sip, your eyes brighten and widen and suddenly, seonghwa is back into it.

back into you.

“omygod!” you say.

“nice, right?” seonghwa says.

“delicious,” you moan. “what beans did you use?”

“oh,” seonghwa says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice at your curiosity. “it’s a new guatemalan blend. i know a guy.” he hands the bag over to you so that you can read the description on the sticker.

you laugh. “‘i know a guy,’” you mimic. “are we talking about drugs?”

“might as well be,” seonghwa says. “i definitely have a caffeine addiction.”

“that’s okay,” you say. “so do i.” you say it conspiratorially, and seonghwa likes the theatrics.

he likes you.

seonghwa’s current project at work has him traveling to utah during the week, and while he loves mingi, coming back on the weekends to a dude just doesn’t really do anything for him. and seonghwa’s been so busy for the past two years—working 70 hours a week and commuting across the whole continent—that he’s never taken the time to consider that maybe there’s something missing.

something like—

sharing a coffee with a pretty girl on an early saturday morning.

something nice. domestic.

something that makes flying back to new york feel like coming home.

but seonghwa is shaken from his out-of-character introspection by sloppy footsteps coming from mingi’s bedroom. the man himself slogs into the kitchen, wearing only low-slung sweatpants and yawning like a heathen.

“no coffee for me?” he pouts at seonghwa.

“didn’t expect you up so early, sleeping beauty,” seonghwa says.

“fucking rude,” mingi grumbles. he turns to you, “you staying for breakfast?”

you peer suspiciously at him. “can you cook?”

“he can’t,” seonghwa says before mingi can reply. “but i can.”

the grin that you flash him is so breathtaking that he has to set his glass down. 

“okay, then,” you say, clapping your hands. “i’ll stay!”

seonghwa hides his own grin by ducking into the fridge for the eggs.

over breakfast, seonghwa tells you about his glamorous (derogatory) life as a consultant, and you respond by enthusiastically explaining the research you do at the university. mingi interjects occasionally, but mostly he just scrolls through twitter on his phone.

seonghwa easily deduces that you’re close friends, but the vibe feels mostly platonic.

he wonders if last night was a one-off, or the beginning of something. if there’s any hidden unrequited feelings. 

he’ll have to sus it out of mingi later, but for now, he’s content with discussing the ethical sourcing of coffee with you.

⋆⋆⋆

two weeks later, after another two grueling visits to utah, seonghwa wakes up to the scent of coffee.

it’s pleasant, and then jarring, because seonghwa knows that mingi doesn’t have the patience to use the espresso machine on his own (he drinks the instant stuff when seonghwa isn’t around). seonghwa leaps out of bed, all thoughts on his precious, pristine espresso machine child.

but the scene he finds in the kitchen is very much the opposite of a catastrophe.

first he sees the afterthought of a bun. hair tossed carelessly into a topknot that bounces as you move.

and then he sees the underwear—baby pink and lacy—and the perfect, round ass sticking out of the fridge.

“oh shit,” he croaks, before clapping a hand over his eyes and spinning around.

he’s rewarded with tinkling laughter that makes his ears burn red. he could get used to that sound, but maybe under different circumstances.

“good morning!” you call.

“um, morning.” seonghwa removes the hand and opens his eyes, but doesn’t turn around quite yet.

“sorry, i would put on some pants, but i wasn’t wearing any last night,” you says. “i’m decent now, though!”

true to your word, your bottom is as covered as it can get with that godforsaken high school football shirt. seonghwa really wishes mingi would get rid of it, but he knows that making varsity is still one of mingi’s proudest accomplishments.

“sorry about that.” seonghwa has to cough to get all the words out properly. his throat hasn’t quite woken up yet (the rest of his body, though, is thrumming with adrenaline, and his brain is working overtime figuring out the morality of saving that image of your ass).

“no worries,” you say breezily. “coffee?”

having the script flipped on him—someone else offering him coffee in his own goddamn apartment—is unsettling. even more unsettling is how similar the scene unfolding is to his brief daydream of domesticity the last time he encountered you.

“you, uh, know how to use the espresso machine?” he asks stupidly. he registers belatedly how his question might sound condescending, but you seem to take it all in stride.

“i was a barista for a bit in college,” you say.

“nice,” seonghwa says, just for something to say.

“i hope it’s okay that i used it,” you say. “i just really needed some caffeine after last night.”

at seonghwa’s questioning gaze, you explain, “we went way too hard.”

“any occasion?” seonghwa says, sliding dutifully onto a barstool when he realizes that you really do know what you’re doing. you have the oat milk out on the counter, the same glasses he used last time—pre-prepped with ice—and the new bag of orange-infused coffee beans.

you hum as you froth the milk. “made it past our first thesis deadline.”

“that’s exciting,” seonghwa says.

“barely,” you sigh. “we’re just waiting around to get our asses handed to us during critiques.”

“oh, well,” says seonghwa sympathetically. “i can relate. i routinely get my ass handed to me. some internal organs too.”

it’s not his best work, but it makes you laugh, so seonghwa considers that a win. it’s been a long time since he tried charming someone, and he’s more than a little out of practice.

but he can barely mull over it as his brain finally moves past its previous mental exercise (that image of your ass is burned in his memory forever now, intentionally or not) and finds a new problem to turn over: if you’re here, in the morning, wearing mingi’s shirt, then you must have stayed the night. and if you stayed the night, then you must have—

“here! hope it’s as good as yours,” you say, passing the latte over the island to seonghwa.

the moan that he lets out is involuntary, and it makes you beam.

“what do you think of the new beans?” seonghwa asks.

“mm, it’s nice,” you say. “sweet.”

in spite of the alarms firing in his head, seonghwa ventures a: “is there full-service breakfast with the coffee?”

“ooo,” you say, “taking advantage of me while i’m the one in the kitchen, i see.”

seonghwa instantly regrets it, as he says, “oh, i was just joking. i can make—”

“oh no, mister,” you say. “you sit your ass down. i’m about to blow your mind. this girlie can do much better than eggs and toast. now, where’s the flour?”

over the next twenty minutes, seonghwa watches in awe as you prance around the kitchen, unearthing ingredients and kitchenware that seonghwa barely even knew existed in the apartment. you tsk at the state of the stovetop, manage to reorganize their poor smattering of spices, and utilize takeout chopsticks expertly as a whisk.

and at the end, you present seonghwa with a plate of fluffy pancakes and perfectly soft-scrambled eggs.

when he takes a bite, he’s transported instantly back to his childhood. to picturesque mornings, eating homemade sunday brunch with his family to the lazy twittering of birds and under the warmth of a midmorning sun.

it tugs at his chest as he drenches his pancakes in potentially expired syrup from the back of their fridge, pours hot sauce over his eggs—

a nostalgia and a fondness that he thought he lost to the corporate grind.

“how is it?” you ask.

“marry me,” seonghwa says.

and despite being more serious than he’s ever been, you laugh at him.

“the patriarchy really popped out there for a second!” you say, digging into your own pancakes.

seonghwa opens his mouth to explain that he really did mean it, but as per usual, mingi decides that now is the perfect time to ruin everything with his presence. he’s at least wearing a shirt this time when he emerges from his lair, and you pop up to throw together a plate for him.

“thanks, mommy,” mingi sighs as he slides into a barstool.

“ew,” you wrinkle your nose.

“not what you were saying last night,” says mingi, with a disgusting amount of scrambled egg shoved into his mouth.

“don’t listen to him,” you say to seonghwa, but seonghwa has already turned his attention to scrolling through the news on his phone.

“kinky,” he throws out casually, not even bothering to look up.

breakfast goes like that this time—seonghwa as the one glued to his phone, while mingi and you gripe about having to regrade midterms because of a cheating scandal.

⋆⋆⋆

by the fifth time seonghwa encounters you in his kitchen on a saturday morning, you’ve fallen into a routine. seonghwa makes coffee, and you make breakfast; seonghwa makes sure to keep the fridge well-stocked as you begin making increasingly elaborate dishes, and you gift seonghwa a package of your favorite coffee blend.

you enjoy these stolen moments alone, bustling around the kitchen to the soft crackling of whatever record seonghwa chooses to play that morning. the two of you have the first few sips of coffee, first few bites of eggs, first few spoons of porridge alone, until the smell finally draws mingi out of his bed.

and then there’s three of you sitting around the dining table. it’s always pleasant, always comfortable, but it always feels like just one person too many.

sometimes it’s mingi, who is hungover or tired or grumpy; sometimes it’s you, who doesn’t like star wars or follow sports; and most of the time, it’s seonghwa, who doesn’t go to grad school, who spends most of the week, month, year in a different city—

who falls asleep alone at night.

seonghwa knows he could ask just mingi about it. are you just hooking up? is it a situationship? does mingi have feelings for you?

but he won’t, because somehow ignorance is bliss, and he’d rather live in limbo than risk a dive into hell. anyway, he’s not around enough for anything to flourish; he can barely keep the small succulent on his windowsill alive, least of all a real, adult relationship.

and eventually, you always have to leave.

⋆⋆⋆

seonghwa is exhausted. 

his flight had been delayed three times, and it’s already almost midnight by the time he toes off his shoes in the entryway of the apartment. his watch buzzes furiously, and seonghwa knows that it must be either mingi or you, drunkenly asking where he is. a few days ago, he’d promised that he would finally go out with you two, but he’s far too tired for those frivolities now.

instead, he shoots mingi a brief but apologetic text and hops into the shower.

what he intended to be a quick wash turns into a long one, as he lets the warm water pelt him—he’s never gotten around to fixing the abnormally aggressive water pressure of the shower head. but it feels nice now. jolts some feeling back into his system.

when he steps out of the shower, he feels clean but oddly raw. he treats himself to his favorite set of silk pajamas and decides that he has just enough energy to do some of his animal crossing daily tasks.

before he can slip into bed with his switch, he hears a series of frantic knocks on the front door.

operating under the assumption that mingi probably forgot his keys at the bar or something, seonghwa doesn’t check the peephole and just unlocks the door. he doesn’t even bother opening it before turning back towards his room.

but the thing swings open so abruptly that it bangs against the wall.

“jesus!” seonghwa says. “be careful with that—!”

except it’s not a drunk mingi standing in the threshold, it’s—

“you!” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “you didn’t text me back. why didn’t you come out tonight?”

you look different tonight.

you’re wearing real clothes, for one. jeans and a top that makes your tits look great (not that seonghwa is focusing on that). 

your facial features look sharper, outlined and defined by makeup that’s usually washed away by morning. and you’re angry—eyes narrowed to near slits and hands on your hips. 

seonghwa sighs. “i just got back. i was too tired to go out. i told mingi that i’m sorry.”

“well you didn’t tell me sorry!” you huff, stepping into the apartment and letting the door shut harshly.

“sorry,” seonghwa says.

you square each other up just then. the smaller but furious you against the bigger but drained seonghwa.

“what are you doing here?” seonghwa finally tries. “where’s mingi?”

“last i saw, he was making out with sarah kim on the dance floor,” you say.

“oh,” seonghwa says. this must be why you are so mad. “i’m sorry.”

for the first time tonight, your anger drops just slightly. “for what?”

hesitantly, seonghwa says, “aren’t you mad?”

“well, yeah,” you say. “but not at mingi.”

and then before seonghwa can ask who exactly you’re mad at, you smack yourself in the forehead.

“oh my god, what was that for—?”

“seonghwa—do you think mingi and i are together or something?”

“well, you two have been hooking up for at least two months now,” seonghwa says.

“fuck,” you mutter, and then you round on seonghwa. “i’ve been trying to hang out with you, and we were supposed to tonight, until you bailed.”

seonghwa is so preoccupied with defending himself, that he barely picks up on the subtext of your words. “i told you—i was fucking tired! my flight was delayed, like, three—”

“the only i reason i was hooking up with mingi was to hang out with you!” you wail.

the statement is so ridiculous that all seonghwa can do is stare at you in stunned silence.

“you- what—?”

“and for the record! we never even really hooked up!” you continue.

faintly, seonghwa wonders if he’s having a heart attack. with every word that comes out your mouth, seonghwa can feel his heart rate spike dramatically. but none of this adrenaline is making its way to his brain, so his processing power is still slow.

“what are you saying?” seonghwa croaks.

your expression softens, and you take a step closer.

“i like you,” you say. “i really like spending the mornings with you, and i’d like to spend nights with you, too. but only if you—”

“yes,” seonghwa says immediately. “yes.”

the edges of your eyes crinkle as your face splits into a large grin. “so, you like me, too?”

seonghwa replies by surging forward and finally, finally kissing you.

⋆⋆⋆

the next morning, seonghwa and you wake up early, but you don’t get up to make coffee or breakfast. you stay in bed for as long as you can, until you hear timid knocks on seonghwa’s door.

“guys? how do you work the espresso machine?”

[ssivinee]

✧Desirable Care✧

BEBE! Lee Seoyoung, aka Lusher x F Reader: You and Lusher are both popular regarding school status, but her crush on you was kept lowkey because you had no clue who she was despite being known to everyone. That changes once you realize how connected your worlds are.

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: Using blonde Lusher bc... look at her, like why wouldn't I😭. Anyway, ik this took a while. I was too lazy to write this one for some reason, so my bad, guys😔. This feels kind of rushed tbh (even if i wrote this for a while💀).

Character Vision Board

In university, there was a worshipped and admired group called "Team BEBE." This crew, renowned for its mesmerizing dance performances, held an uncommon status as the most recognized friend group on campus. Senior Bada Lee, Juniors Lusher, Kyma, Tatter, Sophomore Minah, and Freshmen Cheche and Soweon were the epitome of the popularity. They were the students everyone wanted to emulate, befriend, or perhaps even date. Yet, behind their iconic reputation, Team BEBE led lives of busyness, often hidden from the general public.

Despite their widespread recognition among the student body, Team BEBE maintained an intimate circle of friends and a few classmates. To them, popularity was secondary to their passion for dance and academic pursuits. Among the diverse crowd of their university, they navigated their busy schedules, balancing their commitments with dignity and determination.

To clarify, you existed in a different sphere of popularity. While you were not counted among the elite on campus, your name was frequently whispered in conversations revolving around popularity and the school's complex social hierarchy. Y/n Cruz, a Guatemalan-American international student who had graced the university since your freshman year. Your striking beauty and exceptional intelligence set you apart, but your warm, charismatic personality endeared you to anyone who interacted with you. Your name basically symbolized admiration, and your popularity transcended the boundaries of close friendships.

Popularity never swayed your humbleness, though. You remained consistently modest, friendly, and an inspiration to your peers. Every time you crossed the school's hallways, you were surrounded by your loyal friends who respected you with unwavering devotion. Your smile was a constant, a beacon of warmth that never failed to brighten your surroundings.

As the university semester progressed, the calendar page turned to a new month, and with it came an increased frenzy of activity. Team BEBE found themselves in the depths of preparation for a dance competition hosted at another school, a mere two weeks away. Simultaneously, they had committed to performing at their school's upcoming festival. It was a demanding juggling act, yet they diligently approached it. Dance held a special place in their hearts, and the ability to harmonize it with their academic pursuits made the long days and sleepless nights worth the effort.

Bada, their committed team leader, bore the burden of hectic schedules. As a senior, her academic responsibilities were more complex and time-consuming, demanding her attention early in the academic year. So, many of their practices were led by Lusher, her capable junior. On this particular day, Bada conducted a practice session before tackling her assignments, reaffirming her tenacious commitment to her beloved craft.

The studio atmosphere was charged with a noticeable sense of exhaustion. Beads of sweat glistened on Lusher's brow as she led the practice, her breathing mirroring her teammates. She glanced over at Bada, who was orchestrating the formation and couldn't help but feel sympathy. "Unnie," Lusher implored, her voice slightly strained, "can we take a five-minute breather?"

Bada, fully aware of their fatigue, hesitated momentarily before responding, "Seoyoung-ah, you know I would, but—" Her words were cut short by a discreet knock on the studio door. Bada and Lusher turned to the unexpected visitor, gesturing to be let in.

Bada, recognizing the newcomers, nodded in confirmation, and the door swung open to reveal three senior students. Lusher recognized some of them from seeing them around campus but couldn't understand why they were there. "Is it time already?" Bada inquired, and one of the seniors nodded affirmatively. "You have some time, though. N/n should be here in ten minutes."

The "N/n" caught Lusher's attention, a name unfamiliar to her until now. Curiosity piqued, she wondered why this person's arrival was significant enough to interrupt their practice. "All right, let me just finish this practice," Bada announced, determined to make the most of their limited time.

With her phone in hand, Bada approached Lusher and entrusted her with a task. "Do me a favor, Seoyoung-ah. Review the last minutes of the video, then send it to your own phone so you all can work on the dance while I'm gone." Lusher nodded, focusing on the video analysis as Bada conversed with her senior friends.

As Lusher focused on her task, Tatter, one of her team members, nudged her gently. Startled from her concentration, Lusher turned to Tatter with a questioning look. "What?" she asked.

Tatter pointed subtly toward the studio's entrance, and Lusher followed her gaze. What she saw left her momentarily breathless. Standing in the doorway was the sight of your tempting beauty.

Your caramel skin seemed to shimmer in the studio's lighting, while your wavy brunette hair cascaded in a high ponytail that flowed down to your hips. Your presence was nothing short of exquisite, and as you flashed your radiant smile, your pearly white teeth seemed to dazzle anyone who witnessed them. Lusher had surely seen you around campus before, and she'd often marveled at your beauty from afar. However, her busy schedule and the fact that you were a year ahead prevented her from ever encountering you.

Now, as she stood there, watching you with a mixture of awe and surprise, Lusher felt a newfound desire to bridge the gap that had separated her from you all this time. Your charm had always intrigued her, but this unexpected encounter had ignited a curiosity that was impossible to ignore.

Bada, wrapping up her conversation with her senior friends, rejoined the group and acknowledged your arrival. "Y/n-ah, nice of you to finally join us," Bada remarked, her tone playful. You responded with a light-hearted chuckle, your breath still slightly labored from your sprint to the studio. "Sorry," you began, "Ms. Hong held me back at the last minute."

Lusher watched the interaction between you and Bada, noticing the warmth in your friendship. It was a side of Bada she had never seen before, adding another layer of intrigue to the situation. As the conversation continued, Lusher couldn't help but wonder how deep this connection between you and Bada ran.

She was almost tempted to kneel before Bada, grateful she'd been allowed into your presence. The two blonde girls, Lusher and Bada, sat there, observing interactions between some of the school's most popular students. The conversation revolved around a forthcoming project that you needed to start this week due to your busy schedule next week. One of the other girls, not part of Team Bebe, pointed out, "So we should get going now?" Y/n nodded in agreement.

Team Bebe was taken aback by your remarkable accent when speaking fluent Korean. It was just one of the many aspects of you that people adored. Lusher, in particular, was determined to uncover all there was to know about you. As the seniors were about to leave, Bada gave the younger girls a mini salute, and you offered them a small wave.

Once the group had left, a deafening silence enveloped the dance studio, and the underclassmen stared at the door they had just exited. Minah scanned her spaced-out teammates and broke the silence, asking, "So are we supposed to act like that didn't just happen?"

"Did anyone know Bada-unnie was friends with Y/n-sunbaenim?" Everyone shook their heads in unison, and Lusher, still in shock, reclined on the floor, mentally replaying the scene. "Was she keeping their friendship a secret?" Soweon inquired, her arms crossed over her chest in frustration. "I doubt she would. Maybe they just met this year?" Tatter attempted to defend her leader, although none of the girls were entirely convinced. They all reached for their phones and opened the group chat.

Kyma🩵 Bada unnie?

Minah🩵 Bada unniiiiiiiieeeeeeee🤗

Tatter🩵 @Bada🩵, please pick up the phone so they can focus soon😮‍💨

Lusher🩵 How long have you and Y/n sunbaenim been friends?

While Lusher's unexpected question took aback the rest of Team Bebe, Bada stared at her phone in confusion. She had just left the room, so why hadn't they asked her then? "I didn't recognize any seniors in there," you pointed out, and Bada sighed, saying, "Yup, I'm the only one teaching them and leading it." You nodded and headed to Bada's car, but she hesitated momentarily. "Hey, we've been friends since our first year, right?" You nodded instantly, and Bada quickly typed away on her phone.

Bada🩵 Since our first year.

Upon receiving this new information, all the girls' jaws dropped inside the studio. "She was keeping it a secret?" "Maybe it just never came up?" Tatter, once again, attempted to cover for her best friend.

Lusher🩵 Why didn't we know this?😱

Bada🩵 Cause I know you guys are obsessed with her. Duh.

Lusher could practically hear Bada's sarcastic tone and rolled her eyes. "I swear she hates us," she mumbled, pouting while Tatter giggled. As the girls returned to their practice, the seniors went to the park to work on their assignment. The tall dancer, Bada, knew how people reacted to your presence. In fact, Team Bebe practically functioned as a fan club for you at this point. Bada had even noticed the subtle crushes some of the girls had on you, but Lusher was the one who appeared most infatuated. She often ranted about how good you looked and discussed your latest Instagram posts.

Bada had never brought up her friendship with you, even though the two of you were close. You had been each other's first friends in college, bonding over having the same major. You initially weren't sure if you could be friends with the towering girl, but as time passed, you discovered that you both shared the same major, making classes together inevitable. You often hung out during class, and other students loved the dynamic you both had. You were shorter, optimistic, smiley, and emotionally driven, while Bada was tall, appeared cold, and leaned towards being a pessimist, intellectually driven. You were the perfect definition of opposites attracting.

So, when Bada thought about her team, she figured the dancers wouldn't be able to handle the information. They might even use it to their advantage at some point. "So, you're going to be busy again with the festival?" Bada asked, and you nodded before sighing, "Yeah, but I'm also babysitting on those days."

"I don't know how you guys do it," one of your group mates said, her face reflecting her skepticism. "Bada has like 20 assignments, a dance competition, and you have two part-time jobs, your assignments, and the festival booth." You shrugged, and Bada chuckled. "When you love what you do, it doesn't make you feel busy," you explained, and Bada agreed. "She's not wrong."

"Speaking of the booths, can you come early next Friday?" Bada looked at your pleading eyes, tempted to tease you slightly. "Nah, I'm a little busy," she initially replied, causing your lips to pout as you grabbed her arm and shook it vigorously. "Dude, we need your height for the signs. You can even come later if you want." Bada laughed at your desperation. "Of course, I'll help you, N/n."

On the festival day, you and the baking club worked diligently to set up the booth. Boxes upon boxes of delectable desserts filled the display area. Some students passed by, watching as you organized the treats. Your eyes gleamed as you revealed a new dessert from each box, exclaiming, "These look amazing." A voice behind you expressed admiration, and you turned to see your tall friend with hungry eyes staring at the food. You gave her a pleading look, asking her to help first, causing Bada to roll her eyes and reply, "That's why I'm here, N/n." She began tying up signs while you ensured the coolers were functioning correctly.

"You made coffee cake?" Bada's gaze softened at seeing her favorite treat, and you smiled. "I know they're your favorite, so I made a bunch." She gave you a tight hug, her excitement evident. You swept the area as Bada moved around you, working efficiently to help with the setup.

"By the way, you should bring your team over later."

"Why?" Bada looked at you, her expression showing reluctance. "Girl, it's for the school fundraiser. Besides, I made so much, it'll just go to waste." Bada groaned at the thought. Her team was about to go crazy being in such close proximity to you. In a teasing tone, you told her, "I'll give you the ones you want for free." She agreed immediately, making you laugh at her swift response. After a few minutes, Bada finished putting up the signs and helped with the decoration. She then prepared to leave for a last-minute practice before their performance later that night. "I'll stop by before the dance?"

The school festival kicked off an hour after Bada left you in charge of the booth alongside other students who were helping out. The demand was soaring, and the delicious treats were flying off the shelves. Berry macaroons, red velvet cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, and other goodies disappeared suddenly. You made sure to set aside some items that you knew Bada would love, keeping them hidden away discreetly.

Meanwhile, Team Bebe had just wrapped up their grueling practice and were gearing up for their performance. They all sported matching outfits featuring sturdy black cargo pants, baby tees with their logo, and cropped light blue bomber jackets. Bada led the girls through the crowd, the sea of students parting to make way for the renowned dance crew.

"The stage is that way, Bada," Lusher said, pointing to the left, but Bada didn't pause for a moment. "I promised to stop by somewhere and make sure I have some food left."

The younger members exchanged puzzled glances but continued to trail behind their tall, determined leader. They soon came across a sign displaying a cupcake, and the delightful aroma of sweet desserts filled their senses. "Are we getting food, unnie?" Lusher asked with a joyful clap and a jump. Bada nodded and made her way to the front of the booth, calling out, "Hey, N/n!"

Lusher's eyes widened with surprise as she spotted you holding a tray of beautifully frosted cupcakes. You wore a cute baby pink apron that exuded adorableness, and your beaming smile was a magnet for eager customers. Observing Bada trying to cut in line, you rolled your eyes, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Lusher.

"Is it okay for us to do this?" Lusher whispered to Bada, who responded with a sly grin. You signaled for Bada to move to the back of the booth, and the girls followed their leader. Reaching the rear, they found you holding an adorable light blue box. You opened it for Bada, revealing the delectable treats inside.

Grateful for your kindness, Bada expressed her thanks with a warm hug, and your eyes met with the crew standing behind her, creating a connection that would spark something new and exciting in the coming days.

As Bada and the rest of Team Bebe enjoyed the cupcakes you had prepared, Lusher couldn't help but be mesmerized by your beauty. Your smile was as warm as the sun, and your eyes sparkled with a charm that was hard to resist. Lusher found herself stealing glances at you whenever she thought you weren't looking, trying to hide the fluttering feeling in her chest.

She wanted to make a good impression, so she smiled and said, "Hi there! I'm Lusher. These cupcakes are amazing!" Bada took notice of her friend's boldness, leaving a cheeky smile on her face as she watched the younger blond pursue you.

Your gracious response only deepened her crush on you. "Nice to meet you, Lusher," you replied with your captivating smile. "I'm (Y/N). Thanks, I'm glad you like them."

As the festival continued, Team Bebe's performance drew nearer. Lusher and her crew enjoyed their treats, but Lusher's thoughts drifted back to you. She couldn't help but wonder about the person behind those enchanting cupcakes and that radiant smile.

Lusher felt a rush of excitement as she stood there next to you, even if it was just for a brief moment. She desperately wanted to keep the conversation going but knew that time was short with their performance approaching. As she glanced toward the stage where her crew was getting ready to head, she couldn't resist asking, "Are you going to watch our performance later?"

Your eyes lit up, and you nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world. I've heard amazing things about you guys." 

“Would you still be here by the end of the festival?” Lusher asks, hoping for anything but a no. That didn’t go her way, though, feeling down once you say, “I actually won’t be. I have work in 2 hours.” Lusher’s face grows sad as her posture droops, and you take notice, feeling bad. “Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure to leave something for you before you leave.”

With that assurance, Lusher reluctantly tore themselves away from your booth, eager to make her way to the stage. However, as they danced their hearts out in front of the school, Lusher couldn't help but steal glances in your direction, hoping to catch your eye in the crowd.

Hours passed, and as the festival drew close, Lusher returned to your booth to collect the baked goods you had promised. However, upon her arrival, she was met with dismay—a vacant space where your booth had once stood. You did say you had work, but Lusher truly hoped you could’ve possibly waited for her.

Lusher felt a pang of disappointment, but she didn't linger on it for long. She assumed her chance to see you again had slipped through her fingers. Little did she know that destiny had a different plan for her.

That night, Lusher's daily routine took an unexpected turn. She had to leave her group of friends earlier than usual due to her little brother being home with his babysitter. Her parents were working late, leaving her responsible for caring for her younger brother, Minjae, for the night. So when she enters her home, she expects her brother to run up to her with a cheesy grin like he always does. Yet, she was met with an eerie sound of nothingness. 

Her worry grew rapidly. Minjae was still supposed to be awake with his sitter, so why was there no noise? Lusher found herself cautiously stepping up the stairs, making sure she wouldn’t awaken anyone. She finds his door slightly ajar and a petite figure sitting beside her brother as they chatted away. Her eyes go to the babysitter, and she observes the clothing but pauses hard when she recognizes the cream-colored ribbon that held their hair up.

You were her brother’s babysitter? How in the world did she never realize? She wants to ask you many things but hesitates, especially after seeing your bond with her brother.

She watched in awe as you tenderly tucked Minjae into bed, his eyes shimmering with appreciation as he affectionately called you his "girlfriend" or "noona," expressing his deep admiration for you. Lusher couldn't help but beam at the touching sight as you giggled at his fantasies.

You read his favorite book as he fell asleep, ending the story to find him asleep. With a kiss on the forehead and a whisper of goodnight, you were about to exit his room but flinched when you saw Lusher standing at the door, leaning her head on the frame as her face held a sense of gratitude. Confusion brews on your face as you look back at Minjae, who looked peaceful as he slept. “Your Minjae’s noona?” You ask, and Lusher smiles, nodding. “So you’re Seoyoung?” You announce, stating it as if you were just asking yourself. “I’m just as surprised seeing you here. My parents never told me Jae’s sitter went to my school. There was literally no clue given to me,” She jokes, causing you to giggle at a hushed volume. 

“I’ll head out since you’re here now?” Lusher nods and walks you downstairs as you get your items situated. Before leaving, you perk up, remembering something as you rummaged through your bag. You pulled out a small box and opened it to show Lusher, and she stood there, bewildered. “I did promise you some treats, right? I didn’t really know what you liked, so it’s pretty basic stuff from the sale today.” You tell her, feeling a bit shy at the interaction, putting a smile on Lusher’s face. “I really do appreciate it, Y/n, thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll see you around?” Lusher’s heart flutters at the question. You? Were you hoping to see her? It was like a dream come true.

Over the following weeks, Lusher began to reorganize her entire schedule. Whenever Bada had to miss dance practice due to her projects, Lusher seized the opportunity to spend more time with her beloved brother and, naturally, to be in your company. One evening, while you were cooking a mouthwatering meal for Minjae, Lusher couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. She remarked, "You're so wonderful with Minjae," attempting to initiate a conversation.

You looked up from the stove with a hint of surprise. "Oh, thanks. He’s a good kid, so it’s a rewarding job for me."

Lusher's inquisitiveness grew, and she couldn't resist inquiring further, "Is babysitting the only thing you do? Like nothing in regards to working in a kitchen or bakery?"

You chuckled softly and explained, "I have another part-time. I also work in my mom's bakery on weekends."

Over the following six months, you and Lusher would share countless bonding moments. Whether baking cookies together, providing Minjae with homework assistance, or simply enjoying each other's company as a makeshift family, your connection deepened with each passing day. Unbeknownst to both of you, your lives were about to become more intertwined than ever imagined.

Lusher decided to visit your bakery since she had never been there after knowing you for a few months already. She was accompanied by Tatter and Kyma, her fellow dancers from Team Bebe. The three friends entered the cozy bakery, and the delightful scent of freshly baked goods enveloped them like a warm hug.

You were behind the counter, a welcoming smile gracing your face as you noticed them. "Well, hello there, Miss Seoyoung. What can I get for you today?" you asked teasingly.

Lusher couldn't help but feel excited as she exchanged playful remarks with you. She gestured to the delicious array of treats on display. "We'll take a little bit of everything, please."

You chuckled warmly. "Coming right up!" As you began to assemble a selection of delectable treats, you couldn't help but admire Lusher's lively spirit and her friends' enthusiasm. As you handed them a box filled with an assortment of your finest baked goods, Lusher couldn't contain her gratitude. "Thank you so much, (Y/N). These look amazing!"

With a playful wink, you replied, "My pleasure! Enjoy, and best of luck with your dance competition. I'll be rooting for Team Bebe!" The girls exchanged excited glances, knowing your support meant the world, especially to the sub-leader. "Actually," Lusher began, "we were wondering if you'd like to attend our competition next week. We'd love to have you there!"

You paused for a moment, genuinely touched by the invitation. "Of course. Count me in." The week passed quickly, and the day of the dance competition arrived. Team Bebe was in high spirits, fueled by your encouraging presence in the audience. As they took the stage, your face in the crowd gave Lusher an incredible boost of confidence.

After taking the stage with a breathtaking performance, the crowd applauded, and the girls took their final bow. Lusher's heart raced as she watched your eyes light up with pride. As the group gathered backstage, basking in the success of their performance, you made your way to congratulate them. Lusher could feel her heart pounding with anticipation. With an adrenaline rush, she decided it was the perfect moment to seize the opportunity.

With a trembling yet determined voice, she said, "I have something to ask you, (Y/N). I've enjoyed getting to know you so much, and I can't help but feel a strong connection between us. Would you consider being my girlfriend?"

Your eyes widened in surprise, and a radiant smile spread across your face. "I'd be absolutely thrilled, Lusher." You replied, sealing the moment with a sweet and tender kiss on her check.

The applause from the performance continued to echo in the background as you and Lusher embarked on a new chapter together, one filled with sweet surprises and the promise of a love that had blossomed amidst cupcakes and dance routines.

Tag List: @tikitsune @luvjanexx @blurmelonmilk @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog

[deadghosy]

lol don’t mind this, this is just me testing out my yandere writing skills.

YANDERE GIRLFRIEND X READER

You literally were relaxing, playing spider-man 2 on the ps5 when you heard a knock on your window. You turned your body to see your lovely girlfriend, who is a yandere. You never excepted to “score” a yandere.

Hell you didn’t even know she was a yandere with her pretty looks, her smartness, her being a sweet extroverted person with her peers…but that sweet persona was sour. And it reeked.

You jumped seeing her sickening sweet smile as she blushes seeing your (color) eyes stare directly at her honey eyes. “HIII BEBÉ!” She yells in a heavy accent. She was clearly mixed with Mexican and Asian as her father was Asian, specifically Chinese and her mom was Guatemalan. You sighed getting up as her slick dark brown hair flows in the wind. As much you didn’t wanna open the window, she was still your girlfriend. You open the window and she immediately leaped onto your body as she rubs her face against your chest.

“Oooh I missed you cariño~” she says cooing as your eye twitched. Your peace was completely ruined. You sighed nodding, giving her head a kiss. She lets a loving sigh as hearts are practically in her eyes. She lets go of you as she roams around you room. “My my, your room is a filth. You should take care of yourself!” She says tinkering around with your stuff, even your comic book collection. You wanted to tell her to stop touching your shit…but you value your life more. You sit on your bed, completely missing her gaze at you as she smirks with her pink lips.

“Darling…” she says with a tone sweet like honey. You raised a brow at her as she touches a comic. “I wanna hear about your day…y’know, after school of course.” You kept an eye for her, trying to see if she was trying to get at something but nothing came to your mind. You finally opened your mouth to talk to her. “Well my day was fine. I had a good breakfast, good lunch, and good Power Nap after a snack when I came home.” You said. She puts her hands together as she smiled at you, “lovely! I’m glad you had a good day…unfortunately I have something to say also about my day.” She says with a smile but narrowed eyes.

You gulped staring at her as her hand slides off the comic and moves towards you as she eyes your room. “So you see, I had a good day also bebé. Good breakfast, good lunch as I watched you eating alone….and a good after school activity as I finish my work in the journaling club.” You nodded as she listed off her day. But you felt as if that’s not only thing she was talking about as she lifted her head facing you directly.

She finally went in front of you as an intense staring contest came about as you just stared at her nervously. Her stare was like a primal predator to their prey. “Mi luz, tell me about what I heard today from someone…” “heard what?” You asked nervously by her burning gaze in your skull. It was like she was directly looking into your soul.

She gripped your chin, making you eye to eye with her. “I heard a little piggy told me you were walking with some whore.” She says with venom in her tone. Your eyes widen as her honey eyes darkened into your own (color) eyes. “I didn’t walk anyone to clas-” “lies.” She says quickly, shutting you down as she grips your chin tighter. Making you hiss in pain. “You were holding hands with that skank…weren’t you…?” She says asking you.

“What?! THAT’S not true, I would never-” before you could say anything, a pair of your scissors from your desk flew past you as you swiftly dodge it, merely gaining a little slash on your cheek.

She whipped out her knife swinging at you with a pouty face as you dodged it swiftly, catching her arm as she smiles with a crazed look at you dodging. She obviously found it hot and adorable at how quick you are despite you being a lazy piece of shit.

And of course she flipped your over on your back, you groaned as she stabs her knife by your head. She then gets on top of you, having her hands on your chest and her eyes burning in your skull. That made you sweatdropped as you stare in her crazy eyes that start to shimmer red. “If I hear you were walking another girl, or even a boy. I’m cutting your hands off…” she says with a sick sweet smile you nodded scared for your hands and life.

“Good.”

[soeyekonic]

🎶 “…if i stop blaming the world for my faults, i could evolve…”

🕸️ viola, infj, eng, 18, woc, guatemalan, soeyekonic playlist

🕸️ recent: forget her (manon bannerman x fem!reader)

“…cause all i seem to do is get in my way then blame you…” 🎶

[mariamariquinha]

dark arrangements (Alejandro Gillick x f!reader)

Summary: You thought Matt knew, he just didn't care. Whatever you did outside of the work you offered was none of his business, as long as it wasn't detrimental to said work.

Word count: 1.964 (I just needed to get it out of my chest)

Warnings: Bad words, mentions of death, violence, blood, angst, smut, talks about death and narco trafficking.

Author’s Note: I did it for Matt and I thought: why not for Alejandro? They are two characters that I found interesting and anyone who knows my writing work already knows that I love characters with this 'I'm going to study you like a lab rat' approach.

These are experiments, as I like to say. I find Benicio Del Toro's physicality very interesting, it was the main thing I thought about while pondering the idea for this story.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

Alejandro was rarely caught by surprise. He could consider himself cunning, despite maintaining a very restrained and silent facade that could convey a falsely indifferent perspective, so no one could expect that anything that was happening hadn't already been reported to him in some way.

Still, when he arrived at the base with Graver and saw you, for a few moments you thought he was surprised, by the way he looked at you and checked again to make sure it wasn’t someone else. It was very quick, something you only noticed because you were already waiting for him the moment Matt and Steve walked through the door; as soon as you noticed each other, you looked away naturally and you could go back to looking at your Mario Kart in hand.

“Got here early,” Matt mentioned while pushing a chair (with some unnecessary noise) and sitting closer to you. You could guess that Steve and Alejandro were still standing. 

“You too,” You mumbled, eyes still on the small console. “In theory, I just arrived from the airport. I came straight to give you time to… Anyway, you know what.”

“Bolivia?”

“Costa Rica.”

As everyone went quiet at your response, you quickly looked up only to see Steve and Matt with their eyebrows raised, visibly surprised.

“What? I can take some time off.”

“Share your photos from the trip later and let’s get straight to the point then.” 

You obeyed, almost unconsciously, as if Alejandro was burning your face with a withering look of impatience. Abandoning the console in your lap, you sighed and ran your hands over your face, as if regaining your willpower to speak, and crossed your arms to stare at Graver. 

“They’re moving to the South. Oaxaca, then Tapachula.” 

“Load?”

“Info,” And just then you dared a small glance towards Alejandro’s direction. “If I'm right, your guy is a scapegoat. He’ll show you the cargo depots that have already stopped operating while they take the heads to Guatemala. It’ll gain them, what, three days?” 

“That’s fucked,” Forsing mumbled under his breath. 

“Not so much. You can intercept them in Salina Cruz or delay but catch them last minute at the border. Or hope the Guatemalans are minimally condescending.” 

“What's in Salina Cruz?” Matt was the one asking, to which you resisted the urge to eye Alejandro again. 

“The matriarch. Beaches, mostly, but your Escobar puppy's mother lives there too. Maybe they'll spend the night, you know, family tradition.” 

In the background, you could hear a movement of voices and footsteps, probably from the people who would occupy that room in a few minutes, so you only glanced at the door before getting up and casually throwing the console at Steve.

“I’ll send my bikini’s pictures later. Got some good shots,” The comment was said under your shoulder, thrown into the air, and your quick steps prevented you from seeing who heard it or reacted to it in any way.

You came out and your hands were shaking a little, given the context for that information to reach you, and that was definitely something outside your professional scope at that point.

****

You thought Matt knew, he just didn't care. Whatever you did outside of the work you offered was none of his business, as long as it wasn't detrimental to said work.

If he asked, you would say no, it wasn't. That he could sleep peacefully every night because every time things happened with Alejandro, you were sure he would go back to Matt as if nothing had happened.

The apartment was small, somewhat improvised, so the two of you kept the volume low while only the old sofa groaned with the impact of your movements. Not that he was one to be very verbal on those occasions, but on this particular day he seemed a little thirstier, maybe even more human than usual. Alejandro had planted both palms on your thighs, his eyes closed as he panted against your mouth – almost kissing, almost making it somewhat romantic. 

You knew better, tho. You knew that despite the delicious feeling his cock caused when it penetrated you, Alejandro only did it because it was convenient and, in a way, because you offered it first. It was a lonely life, these things could happen. Curious, since he did what he did and was still the most reliable to offer this type of relief to you, but you didn't complain, nor did you think about it. That day, no one even took off their clothes before you could straddle and ride him.

He let you take over: panties pulled to the side, the fabric of your shirts rubbing with each rise and fall of yours. You ran your palms over your neck and chest (or what was visible of it), and for a brief moment Alejandro took one of your hands to yours, feeling the bandage around the knuckles on your left hand. This brought him back to reality, opening his eyes to look at your face with doubt mixed with the lust of the moment.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head calmly, pulling your hand away to increase your movements. 

He released you, but only to support your back while he laid you down on the couch, changing the position to have control of everything again. The thrusts became firmer and their rhythm, previously moderate, became intense, accelerated, typically related to sex and only sex.

As always was.

****

The issue, from beginning to end, was that Alejandro could read you well, which could be seen as a question of mutual identification and, on his part mostly, experience.

He wouldn't tell Matt or anyone else that you might waver in your methods, nor that you might be a little more affected than necessary in the back and forth of information you gathered. Well, he knew all that, but he compartmentalized it, because he also knew that what mattered was what you brought to the table, not how you did it. There was a natural insensitivity intrinsic to what everyone there did, so it was okay if a few scratches appeared along the way.

“The info,” Alejandro said in a low, subtle tone, one that made you stop in your tracks with your back at him. “Where did you get it?”

You didn't think the question came about because of your injured hand, but you also didn't doubt that it had been the encouragement he needed to do so. 

“You know I can't tell you that.”

A sudden silence followed your response; Alejandro got up from the couch and you feigned habit, walking around the living room to distract yourself. 

“Make an effort,” He pressed himself behind you, a hand stopping your agitated demeanor. 

“Alejandro-”

“What did you do in Costa Rica?”

Not that he didn't know, because he always knew, and that wasn't a change of approach; furthermore, Alejandro was directly spewing out the questions that demanded an answer. He deliberately took advantage of the natural power he had over you, because Graver could trust him and only him, and you were often at the mercy of what he defined of you to others.

There were two questions and two answers. Think, you remembered your uncle's voice every time, that these favors you do for me is better than seeking help with your gringo friends.

“My real uncle,” You said, turning around to look at him and crossing your arms protectively over your chest. “I received the information halfway. I thought it was worth the risk, so I made the deal.”

Answer one. Alejandro just nodded without much reaction and remained quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“Two or three trucks were going to Guadalajara and I needed to tell him when and where it would be. He needed reliable info on this one, it was big.” 

Answer two. 

“And where is the shipment now?”

“I don’t know.”

He raised his eyebrows unimpressed.

“I really don't know, Alejandro.”

Alejandro wasn’t invading your space, but obstinately forced you to look him in the eye, which turned the living room into a small, almost suffocating space. Your fingers tightened against your arms absently, as if you didn’t already know the sensation of having him this close. 

“... What do you want me to say?” You pressed, eyes firmly on him. 

“I don't want you to say anything.” 

And that was the first thing that really made sense or that, at least, justified his presence there. Never say anything, never suggest anything, just do it. I follow your lead and we don’t talk about it. For someone who made speaking your life, you could find it a little ironic, if not relieving. 

He went to the inside pocket of his blazer then, taking out your console and taking hold of one of your hands to place it on your palm. 

“You’re tracing the path for him,” His voice was low, intense, and all you could manage to do was nod. 

Yes, you would end up being your uncle's executioner. Yes, you knew that if it weren't him it would be you, and he had already shown himself to be exempt from any mercy towards you. Yes, that was the way things worked and you had already learned to deal with your own demons about it.

“Have you come to pray for my conscience?” 

“Did it feel like that's what I did?” 

You scoffed a laugh. 

“I've had some setbacks along the way, but I've never let anything distract me from what I want,” That made him narrow his eyes at you. “And that includes you.”

“I'm not what you want.”

“But it's what I need. The path I'm following needs to come to an end one day.” 

****

There would be fire, blood and dirt: this was how you imagined the end of your family line. Sometimes you were among the dead, looking at Alejandro from your place among the pile of bodies, seeing him with heavy blinking eyes before your gun was fired at your head. Sometimes you watched. The smell of burning skin and hair, the palpable aroma of pools of blood, the gasoline splashing on your feet as it wet all those people. Your uncle was at the top, his eyes looking up at the lifeless sky, waiting for the inevitable end of his earthly presence. 

Kind of like Alejandro found you years before, when the target was your father, and when it was your body covered in blood.

You also had plans that you envisioned, these older ones, like leftovers from the life you wanted when your mother was still alive. A hot beach in Jamaica, perhaps, or in Guadalajara, with cold drinks and sea salt in your hair. There would be no worries, no weapons, no desperate punches to reach your good memories.

You’re tracing the path for him, said the man who should have killed you, the same one who occupied your bed. The same one who began to put an end to your tragedy when he killed your father and who would give you the taste of peace when he did the same to your uncle.

Was it sickness? To reach out and find comfort in the man determined to ruin your blood and history? Or was he on the sick side, taking advantage as much as possible before putting a definitive end to everyone in that same family tree?

You didn't know – you had no way of knowing. Therefore, you would live in the certainty that, while you could achieve your peace, you would also come to terms with the idea that perhaps Alejandro will be the last thing you see before you turned into just another person who would perhaps torment his mind someday.

At least you could choose who did it.

[thewolffairytaler]

Preparations and meet up - part 4 | Thomas Hewitt x oc x female reader

_____________________________

Summary: They have been preparing for this trip for weeks, but of course, not all plans go as smoothly as they should. Thanks to Daniel, though, he managed to hit up an old friend of his to come along the journey. This new individual, as well as the boys, gets to interact with a certain mother before leaving.

A delightful and apparently unending period of freedom had begun: summer break. That independence was about to materialise for Daniel, Cody, and Isaiah in the form of a road trip that had been painstakingly prepared for weeks. After four days, the last preparations were under way, driven by excitement and a good amount of adolescent teasing. Normally a sanctuary of complicated mechanical tinkering, Daniel's garage was judged too disorganised for the last-minute packing. Fortunately, Isaiah, who was always a trustworthy buddy, had volunteered his space. With the road journey virtually breathing down their necks, they found themselves surrounded by emergency supplies, pre-packed lunches, and the subtle smell of engine oil.

Cody turned his attention to Daniel. “Dude, seriously, you need to step up your beard game. We’re going on a road trip, a journey of self-discovery! You can’t embark on that with… this.” He gestured vaguely at Daniel’s barely-there facial fuzz. The Guatemalan touched his facial hair, feeling its texture for only a few seconds before discussing his thoughts on the matter. “You don’t understand, Cody. I can’t. It’s untamable. If I let it grow, it becomes a wild, bushy mess. It would consume my face.” He puffed out his cheeks for emphasis, mimicking the unruly beard he feared. The teasing shifted gears. “Speaking of beards,” Daniel countered, turning to Isaiah, who was quietly and efficiently loading boxes into the van. “Why don’t you even have one? You never tried growing it out, man?” Before Isaiah could respond, Cody jumped in. “Because, genius, Isaiah with a beard would look like a full-blown dad! An actual, responsible adult! We’d be rolling up to gas stations, and people would think he's chaperoning a couple of delinquents." There was uncertainty about Cody's statement's veracity. Even though he was clean-shaven, Isaiah had an air of maturity that was surprising for a teenager. Isaiah did convey a sense of quiet confidence in contrast to Cody's constant smirk and Daniel's battling facial hair. For his part, Isaiah just shrugged while a faint smile played on his lips. He liked the banter between his pals, even though he knew they were only teasing him. He went back to work, making sure that all of the supplies and maps were in their proper places.

Cody, impatient as ever, broke the comfortable silence. "So, are we sure we've got everything? And more importantly," he leaned in conspiratorially, directing his question specifically at Daniel, "when are the others getting here? I'm itching to hit the road." Daniel shifted his weight, avoiding eye contact. "They should be here soon. They are just running a little late, apparently. And... well, there's been a slight change of plans." Cody straightened up, his brow furrowed. "Change of plans? What kind of change of plans? Did someone bail? Because if Mike bailed, I swear..." He trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Mike, a notoriously flaky friend, had a history of last-minute cancellations, and Cody was determined to hold him accountable this time. Daniel winced. "It's not Mike. But it's... Mike's girlfriend, Sarah."

"Sarah? What about Sarah? Is she sick? Did she finally realise Mike's terrible taste in music and dump him?" Cody's curiosity, always bordering on dramatic, was fully piqued. Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew this was going to be a difficult conversation. "No, she's not sick… and as far as I know, she hasn't dumped him. The thing is… she's not coming." Cody’s jaw dropped. "She's not coming? Why not? We all agreed that nothing could stop us from going, and she even swore on it this time!" Daniel explained, a nervous tremor in his voice. "Her dad… he said no at the last minute. He doesn't want her leaving Louisiana, especially not with a group of guys. He’s apparently been getting increasingly protective ever since she mentioned the trip."

"Protective, much? She's ninteen! He can't just dictate her life!" Cody exploded, his voice echoing in the garage. He was a faithful believer in personal freedom, and the idea of a controlling parent enraged him. "What's the big deal? It's just a one month trip! We're going to be practically living in a five-star tent. He can’t think we’re going to… to…" He sputtered, searching for the right words. Daniel cut him off before his imagination could run wild. "I know, I know, it's ridiculous. But I couldn't even argue about it, I had no say in it, Mike could, but he didn't even try." Cody stared at him, dumbfounded. "Wait, what? Mike didn't even try to convince him? He was the one who even wanted her to come along in the first place. That makes absolutely zero sense!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Trying to convince her and us to have some fun, only to the do a one eighty, what is going on?" Before Daniel could even attempt to unravel the perplexing logic of Mike, a car pulled up to the curb outside the garage. A familiar, 80s volvo, affectionately nicknamed “The lightning 8V” signalled the arrival of Mike and, presumably, his replacement date.

"That must be them," Daniel said, relief evident in his voice. He was clearly eager to move on from the awkward conversation about Chloe’s paternal restrictions. Mike came out of the car with an embarrassed expression as the door banged shut. He was followed by a vision. A girl with eyes that gleamed with mischief, a bright, contagious smile, and a cascade of black, wavy hair. Cody hadn't seen the girl in what seemed like forever. Cody felt recognition hit him like a physical blow. She was the one. No one else could be it. A torrent of memories supplanted the years: shared ice cream cones on hot summer days, skinned knees, and secrets whispered beneath the oak tree in his backyard.

"Carmen?" The name escaped his lips in a breathless whisper. It was unbelievable to him. Carmen Aguilar. His elementary school best pal. The girl whose family moved to a different state and who vanished from his life as abruptly as she had appeared. In any case, he hadn't given her much conscious consideration in years. Sort of a forgotten portion of his past, however, sprung to life when he saw her standing there now, full of life and vitality. Ignoring Daniel and Isaiah's shocked expressions, Cody charged forth without hesitation, driven by a concoction of amazement, disbelief, and unrestrained excitement. Even he was shocked at how fast and determined he moved. In his chest, his heart beat like a drum of eagerness and excitement.

"Carmen!" he shouted, his voice filled with a raw, untamed emotion he hadn't realised he possessed. In an instant, he was there, putting his arms around her in a big hug that made her stand a little taller. Her perfume, a subtle combination of chocolate and a hint of floweriness, entered his nostrils and rekindled the dormant flame within of him. The sudden engulf temporarily stunned Carmen, who gasped. But she leaned into him slowly. His andreline was built out of giddyness as her eyes grew wide, and a gorgeous smile spread across her face.

"It's nice to see you too, Cody!" Her voice was warm and melodic, just as he remembered it. He released her slightly but kept his hands on her shoulders, his eyes devouring every detail of her face. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The years had been kind to her, transforming the awkward, gangly girl he had known into a stunning young woman. Mike was standing awkwardly next to them, looking a little confused, but he barely noticed him. He was undoubtedly unaware of the astonished and slightly cautious looks that were decorated on Daniel and Isaiah's features. Right then, Carmen was all that mattered. Leaning against the workbench, Isaiah, silently observed as Cody, nearly brimming with enthusiasm, barraged Carmen with enquiries.

Cody, fidgeting and bouncing on the balls of his feet, was a golden retriver of enthusiasm. "So, Carmen, how long are you back for? Did you bring back any cool souvenirs from the city? Are you still into that crazy experimental music we all hated, but you swore was genius?" He fired the questions off in rapidly, barely pausing for breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and genuine curiosity. Carmen, leaning casually against the hood of Mike's volvo, laughed, a melodic sound that filled the garage. "Whoa, slow down, Cody! One question at a time. I'm back for the whole summer, which I desperately need after the departure from hell. Souvenirs? Just a whole lot of stress and a slightly better understanding of post-structuralist theory, which I promise not to inflict on you guys." She grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "And yes, I still think that experimental music is genius. You guys just lack the proper level of… avant-garde appreciation."

She turned her attention slightly to Daniel, who was leaning against the doorframe, a bemused expression on his face. "Thanks again for the invite, Daniel. Seriously, I was going stir-crazy cooped up in my aunt's spare room. This is exactly what I needed. A good old-fashioned road trip with the gang." Daniel pushed himself off the van's doorframe, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "No problem, Carmen. We're happy to have you. Besides," he added, glancing at Cody, "someone needed to keep Cody from imploding with sheer boredom. You’re doing us all a favour." Mike, who had been quietly surveying the scene, chuckled whilst shaking his head. "It feels like ages since we were all together. Things haven't been the same around here without your… unique taste in music and fashion." He winked, earning him a playful shove from Carmen.

Carmen had a lengthy history with Mike, Cody, and Daniel. Together, they had experienced the awkwardness of puberty, the successes and setbacks of elementary school, and finally, the separation as life took them in various directions. They were aware of her peculiarities, interests, and weaknesses. They had whispered secrets, shared countless memories, and stood by one another through good times and bad. Isaiah, however, was unique. As the latecomer to their close-knit group, he was the odd one out. After initially becoming attached to Cody in middle school and gradually becoming a vital part of both his and the other guys' life, he still felt as like he was catching up and putting the pieces of their shared past together. Of course, he had heard tales of Carmen. Specifically, Cody delighted him with stories of her spirit of adventure, her artistic talent, and her steadfast devotion. Her contagious enthusiasm could light up a room, and he knew she was a force of nature. Now that he was standing here in his garage, witnessing her firsthand, he knew what Cody meant. Carmen had a lively vitality that was both alluring and a little frightening. Her smile was warm and sincere, and there was a gleam of intelligence and a hint of mischief in her eyes. A knot of anxiety tightened in Isaiah's stomach. His muteness had always made it difficult for him to meet new people. Words frequently failed him, imprisoned behind an imperceptible wall. To comprehend and be understood, he depended on facial expressions, gestures, and other people's generosity. He frequently felt like an outsider in social settings, a peripheral spectator.

Cody, sensing Isaiah’s reluctance, clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Isaiah, you remember Carmen, right? I've told you all about her." He turned to Carmen. "Carmen, this is Isaiah. He's the best programmer in the county, and he can fix anything, literally anything. He's also a man of few words, so don't be offended if he doesn't say much." Isaiah felt his cheeks flush slightly. He offered Carmen a shy smile, extending his hand. He made sure his grip was firm but gentle, careful not to overwhelm her. He knew his large hands could be intimidating.

Carmen’s smile widened as she took his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Isaiah. Cody’s told me a lot about you, too. He says you’re a wizard with computers." Her touch was surprisingly light and confident, and her eyes met his directly, without hesitation. Isaiah gave a nod, a subtle greeting in his eyes. He hoped she could see the tenderness he truly felt for her, the honesty in his gaze. He wished he could find the right words to convey to her how much he valued her presence and how eager he was to learn more about her. However, the words stayed trapped inside, a quiet symphony that only played in his head.

A woman appeared with a tray filled with three glasses of lemonade as the house door creaked open. She moved deliberately, favouring her left leg to go around the uneven concrete due to a minor limp. Her eyes gleamed with a youthful vitality that contrasted with the faint lines surrounding them as she looked around the gathering. "Lemonade, anyone?" She asked, her voice bright and soft. She approached Daniel and Cody first, handing them each a glass. "Thought you guys might need something to cool down before you head out. Road trips in this weather are brutal." She then turned her attention to Mike and Carmen, her brow furrowing slightly as she realised they were unfamiliar faces. "Oh! Hello there! I didn't realise we had more joining the trip. Are you two with Isaiah?" She questioned, her gaze sweeping over them both. Assuming they were fellow road trippers, she extended the tray towards them. "Lemonade? I'm afraid I only brought three glasses with me, not knowing how many people were in the garage."

Mike, ever polite, declined. "No, thank you, ma'am. I'm alright." The lemonade was tempting, but he wasn't particularly thirsty. Carmen, however, practically leapt at the offer. "Oh, please! Yes, thank you so much!" she exclaimed, grabbing a glass with a grateful sigh. "This Louisiana heat is something else. I feel like I'm melting." The cool liquid slid down her throat, a welcome relief from the oppressive humidity. She offered a small, genuine smile to Isaiah's mother. "That is really good." Studying the woman now, Mike leaned in towards Carmen and lowered his voice. "She looks so young, doesn't she? I bet she's Isaiah's sister." Carmen nodded in agreement, subtly observing the woman. She was very attractive, with vibrant eyes and a warm, welcoming smile. There was a youthful glow about her, despite the years that must have passed. They exchanged knowing glances, both silently marvelling at how good genetics must run in the family.

"Are you Isaiah's sister?" Mike couldn't help wanting to know, so he enquired. His voice carried easily in the relatively tiny garage, so his attempt at discretion was a complete failure. Without hesitation, he swore to himself, praying he hadn't gone too far. He raised a delicate subject and only after realised that the limp he saw for a moment might have been caused by an earlier injury. The woman's eyes widened for a brief moment, a flash of surprise flickering across her face. Then, a sweet giggle escaped her lips, dissolving any tension in the air. "Oh, bless your heart!" She said, her smile widening with amusement. "No, I'm not Isaiah's sister." She paused for dramatic effect, the star in her eyes shining mischievously. "It's nice to meet you both, I'm (Y/n) (L/n), Isaiah's mother. Forever eighteen!"

The words hung in the air like a dropped mic. Mike’s jaw literally dropped, and his eyes were wide with disbelief. Carmen's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp of shock. “What?!” they both exclaimed in unison, their voices echoing the incredulity they felt. They both looked at each other and then turned back to (Y/n). Mike was the first to recover his composure, but only slightly. He sputtered, trying to find the right words. "But... but you look... you look so young!" He stammered, feeling like he was caught in a bizarre dream, a weird matrix. Carmen, still reeling, could only manage a bewildered shake of her head. "There is no way! Seriously? You're... his mother? But you look like you're in your twenties!" (Y/n) just laughed again, a light, infectious sound that filled the garage. "Thank you! That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day, and I'm not even kidding. I know it can be a little hard to believe. Obviously, I'm not actually eighteen," she said with a wink, "but I like to think I haven't let age get the best of me." She turned towards Isaiah, who was still grinning from his perch on the bucket. "Isaiah gets his good looks from me, you know?" She teased, playfully nudging him with her elbow.

Isaiah simply turned his gaze to the floor, his face turning a bit rosey. "Ma, you're embarrassing me," he signed, trying to hide it so that only she could see it. Daniel turned towards Mike and Carmen, knowing that somebody needed to explain to them. "Don't worry, you're not the first people to be surprised. She's got some kind of Dorian Gray thing going on."

The information was still difficult for Mike and Carmen to digest. Mike's mind was searching for answers. She might be a vampire, have discovered the elixir of youth, have good genes, or follow a rigorous skincare regimen. Perhaps she was even a future time traveller. For whatever reason, the reality before him contradicted all of his preconceived notions about ageing. Carmen was already figuring out the odds in her head. How likely was it that Isaiah would have gotten those similar genes if (Y/n) was Isaiah's mother and she had this kind of appearance? Her eyes lingered a bit longer than was required as she cast a subtle peek towards Isaiah.

(Y/n), sensing their continued disbelief, simply shrugged and smiled. "Well, believe it or not, I am. And now that we've gotten that out of the way, I should probably let you all get back to your preparations. Just wanted to make sure everyone had a little refreshment before hitting the road. You just enjoy the lemonade, Carmen, it's a family recipe." (Y/n) swiftly did a small jump to leave a peck on Isaiah's right check, she then turned to head back inside, her limp still noticeable, but now viewed through a completely different lens. It was no longer simply a physical imperfection but a subtle reminder of the years she had lived, the experiences she had collected, despite her youthful appearance. And she turned to Mike and Carmen. "But if you two need something, just knock or ask Isaiah!" and she smiled brightly.

As she disappeared back into the house, a comfortable silence settled over the garage. Mike and Carmen exchanged another look, a mixture of awe and amusement shining in Carmen's eyes. Cody shouted a goodbye as he waved to Isaiah's mum. After Isaiah's mother left the garage, a palpable tension seemed to dissipate, and Daniel suddenly declared, "And just like that, we're free." Abandoning their drinks, finished or not, on the working table, they all piled into the van, each instinctively finding their usual spot. As they settled, Carmen's voice rang out, "Who's driving?" Cody nonchalantly pointed to Isaiah. Daniel, with a flourish, tossed the keys to the big man. Isaiah caught them with no effort, started the engine, and with a rumble, they began their escape, leaving the garage and its recent drama behind.

Author's note: In the beginning, I wanted the group to be much larger, adding more characters. But I quickly realised that it would be quite difficult to do so, not to mention that four (Isaiah not included) teenage characters were enough already with their different personalities and ethnicities. I also wanted to mention that I wrote the first part of this chapter way back, but somehow, that part disappeared, I don't know what happened to it, so I had to rewrite everything all over again. Nonetheless of my own issues, I hope you enjoyed this part.

[robertseanleonardthinker]

HOUSE OC MOMENT!!!!!

me making my first oc in years at 1:30 am

name: domingo estrada

age: 25 (january 18th)

race: latino (guatemalan)

gender: female to male. he/him. outside of work, his trans identity is very important to him, but it's something he prefers to not bring up in the workplace.

sexuality: uhh.... yes. he prefers to not label it, as he feels it's very fluid. crushes SUPER easy, though. watch out, if you be nice to him, he'll swoon.

physical apperance: tan skin, hazel eyes, long, brown hair with a slight wave to it. he usually wears his hair in a bun. he is man bun supreme. loves having his hair up. he's post top surgery and has been on testosterone for a couple of years. he's a little below average height and has a fairly average build. he likes wearing soft, comfortable clothes (usually in pastel colors, as those are his favorite). he also usually wears slip in shoes with no laces on account of the psych ward.

role at ppth: social worker on the adolescent unit of the psych ward. he's newly graduated and pursuing licensure (licensed clinical social worker). what his job entails is creating treatment and discharge plans, finding placements for those who need them, coordinating appointments, and assessing patients in the emergency room (those who come in for mental health reasons). he tries to spend as much of his free time on the unit to be there for patients. if needed, he'll sit and talk to a kid for hours.

about: domingo is a laid-back person. he's pleasant to be around. he's usually calm and collected and is good under pressure (great trait for a social worker!) he connects well with the teenagers he works with, easily gaining their trust and allowing them to open up. he's a good listener and tends to remember lots of minute details about people. sometimes he freaks people out with that ("how did you even remember that? i mentioned it once!") he is very passionate about his work and would fight endlessly for his patients. he cares deeply about the teens under his care and works tirelessly to make sure they get what they need.

domingo, though good at his work, also tends to be a bit absent-minded and forgetful. he has adhd and has yet to find a medication that works for him. his phone is full of endless reminders and there's random post-it notes all over his office. if he isn't moving, he feels like he'll explode. something the teens he works with enjoy is that he's always got a fidget and a pack of gum on him. something that helps him the most is using an oral fidget, though he doesn't like to use them in front of his coworkers. outside of his office, he chews gum.... or less preferable, his nails. a habit he's had since childhood.

domingo also has dyslexia. he has learned ways that help him with reading, but still struggles. though he's spent years in therapy working to decrease his shame, it's still something he occasionally feels embarrassment about. he has excellent listening and speaking skills, it's just reading and writing he has a hard time with. he uses a screen reader on his computer most of the time.

backstory: domingo is a twin. him and his sister (teresa) were born to a mother struggling with drug addiction. once she discovered she was pregnant, she tried her best to quit. she was sober for pretty much the entire pregnancy, and a few months after that. however, she fell deep into postpartum depression and turned back to drugs. at first, she hid it. she hid it well. her boyfriend, their father, didn't know until he came home early from work one day and walked in on her popping a pill. he tried to be supportive, but he was so angry at her. he tried his best to help her, but she didn't want it. she was deep into her addiction. one night, he had enough. he gave her an ultimatum. get clean, or he leaves. he gave her a month. she tried her best, not wanting her children to lose their father, but she couldn't do it. addiction had dug its claws too deep into her. she couldn't do it alone. he left her like he said he would. of course, this loss only drove her deeper into her illness.

it wasn't until 4th grade that someone finally realized what was going on in their home. a teacher called cps, but they did nothing. cps would be called over a dozen more times, yet nothing would be done. they remained in that house until they were adults. this is what inspired domingo to pursue social work. social workers had failed him. he didn't want other children to go through that.

his sister also fell into drugs in high school. she spiraled and spiraled for years until she overdosed one night. this was after she graduated. she was supporting herself as best she could. she was taken to the emergency room, where they managed to save her. that was what she needed. she didn't want to be like their mother. she decided to go to rehab, and committed herself fully to recovery. she's had a couple slips along the way, but has gotten fully sober and now lives a wonderful life. she works at a community outreach center as a peer support specialist and advocates for harm reduction.

in the past couple years, his mother finally began getting sober. she committed once more to recovery, and so far, it has stuck. domingo and teresa have a lot of feelings about it. of course, they're proud of her. they're happy to have their mother again. but also... why couldn't she have been there when they were younger? why did it have to be now? that they were both on their own? domingo struggles heavily with this outside of work.

uhh anyways..... that's all for now :3 i'll write more + make him a blog tomorrow.

[conkreetmonkey]

I have a weird, muddy opinion on how people on this site call The United States of America "USAmerica." Yeah, it works, and it removes any confusion about whether you're talking about the country or the landmass, but at the same time, it feels clunky? USAmerica just feels... idk, it's like you couldn't say it out loud without sounding goofy? You can say "the USA" out loud and it sounds good and makes sense, but at the same time the "the" makes it a bit awkward gramatically, and you can't just say "I'm from USA," but you can say, in text form, "I'm from USAmerica."

THEN there's the fact that people from that country are typically referred to as "Americans," and things from there as "American." When someone says "America," you don't think about the two connected continents the term could technically be referring to, you just think about the United States of America. It's an unusually "built" country within the region, made up of 51 smaller, unified nation-states that have combined into one very large, culturally and geographically disjointed country under one sprawling government, where every state, now functionally more of a province, retains the ability to have differing laws and economic policies, yet must answer to the grand government that controls them all as a whole, like if every country in Europe was ruled by one overseeing organization but were free to remain distinct as mini-nations rather than homogenized provinces. Two USAmerican states are far more different in legislation and culture than, say, two Canadian provinces are.

Given this, it makes sense for the country to simply be named "The United States of America." It's a bunch of states from America that are united into one big Voltron of a nation. Of course, though, you can't just say something like "this book is a great work of United States of America-ian literature," due to the way the English language works. Within the framework of English grammar, ideally, a country needs an adjective form of its name to concisely describe people and things from there, and while there are no hard rules as to how to go about that to my knowledge, there are a few different ways. You can apply a prefix to the country's name such as "ish" (British, Scottish, Turkish), "ian" (Brazillian, Russian, Indian), "ese" (Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese), "i" (Pakistani, Somali, Yemeni), or "an" (Guatemalan, German, Mexican), or if it sounds good you can just get funky with it and change a vowel or two (Norse, French, Dutch, Malagasy). And then there's Iceland with the "ic" (because they're special).

So BASICALLY, from THAT standpoint, using "American" as the USA's adjective makes sense. It flows well, does what it needs to. The problem, of course, is the overlap with the name of the landmasses. Technically, when one says "South American," they could be referring to either the continent of South America, or the south of the USA. Same with "North American." Now, nobody actually uses either of those terms to describe regions of the country, probably due to this overlap. A USAmerican could simply say "I'm from the north" or "I'm from a southern state," and you would understand given the context of them being a USAmerican. But then again, they couldn't just simply drop the country and compass-ional (whatever tf the term is) region in the same clause like people from any other country could without it sounding weird. "I'm from South France" makes sense as a sentence, as does "This plant grows in Northern Australia." "I was born in the South of the United States of America" is clunky and overly verbose, yet the lack of a proper country name without a "the" throws a wrench into that.

So what do we (typically) do? Just say "American" and let context do the work, clarifying if neccesary. "I'm from Southern America" obviously is not intended to apply to the continents, although it technically could. The reader, simply due to the context of knowing that South America is a continent and "America" usually refers to the USA unless otherwise stated, understands that the writer almost certainly means they're from a place like Texas or Louisiana, rather than Argentina or Chile. This way of writing/speaking is imprecise and requires unspoken context, but it gets the job done. America the country is a weird case in terms of its makeup, and that's reflected in its name. You're not referring to one country, you're referring to 51 micro-nations held together with one big fat federal government spread over them, like the thick plastic wrap holding a pallet of crates, boxes and sacks together as one shippable unit. And besides, nobody ever says "America" to refer to both continents, even though they technically could. They say "The Americas," because while technically one region, NA and SA are both very distinct and barely physically connected at all, held together by a single small landbridge (that has a canal though it now anyways, so you can't walk from one continent to the other without crossing water anymore).

So, in conclusion, idk, the term "USAmerica" removes the needless complexity of situational context, but it's somehow clunkier-feeling than the preexisting norm of just saying "America." I use and will continue to use the term USAmerica for brevity's sake since it's the norm on this site, but I'd certainly never use it anywhere else. America is an unusual country, and its name reflects that. A square peg in a language made of round holes, that can still fit if you turn it sideways a little. idk. I suppose the only real lesson here is that a) American exceptionalism is unintentionally portrayed in the language the country speaks, and b) English has a weird grammar system where things that are objectively correct within it sometimes don't "feel right" for no reason other than lacking succinctness.

[inthelibrarybtw]

guatemalan!reader 🇬🇹

CA!READERS MASTERLIST

ABOUT GUATEMALA

It is bordered to the north and west by Mexico, to the northeast by Belize, to the east by Honduras, and to the southeast by El Salvador. It is hydrologically bordered to the south by the Pacific Ocean and to the northeast by the Gulf of Honduras.

With an estimated population of around 17.6 million, Guatemala is the most populous country in Central America. Its capital and largest city, Guatemala City, is the most populous city in Central America.

Guatemala City is home to many of the nation's libraries and museums, including the National Archives, the National Library, and the Museum of Archeology and Ethnology, which has an extensive collection of Maya artifacts.

Many traditional foods in Guatemalan cuisine are based on Mayan cuisine and prominently feature maize, chilies and black beans as key ingredients.

Guatemala is also known for its antojitos, which include small tamales called "chuchitos", fried plantains, and tostadas with tomato sauce, guacamole or black beans. Foods are also commonly eaten on certain days of the week; for example, a popular custom is to eat paches (a kind of tamale made from potatoes) on Thursday. Certain dishes are also associated with special occasions, such as fiambre for All Saints' Day on 1 November.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[leftistfeminista]

In an infamous massacre, one of many, the Israeli connection was clearly present. At the village of Dos Erres on December 6, 1982, Israeli-trained commandos left the village completely burned down, after shooting, torturing, and/or raping over two hundred villagers. A United Nations investigative team reported: “All the ballistic evidence recovered corresponded to bullet fragments from firearms and pods of Galil rifles made in Israel.” This was just in the one village of Dos Erres. The same twelve-volume investigation reports that Israeli-made Galil rifles were used throughout the highlands, while US-made helicopters ferried troops into the highlands for what the report argues were “acts of genocide.”

The main rebel groups were Marxist and Socialist. Israel hates Leftist women and has supported their sexual torture and slavery around the world.

How the Israeli-trained and supplied Guatemalan army abused women-

from

The Guatemala Reader: History, Culture, Politics

[readersmagnet]

Commentaries on the Book of Wisdom on the ordinary miraculous, present life-fulfilling truths in easy-to-understand eight-line verses, followed by short commentaries. It represents multiple religious philosophies and aims to reveal a basic truth underpinning all disciplines. Unlike religious texts, it is non-dogmatic and entertaining, appealing to readers of all beliefs.

The story follows a sailor discovering thirty-two life-altering verses from a mysterious presence in a Guatemalan jungle hut, which he accidentally discovers while searching for treasure in an attic chest.

Visit https://www.russellmarletbooks.com to learn more about the author and his other works.

[scifrey]

Schrodinger’s Queer: Learning Through Imagination

I saw a quote going around the internet recently that I think is extremely powerful and extremely apt in the current political climate:

[Image ID: Tweet by Jennifer Powell username Ace_Librarian7 that reads: I have made it my mission to unteach children that “fiction is fake”. Here are my new definitions I started teaching today: Nonfiction= learning through information. Fiction = Learning through Imagination.]

What Powell is trying to say here is that even if a story is fiction, even if the people, the situations, and the places are made up, all stories are at their core a tale about someone (be they human, animal, elf, alien, or brave little inanimate object) wanting something and going on some kind of journey to get it. Whether emotional, physical, romantic, or personal, this journey then teaches the character something about the world and/or about themselves along the way. And, as a result, teaches the reader as well. Readers learn about themselves and others through fiction.

For example, in the case of The Hunger Games series, the lesson is that Rampant Capitalism is bad, and Empathy and Compassion are good.  Or in Star Wars, the lesson is that treating all people, no matter how unalike you they may look and behave, as people, and fighting for their right to live a life of peace and plenty is how we resist fascist power-hungry dictators with too much money and power (and, ahem, tariff wars.) And what smut reader hasn’t had a happy little kink awakening and learned a new secret about their own desires while reading a love scene?

I distinctly remember being assigned The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver to read in high school, and realizing that the food culture of the Guatemalan characters in the book was wildly different from the one that I enjoyed at home, and even at friend’s houses in my small home town. I grew up in a largely white, largely Presbyterian, largely rural community, where having “diverse” food meant getting sweet-and-sour chicken balls from the Canadian-Chinese place downtown–super tasty, but not exactly an example of authentic cuisine. The novel opened my eyes to cuisine I’d never heard of before, and was eager to try cooking for myself. (Let us not dwell on the success of those dishes.) I didn’t just learn about food while reading the book, either. I learned about the American immigration system, about colonialism, and about the sorts of emotional truths and experiences that I hadn’t yet had the circumstance or opportunity to explore in my own life, like the fierceness of love and found family that goes beyond biology.

And when reading Historical Fiction, one learns about the fashion and lifestyles of those who came before us, but also their prejudices and values, what they thought about the general news and world events of the day, and the political or social sentiments of the economic classes being portrayed.

But it does create an issues that plagues us Historical genre writers especially: how can a writer be sure that what you’re teaching readers of your work is 100% authentic and correct?

Well, that’s the thing with History—you can’t.

Without extant garments to study and the ability to reproduce textile fabrication in the exact same manner using the exact same materials, no costumer can ever be 100% accurate.  Without detailed recipes, access to identical foodstuffs grown in an identical manner and environment, a mathematically precise set of measuring utensils, and the room to cook on an open flame in their back yard, no food historian can ever reproduce an identical dish to one served hundreds of years ago.

This is especially true of aspects of society that were intangible and ephemeral. If everyone is doing the thing, then no one needs to keep record of it.

And this is doubly true if the thing one is doing is illegal, taboo, or frowned on; if you’re not supposed to be doing the thing or thinking the thing, then it’s unlikely that you’ll be writing down the details of whatever it is that you’re up to.  Which means that those of us doing research hundreds of years later are left without evidence or primary resources to cite.

It would be terribly useful if treasonous conspirators left us letters explaining their plans in minute detail, or criminal masterminds kept lists of everything they’d ever stolen, or, in the case of times and places when being anything but openly cisgendered and heterosexual was frowned upon, kept lists of their lovers or explicitly called themselves lesbian or gay in their personal diaries.

And hey, some of them did—or at least, we can assume they did. The problem with trying to label historical figures with modern terminology is that the historical figures would never label themselves with modern terms. Never once did Anne Lister, the sapphic diarist who has been dubbed “The First Modern Lesbian”, write the word lesbian in her pivotal diary. While the word has been floating around since the 1550s, it didn’t enter common usage with the precise meaning we ascribe to it today until a medical text the 1890s, and even then it was to describe what was then considered a form of insanity. It wasn’t until 1925 or thereabouts that ‘Lesbian’ became the female equivalent of ‘Sodomite’, and again it was freighted with negative connotations.

If someone was to travel back in time to interview Anne Lister and ask her if she was a lesbian, she would say no. Not because she was not a woman who formed romantic and sexual relationships with other women, but because she didn’t know what a ‘lesbian’ was. (She was clever, I’m sure she could infer the meaning, but the point stands.)

We cannot know for sure, not until someone invents Time Travel and gives it to academics and investigative journalists, and sends them careening through history to create a Queer Census. And even if we do interview historical subjects about their sexuality and their experiences trying to hide or celebrate it in their current socio-economic climate (assuming they’d even discuss something so deeply private and personal with a complete stranger holding a strange contraption in their faces), then we risk the butterfly-effect knock on of having to explain what a term means and thus embedding it in history inorganically, which is really just confirmation bias at it’s worst. The words we use as gender and sexuality labels today didn’t even mean the same thing — “Queer” was for odd, “gay” was for happy, and a “faggot” was a small bundle of thin-split wood that was used to start a fire as kindling.

So those of us in the 21st Century can only make assumptions. We can guess. We can extrapolate. We can infer. We can deduce. But we cannot know.

So, when I toured Bath and the Jane Austen Museum, I knew the world-famous authoress was not queer.  But I also knew that it’s possible that she was not-not queer.

See, when Jane Austen died at age 41, her older sister Cassandra burned about 3,000 of her letters. The sisters were very close, and when they were away from one another, they wrote to each other constantly. The letters that Cassandra did safeguard paint them as witty, thoughtful, observant, and dedicated correspondents, where the famous authoress gave her opinions as decidedly and freely as her heroine Lizzie.

Before she succumbed to the mysterious illness that killed her, Jane Austen’s fame was already growing despite her dislike of the public and her desire for privacy, and her previously anonymous identity was becoming an open secret among the literary set.  It was inevitable that some one would want to publish her letters, and Cassandra had already seen the way the late author Fanney Burney’s personal letters had been skewered in the press and talked of in scathing language by the public. Many speculate that Cassandra burned the letters to prevent friends and relatives from having hurt feelings over Jane’s complaints, or to spare the Austens the embarrassment of fans reading Jane’s moaning diatribes about their never-ending money problems.

But my speculations turned in a decidedly more bent direction when I learned about Jane Austen’s other best friend, Martha Lloyd. Little is known about Martha, save that she was the neighbour and childhood friend of and the Austen family, she was ten years older than Jane, that she was unwed in Jane’s lifetime, and that she was privy to Jane’s secret identity as a writer. Not long after Jane’s father died in 1805, Martha’s mother also passed. With her younger sister married already, Martha was left alone to fend for herself, and so moved in with the Austen ladies, where they combined their households. They shared chores, finances, and management.

And then she never left.

Not even after Jane passed. Martha remained a beloved second sister to Cassandra, and cherished second daughter to Mrs. Austen. She even married Jane’s youngest brother when became a widower, and stayed in the family.

“Oh my god,” I thought to myself, “And they were roommates!”

What really clinched it for me was learning about Jane’s single marriage proposal. Harris Bigg-Wither, a family friend and son of local landed gentry, was six years younger than Jane and seemed to have rather cornered her with an unexpected marriage proposal while she and Cassandra were visiting his family for a few days. Jane said yes in the evening, went up to bed with Cassandra, and retracted her consent in the morning, causing the Austen girls to flee the house in a cloud of discomfort. Those are the facts we have. As for why Jane changed her mind, we historians cannot say.

Maybe, like her character Jane Bennet later does for Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice, Cassandra urged Jane to “do anything but marry without affection.” Maybe Cassandra pointed out that as the mistress of Manydown Park, Jane would be obliged to set aside her writing pen in favour of a hostess’ calling cards. Maybe Jane was horrified by the idea of children (she loved her nieces and nephews but seemed uninterested in having any herself, going so far as to call her sister-in-law as ‘poor animal’ on the birth of her 11th child). Maybe the surprise of the proposal made her give a knee-jerk ‘yes’, and when she had a second to think about it, she realized she really did not want to marry anyone.

Or maybe dudes gave her the ick. Maybe she already had a girlfriend. Maybe she knew she would not be able to live her own truth and love where her heart pulled her if she married this guy.

Now, all of this is speculation, of course. And very thin speculation at that. And while I’m not the first academic to propose this reading of Jane Austen’s life and work, all I’m really going on is vibes and wishful thinking.

But that afternoon, while enjoying a cream tea at the museum in 2009, the idea that Jane Austen may have been sapphic hooked into my heart and refused to let me go. And because we can never know for sure whether any of my wild imaginings are true, and it was clear that I hadn’t any right to write about them even if they were (Jane certainly wouldn’t want me to), I decided to write a story about a fictionalized sapphic regency-era authoress, and named her Margaret Goodenough.

My novel Time and Tide arose out of the liminal space where the knowing and the not-knowing intersect: Schrodinger’s queer.

And in that novel, I can provide emotional experiences to my readers, I can teach through imagination what it would have been like to have been a white, sapphic, cis-gendered woman of firmly rural professional middle class origins in pre-regency England. I can explore who that person would have been and what she would have faced, how she would have had to mitigate her desires nor what might happen if she followed them, and perhaps even what she would have feared.

I can’t tell my readers with any sort of certainty what one particular historical figure’s life would have actually been like had she been queer, I can’t even promise them or myself that she was, but what I can do is make my best guess, and educate through fiction.

[ms-newvegas]

R/gratefuldoe is a really fascinating amazing little space because it reaches a decent portion of Reddit’s true crime readers meaning lots of varied knowledge inherent to a large group of people and also they’re on Reddit it’s their thing. You could have a team of fifty dedicated investigators but if none of them have read an article about dentistry in the Guatemalan highlands or met someone with that kind of dental work done then they’re probably not going to recognize the distinctive metalwork on a Does teeth. Give it 18 hours on there and someone will link the article, a new tip gets called in, identification efforts reach further.

[zepskies]

So I'm reading your Midnight Espresso fic even tho I've never seen supernatural because I love your Soldier Boy series, plus size latina reader, that's me!! And then the "shouldn't you know about latin american myths" made me roll my eyes, like I am centroamericana y no sabía, because I've only grown up around caribbeans and my only non carribean friends are mexican (and they're still puertorican) and argentine, like so many gringos really think we are a monolith, like when I visited El Salvador recently my family would look at me in shock when I used Carribean slang that is accidentally a bad word, and I think a lot about the time my abuela got in trouble for using the Spanish word for pest (which is also a lovingly used word by salvadoreans for kids) y las viejitas carribeñas were so offended because this word means "penis" in carribean spanish, to the point where for my colombian sister it's just the word for pest but she doesn't use it because she has the carribean connotation for it, whereas my mom and abuelita called me this word when I was little, so like I don't swear in spanish because of an intergenerational family curse that caused a lot of trauma and the only way to combat it was propriety, but it's the only "swear" word I will say while I'm singing along to bad bunny

Anyways this is super off point, and I don't know how I got to this point (the long story telling in many stages is a salvadorean gene like the way uncle colm from Derry Girls tells stories), but I love your writing, and found the "I'm cuban, not guatemalan" line to be funny because yeah while speaking spanish with different people I gotta take off my "proxy carribean" hat or my "centroamericana" hat

Hola, mi amor!! 😘

First of all, thank you for reading "Midnight Espresso"! That one is very special to me, being a plus-sized Latina myself. 🌶️💅🏽

I'm also working on a Part 2 to that fic, tentatively titled "Shall We Dance." 😉

But getting into your actual comments below:

It's pretty hilarious how often I've gotten asked if I'm [insert brown ethnicity here]. Believe me, it's run the gambit. I guess I look racially ambiguous. 💁🏽‍♀️

But yes, a lot of people assume every Hispanic/Latino culture knows everything about the other, which is why I chose to make this reader Cuban (like myself). I couldn't accurately tell your Salvadorean experience, for example. Like of course, I can research a culture to write a character, but it wouldn't feel as natural or authentic for me to write as I did writing from my own multicultural experience.

So Dean's line:

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

It's tongue-in-cheek, but you're right, it's pointing to a larger issue about how most Americans view Hispanics/Latinos as a whole. 😂

And omg I could tell so many stories about me or my fam/friends getting in trouble with words other Spanish-speaking cultures don't use, or it has an entirely different meaning lmao.

For example, my Cuban ass was talking to my Dominican friend (I'm Dominican as well, but I tend to speak more like a Cuban). Cubans tend to "eat their 's'" on the ends of words. So I said something like, "aw, damn, I'm really liking the look of those tostones." Which of course, is just a fried plátano.

What her Dominican ass heard was "totones." Which for the English speakers in the room, is a woman's pussy. (Or translated more literally, multiple pussies.) 😂

I'm so sorry you've been scarred from cursing in Spanish, because it really can be so colorful and inventive. 😂😂

But I freakin' love Derry Girls!!! And I'm so glad you enjoy my writing, amor. Thanks so much! 😘❤️❤️