#//Es a romance language

[fartshals]

I really hate when people do the "this meme transcends language" bit but it especially pisses me off when it's either german or dutch! That's the same fucking language group as english of course you'll understand simpler sentences without much trouble!

What's worse is they usually almost entirely consist of words that have near identical translations to english or are straight up english words adapted into the other language from globalisation or whatever. Now they're just speaking english and you're acting like you're translating hieroglyphs for the first time in history

[iii-days-grace]

(from @custer-mp3)

also very good

Never forget, if someone asks you an invasive question, you can always reply by asking them "do you think that's a normal thing to ask people?"

Do it in a super casual and cheery tone, like you were asking about their favourite food.

[katiascraft]

𐙚⋆°.MODALES | FC43

[MANNERS | FC43]

⤷ franco colapinto x singer!reader x lando norris.

summary: You had a brief yet beautifully intense romance with F1 driver Franco Colapinto a few years ago when he was driving for F3. When he decided to end your relationship, you didn’t expect he would move on that quickly.

Warnings: I think angst. Not a happy ending but another happy ending (?) and strong language I guess. Cheating. Dialogues in Spanish mostly. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: 200 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION!! THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!! this was inspired on the EP “modales” by Yami Safdie which I recommend you check it out!! Also I’ll be using her for the posts. First time mixing smau and written stuff so yeah. Hope you like it 💌 don’t forget to like, comment, reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

f1gossipofficial just made a post

liked by @/user1, @/user2, @/landonorris, and others.

f1gossipofficial: breaking news ‼️ a source close to franco colapinto confirmed that @/y/nusername singer from Argentina it’s her ex and she just dropped an EP full of tea! 👀 apparently according to the song’s Franco dumped her for her new girlfriend @Franconewgirl and stated that franco isn’t as good as he seems! Let the tea be spilled everyone!

view more comments

↳ user123: @y/nusername TE EXPUSIERON BB [they exposed you bb]

↳ user1: OMG

↳ landnorizz1: why is our boy here ????????

↳ franmylove: oh no not this girl again pls leave him alone already!!!

↳ user4: she cute tho

↳ usar89: WHAY DOES SHE LOOKS EXACYLY LIKE FRANCO’s ACTUAL GF

↳ user20: girl I was about to mention it

↳ marylovesy/n: no puedo creer que franco la dejó después de que estuvo para el cuando mas lo necesitaba!!! [can’t believe franco dumped her when she was there for him when he needed it the most]

↳ landonorris: I guess I gotta take this to the group chat

↳ landonorris: she is so pretty

↳ user1: LANDO WTF

↳ usar444: land no rizz BRO WHAT

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

💋ྀིྀི Track 1 - buen provecho.mp3

back to march 2023.

“Amor, perdón, ya sé, esto es una mierda. Pero realmente necesito enfocarme.. No es por vos, es por mi. Obvio que te amo y siendote sincero te voy a amar toda la vida, pero necesito enfocarme 100% en esto y/n” (love, I'm sorry, i know, this is a shitty situation. But I really need to focus. It's not about you,it's about me. Obviously I love you and to be honest I'll love you forever, but I really need to focus 100% on this y/n) you were already sobbing on the kitchen chair of his small apartment in madrid. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't breaking up with you over his career like you didn't have yours. Like all the sacrifices and support were with absolute shit. Franco was crying too but less emotional than you. He was colder, controlled. You were all over the place. You had to stand up. 

“Franco, qué pasa con todo lo que construimos? Todo lo que sacrificamos por el otro. Te apoye todos estos años para que? Se que las relaciones a distancia son difíciles pero con vos nunca lo fue. Franco por dios, te amo, te amo con todo lo que soy. Por favor, no me dejes” (franco, what about what we built here? All of the sacrifices we made. I supported you all of these years for what? I know distance relationships are hard but with you it wasn't. Franco, for god's sake, I love you. I love you with everything I am. Please, don't leave me) when he heard you mouthing the last sentences something inside him broke in a million pieces. He felt like a monster. He brushed his hair with one hand, anxious. He couldn't look at you after what you said. He felt like the worst human alive but his decision was already made. There was no coming back from it. It`s he`s dream. “Por el amor de dios, franco, decime algo”(please, franco say something) you expressed desperate. It was real and now you were in another country, alone, with nobody to talk to, to go to. All of that was him but even if he was sitting across the table from you, he was gone. So far gone, the room turned cold.  “No lo puedo creer.”(i can't believe it) you were speechless, empty. You had to sit again and that's when he finally looked at you. 

“y/n perdon. Pero es lo que necesito. espero que lo puedas entender”(y/n im sorry. But I really need to focus. I Hope you can understand) he expresado. You shook your head ironically dry laughing.he had the guts to act like this despite it all.  

“¿Sabes qué es lo más triste franco? Pensé que ibas a tener los huevos para decirme que me cagaste en la cara”(you know what 's the saddest part of this franco? I thought you would have the balls to tell me you cheated to my face) you dropped what you knew leaving him in shock. Exposed. Your anger intensified. “Obviamente lo sé hace 2 semanas. Quería que me lo digas porque vos te mandaste la cagada. Y aun así me pones una excusa de mierda y tenes la cara para decirme te amo.te cagaste en mi, en mi amor, en mi tiempo,en mi autoestima. Te cagaste en todo franco. No te voy a decir quien me dijo porque no importa. Ojala que te vaya bien y seas feliz con ella o con quien eras que no sea yo obviamente. Pero también espero que te enamores de alguien de verdad y te haga lo mismo solo para que sientas lo que siento y te des cuenta tarde o temprano lo que rompiste y nunca más vas a volver a recuperar” (i know it since 2 weeks ago. I wanted you to tell me you fucked up. But you decided to lie about it with an absurd excuse and you actually have the guts to say that you love me. You fucked me up and my selfsteam. You didn't care at all. I'm not gonna tell you who told me. It doesn't matter. But i hope you have a good life and be happy with her whatever bitch that isn't me clearly. But I also hope that you fall in love with someone and they do the same to you just to know how this feels and realize what you broke because there's not coming back from this) you  just had to take it off your chest. You were destroyed inside. Of course you still wanted to be oblivious and stay with him like nothing happened. But that was impossible to do. It was your second day here. He didn't even mention he wanted to talk. He was playing fool.   

💋ྀིྀི Track 2 - por favor.mp3

back to june 2023.

You and your bff were having a sleepover at your house. You were lying in bed just chatting about anything and everything. 

“Amiga viste esto? Pendejo del orto como le da la cara?” (girl, did you see this? That motherfucker. The audacity he has.) she handed you her phone to look at it by yourself. You see an instagram post. She looked so similar to you you got really confused for a moment. Then you realized it was franc and his new girlfriend. I think your jaw dropped to the floor. How could they? How could HE? You rolled your eyes. It still hurts. But you wanted to play it cool. its been only 3 months like did he even love you for real? You felt gross. You felt stupid. How could you believe him? That fucking smile. His fucking humor. His fucking fingers inside you that made you feel things noone did before. Ugh you hated him. You really hated him.

💋ྀིྀི Track 3 - gracias.mp3

Back to september 2023

franconewgirl made a post

liked by @/francolapinto, @/user2, @/alexalbon and others.

franconewgirl: sigan mirando y hablando que el novio más perfecto lo tengo yo 🩵 te amo fran [keep watching and talking. The most perfect boyfriend it’s still mine. I love you fran]

view more comments

↳ francolapinto: te amo princesa 🩵 [I love you princess]

↳ user23: PARENTS

↳ y/nandfran: 🙄

↳ user56: TELL HER TELL HER SCREAM IT GIRL

↳ user1: can’t believe he left y/n still

↳ yourbff: tiraba palo 🤣 [oh she’s throwing indirects]

↳ francolapinto: ?????

↳ yourbff: 🙄

↳ y/nusername: 💀

comments have been disabled

💋ྀིྀི Track 4 - permiso.mp3

Move forward to september 2024 → Monza GP

The Italian breeze of summer made you feel so happy to be here. Not so much the fact you were in the same place with Franco and his girlfriend. But red bull invited you and you loved racing so much that you couldnt say no. plus, your friend kimi and ollie that you knew because they used to race along franco back when the two of you were together. 

You were so thrilled you met Max Verstappen and that he was so kind and actually had a genuine conversation with you. He was nothing like how the media wanted to portray him. He also introduced you to Lando Norris, another driver. He looked really handsome and was really welcoming as well. You found yourself flirting with him for a bit. He said he had a friend from Argentina and that if you were free you could go and drink mate together after the race. You couldn't deny you felt attracted to him. He was handsome. Of course you gave him your instagram and started following each other. 

A few hours later Charles Leclerc won the race and it was fenomenal to witness. He won the Ferrari home race. The tifosis went wild. Really emotional. It was his first home win. You watched the podium in a smile from the red bull hospitality building drinking a red bull. 

After a few minutes, you got ready to go to your hotel to rest for the rest of the day but Max stopped you. 

“Hey, y/n, there's a party tonight. You are invited if you want to come. Lando will send you the address” he said walking towards you. You smiled pleased and flustered. He was so beautiful in person. 

“That sounds fun, sure” you said with your foreign accent pretty obvious just like franco’s and he smiled widely. 

“Perfect. See you tonight!” he said after giving you a quick hug and walking away. 

(...)

You were laughing a little tipsy. Lando was by your side almost the whole night so far. He was really fun to be around and Carlos came to the rescue so you could talk to someone in your native language. Sometimes it's tiring to think and translate what you will say 24/7. 

After a while you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Little did you know, Franco was gonna stop you before getting into it anyway. You looked at him surprised. His perfume all over you again leaving you kind of confused. 

“Podes dejar de hablar tanto con él por favor?” (can you stop talking to him please?) he said clearly drunk but grabbing your arm gently tight. You frowen and shook you heard before setting free from his grip.

“Hola fran, todo bien? Si todo bien. Que bueno che. No soy mas tu novia asi que no vengas a hablarme y decirme que hacer. Gracias, chau” (hi fran, wassup? Yeah, all good. Great. I'm not your girlfriend anymore so don't come around to talk and tell me what to do. Thanks. Goodbye) you said sarcastically and went straight into the bathroom already annoyed by his attitude. It was being a great night but he has to come around and fuck it up. 

(...) 

Your moans were all over the place. His hands are right on your waist and his movement consistently gets in and out of you. 

“Sos tan linda, y/n” (you're so beautiful, y/n) he said under his breath.

How did you end up here? Again in his arms making you see the stars. Getting you drunk on his perfume. Grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. Him grabbing your waist and twisting you however he likes. Just like he always did. 

A part of you was crying behind your face, smiling in pleasure, getting loud in moans. You wanted him forever. Whether You like it or not, he was the love of your life. No other guy could ever make you feel the way he does by just looking at you. You were angry at yourself. He has a girlfriend and here you are. You are not supposed to be anyone’s slut. The pleasure was intense, reaching your high, hiding your face in his neck, squeezing his shoulders. 

where was his girlfriend?

What have you done? Fucking alcohol and feelings and shit.

💋ྀིྀི Track 5 - perdón.mp3

Fast forward to the next morning

“No franco, esto es un horror. Es horrible lo que hicimos. Me voy” (franco this is horrible. It's horrible what we did. I'm leaving right away) you said feeling terrible. Awful. A knot in your stomach. You got dressed so quickly. 

“Nono por favor y/en espera. Estoy dispuesto a dejarla. Por favor, te extraño muchísimo. Nadie me hizo sentir como vos y nadie lo hará. Lo sé. Por favor, no me dejes” (please y/n wait. I will leave her. Please, I miss you like crazy. On one made me feel the way you did and no one will. I'm sure. Please, don't leave me) he said. How fast the nights change, right? One day you are begging him to stay, and the next he is begging you to stay. You turned around to look at him. 

“Bueno es lo que te mereces después de lo que hiciste. No podemos estar juntos franco. Te acordaste tarde de que me amabas. Yo ya no te amo. Y esta noche fue un error. No me busques mas.no quiero saber mas nada de vos” (well that's what you deserve for doing what you did to me. We can't be Franco together franco. You remembered you love me too late. I don't love you anymore. This was a mistake. Don't look for me. I don't wanna know about you anymore.) your words would have cut his skin if they could. Torn him into millions of pieces. His heart sank. 

You grabbed all of your stuff. You were scared the girl was coming any minute. You just didn't want to deal with it. This shouldn't have happened.

💋ྀིྀི Track 6 - de nada.mp3

move forward to present day

f1gossipoffcial made a post

Liked by @user567, @user1, @user34, @user890 and others.

f1gossipofficial: the secret it’s out! @/y/nusername Argentinian singer and @/landonorris mclaren driver been spotted together getting cozy in Monaco!

view more comments

↳ user1: OMG OMG OMG OMG I LOVE THEM

↳ yourbff: 🤭🤭🤭

↳ y/nusername: 😳

↳ user45: la princesa de argentinaaa 🩵

↳ user123: I don’t like herrrrr 🤢

↳ landonorizz: Lando has a terrible taste on women tbh

↳ y/nstan: feliz si ella está feliz 💌 [happy if she’s happy]

↳ user12: omg she confirmed it !!!!!

↳ user90: WHAT I CHOKED

——————————————————————————————

y/nusername made a post

liked by @/landonorris, @/charlesleclerc, @/francolapinto and others.

y/nusername: oops! Nos descubrieron! Seguí hablando de mi. Gracias a mi tenes lo que tenes, mejor disfrútalo 🩵 yo estoy disfrutando la mía y nunca fui más feliz. Te amo @/landonorris gracias por amarme como soy 💌 [keep talking about me. You should thank me for what you have now. You should better enjoy it. I’m enjoying mine and I’ve never been more happy in my life. I love you lando, thank you for loving me just the way I am]

view more comments

↳ landonorris: te amo mi bonita 🩵 you make me the happiest. Thank you for being so wonderful and be so you.

↳ y/nusername: omg te amo te amo te amo infinito 🩵

↳ landonorris: te amo infinito 🩵

↳ charlesleclerc: congratulations lovebirds! A pleasure meeting you @/y/nusername

↳ y/nusername: omg thank you prince 💌

↳ user778: ME ACABO DE MORIR SON HERMOSOS [omg I’m dead you are both so beautiful]

↳ yourbff: al fin alguien que te ama casi tanto como yo te amo 🩵😭 [finally someone that loves you almost as much as I do]

↳ y/nusername: 😭😭😭😭 te amo hermana

↳ user09: if he’s happy we’re all happy

↳ user123: I know franco choked when he saw this

——————————————————————————————

Thank you so much guys for 200 followers!! You are the best mwak mwak mwak 💌 first time I tried this format of story so I hope it’s good!! I dont know if it makes sense tho but i tried!!

[randombush3]

ubi amor, ibi dolor

alexia putellas x reader

part one

words: 11455 (SORRY THERE WAS A LOT TO FIT IN)

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks part two x

content warnings: it’s gets a little sad but tbh the next part is the one you should be worried abt 🤘

notes: this one covers 2017-2019. i apologise if it’s a bit jumpy because if i covered EVERYTHING you’d be sat here reading for days. also, this part was so slow to be finished because i abandoned it for ages and only just decided i should probs get to finishing it. the next part is the last one!

It’s about three months later, and there is not a silence that can’t be filled with the sound of Alexia’s voice. You don’t know how to prove this, because you leave none to be filled, instead seeking to occupy every spare second granted by your tour schedule to call her, to text her; to talk to her. 

You spend your nights on balconies all over the continent. Your smoking habit is worsening but the excuse of getting some fresh air to do so is a perfect way to weasel yourself out of parties and clubs and late-night chats with your friends. You much prefer to spend your time finding out more about the woman you quickly become obsessed with. She often verbalises her disdain for your disregard for your lungs – something that transcends the language barrier with an overwhelming clarity – but she is glad that you are talking to her either way.

A few times, you go as far as to hop on a secretly booked flight. You never step outside the airport, leaving Barcelona very much stamped in your passport but not on your list of places you have explored, but Alexia is more than content to pursue your hooded figure as you lead her into hidden corners of the arrivals lounge she begins to associate with the racing feeling in her heart when she sees you. Kissing against walls and on hard airport seats is not what feeds most budding romances, but you don’t care. You happily fly to her whenever you have a spare five minutes, and she is more than content to make the time spent physically together worthwhile.

The tour is nearly over. Five shows in three weeks, and then you can traipse back to London to fight off the delayed hangover in the comfort of your own home with meals cooked by your parents to keep you going. One of the worst things about being on the road is the food (or lack thereof), and your athlete gi… Alexia, is unimpressed with your nutrition. You find that she does not agree with most of your lifestyle, yet she seems captivated by it; like she is discovering a different, scarier world, and she can’t close her eyes.

Alexia’s birthday is soon. 

She has enough dread for the event to have communicated it far more efficiently than usual, with most conversations needing to be doubled in length to get past the all-too-familiar grunts of unrecognition. The streets of Barcelona are filled with whispers of a women’s league, and she is unsure of the pressure that is starting to grow on her shoulders. A birthday is inconvenient, she claims, though you only laugh. 

You tell her about Virgil – she knows you love him, she knows you love most things to do with him – and his famous quote. “Labor omnia vincit,” you say, finding it ironic that you are only able to talk to her right now because you skipped out on soundcheck and a run-through with the backup dancers. “Work conquers all. It reminds me of you.” 

Her lilting Spanish laughter fades as she actually thinks about it. 

“Es verdad,” Alexia replies, and you are glad to understand. “Quiero ser la mejor del mundo así que ‘labor omnia vincit’.” 

“You’re speaking Latin with a Spanish accent.” 

“You love my accent.” 

You smile. It’s true. 

…

It hasn’t settled in Alexia’s mind that you, who calls her whenever you can because you miss her opinions and her jokes and the face that you can picture when she speaks, are the same person as the one she sees on Jenni’s phone as the team crowds round the screen to watch a viral video from your concert last night. 

“A birthday present for you, eh, Ale?” Jenni jests, clinging on to Alexia’s admission months ago about her crush on you. She doesn’t know about the reality of it all. No one does, as of yet. 

“Who puts them in these outfits?” asks Leila, mildly outraged at the bedazzled lingerie you’d been dressed in. “There’s nothing to them! They might as well go on stage naked.” 

“It’s fine. They get hot while they’re performing anyway,” Alexia dismisses, not wanting to delve into your issues with your stylist. Well. Her issues with your stylist, who seems to not care about dignity or have any faith in the world’s imagination. (That, and Alexia is not sure she likes this idea of sharing, though she is aware that nothing defines you as hers.)

“Oh, did they tell you that themselves?” She glares at Jenni, and shoulders her way out of the huddle. It’s not Jenni’s fault that her mood has been easily soured, because tomorrow is Alexia’s birthday and then, the next day, she has to get to Madrid for her national camp. The Euros later this year is going to be in the Netherlands, and her dreams for her country are currently far-fetched. It hurts, and you’re well aware of her misery.

In fact, you are so aware that you are on a flight from Oslo on the fourth of February. It’s too special a day to miss. You have once again abandoned soundcheck. 

Alexia receives a text as she slides into her mother’s old car, considering flinging the device out of the window at one of her teammates’ heads after they sang to her at training without the mercy of letting her forget that she is one year closer to the end of her career. At this rate, the career will be full of wasted potential. She is in a terrible mood about it. 

And then she looks at her phone. 

You have really tried to up your game with the Spanish of late, enlisting the help of a private tutor who Skypes you twice a week with new phrases and grammar that mildly resembles that of a dead language you carry more than a passion for. 

You: Estoy aquí!

The only thing she can think to do is slam her index finger on the call button of your contact, nail bending painfully on the glass of the screen. 

Your instructions are clear: “Airport. Now.” 

She drives. 

She drives at an embarrassingly desperate speed, because just over a week is too long a separation and her day has been awful and there is something so magnetic about your presence that she would be going against nature to do anything other than find you. Obviously, find you she does: right in the arrivals lounge, same black hoodie as always disguising your identity. It’s not any busier than usual, and you catch sight of her the minute she pushes her way to the front of the crowd of expectant faces. 

With a weary grin, you walk towards her, and she knows that this game is only temporary. There will be privacy close by, and you can speak then. 

She turns with a nod, and you follow as she takes the usual route, but suddenly there are fingers intertwined with her own and you are stopping her in front of everyone. 

“Feliz cumpleaños,” you say with a pronounced failure and a hilariously concentrated expression. Alexia giggles, and the storm cloud above her dissipates, but the kiss she wants to press to your lips will have to wait. There’s somewhere empty just around the corner, and she tugs your hand to get you to come with her – to match the same haste she has – but you don’t. “Al coche. So we can go to your casa.” 

Her eyebrows raise. 

“It’s your birthday,” you explain, stepping towards her so that the people around you see a couple instead of two women walking in a vague direction. Alexia swallows, body tingling at your proximity. Her body always tingles when you stand near her like this. “It’s your birthday, so I am here for the night. My flight is tomorrow.” 

She understands you entirely. 

She all but drags you to her car. 

Alexia does not even remember what it’s like to be miserable. She is set alight by your presence, by your lips, your hands, your soft greeting that you whisper in her ear when she pulls away to drive you to her flat. It’s a new place, and she is free from the fuss of her mother. 

You smile when she pulls you out, taking your bulging handbag in one hand and grasping yours with the other, and she kisses that smile as she presses you against the mirror in the lift. The bag hits the floor with a thud, your overnight things spilling out because of her carelessness, but you pay the rolling Dior lipstick no mind, too caught up in the way her tongue swirls in your mouth. How her hands grip your waist. 

She’s stronger than last time. She gets stronger every day: she is going to be the best footballer in the world. She is dedicated to her sport. 

Your palms travel up the back of her t-shirt, cold from the metal you’d previously had them pressed against. Alexia flinches as your fingers brush a particular spot, the skin there slightly raised. 

“¿Que pasó?” you ask, head tilted to the side as she draws back, panting. “Are you hurt?”

She examines your eyes. Deeply inquisitive. Full of something that may resemble love in the future. 

Alexia smiles – an expression that she wears mostly when she is thinking about you. You watch as she turns around, the lift jerking to a halt as if to hurry up her slow movements. As she lifts up her t-shirt, you eye the tattoos you are aware decorate her back. There are going to be more someday, she has always been clear about that. 

And, oh. 

You’re not usually so attached. Alexia, it’s apparent, is a complete exception.

She asks you if you like it. You lean forward, and kiss the four words (she must have researched the quote, because you excluded the last when you mentioned it), tongue running over the redness as if you are going to heal the irritation. She moans quietly, more surprised than anything else. 

“Do I get the credit for it?” She shakes her head, which you catch in the mirror opposite, and, before you can voice your protest, she is facing the right way again and kissing you as she leads you to her door. “You know, there’s another quote from him that I much prefer to that one. ‘Labor omnia vincit improbus’ is… Do you know the word workaholic?” Again, her head shakes. She backs you against the wall next to her door, lips attached to your neck as you keen under her touch. 

She slots her leg between yours, and you forget your next sentence. 

It’s a heated kiss. It promises tonight’s activities to you, and you cannot wait for her to unlock her door. 

Your lips run along her neck as she jams her key into the lock. You suck and bite, spurred on by the moans she bites back with a clenched jaw. You find it sexy: her determination to get you inside. And it’s her birthday, after all. She deserves it. You have another gift for her in your bag, but she is grateful for this anyway.

“Inside,” she gasps as you smooth your tongue over the newly-created hickey you just gave her, kicking her door wide open and hauling you through the gap. 

The flat is pitch black, but Alexia knows it well enough to chuck your bag towards the dining table and have you on your way to the bedroom without needing to switch any lights on. But your hands wander, and she gets distracted. She stops you in the middle of the flat, only half a second into your journey, and her life feels so full (especially when you moan like that). The room feels so full. 

The room is full. 

The room is…

“Moltes felicitats, moltes felici–” sings (and abruptly stops) a whole choir of Alexia’s friends and family, the lights switching to bathe the two of you in total mortification. 

Alba’s hand covers the eyes of her cousin’s six-year-old, whose mouth has formed a perfect circle.  

Silence washes over what looks to be a surprise birthday party. One which Alexia was assured yesterday was not going to happen. By multiple guilty attendees! 

Alexia looks helplessly between you, her mother, and the shit-eating grin on Jenni Hermoso’s face, remembering herself promptly when Eli’s eyes drop to the placement of her hands on your bum. She almost jumps away from you. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath, stewing in the terribly awkward silence as Alexia’s eyes only grow wider and wider. “Alexia.” 

She breaks from her frozen state, thawed by the husk of your voice. 

“Jo…” 

The crowd explodes, and you let the tsunami of Catalan wash over your ears. There is so much noise, and so many people, and you can only watch as Alexia tries to answer all of their questions. She shakes her head, nodding at the same time, switching between two different languages to cover the shrieks from Jenni and the absolute bollocking her mother is giving her in front of everyone about dignity and respect. You are famous, says Eli, and you do not need Alexia’s horny motives to embarass you like that. 

“She’s a celebrity,” Eli chides with a glare at her daughter, eyes softening as you continue to stare at the sea of faces blankly. You are backed against a wall with nowhere to run. “Alexia, introduce us to your girlfriend. Now.” 

“You guys don’t need to be introduced to her!” Alexia replies like a petulant child, nearly crossing her arms and stamping her foot. “You know her name, and you’ve seen her. So you should all leave, really. Mami, I told you I didn’t want a party.” 

Eli’s hands fly from her body to halt the departure of the guests as they catch on to how unwanted they are. “No, we are still going to have this party,” she insists. It’s the final decision. “So, go on. Introduce us.” It’s definitely not a question. 

You clear your throat, wanting to save Alexia somehow. “Hola,” you begin, and every face breaks out into a beaming grin. “Um. Soy Y/n. Y… soy de Inglaterra?” 

“Sí,” Eli says with a swell of encouragement that you can feel from two metres away. 

 “Alexia,” you plead. 

“Guys, this is Y/n. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and she definitely does not speak Catalan, so either you practise your English or we cut the cake Mami has made and then you–”

“I am a big fan!” Jenni squeals, accented words loud and piercing as she surges towards you, sparking the movement of the entire body of people. No one listens to the rest of Alexia’s declaration. 

… 

There is a reason you are so well-liked, Alexia determines. She can see it as you interact with her family and closest friends. You smile and you listen and you remember things about people that they would deem insignificant. And it helps that you look breath-taking while doing it all.

Sitting at her dining table, Alba on one side, her mother on the other, she watches you flit around her flat with a talent for socialising, charming every person you speak to. 

“She doesn’t know how you feel, does she?” Eli comments, noticing the hesitation in her daughter’s expression. 

“I don’t know how she feels,” is what Alexia replies, because there is no way you can ignore the emotion she pours into your conversations. It exceeds that of a simple crush or hormone-fuelled desire. “She is incredible. I am me.” 

“You are Alexia Putellas.” 

“And she at least likes the way you kiss her,” Alba chimes in, her contribution unnecessary but making Alexia blush at the memory. The fact that her entire family saw that, most of them knowing where you were heading, is something she might be tossing and turning about at night for a while yet. 

“Your father would love her.” 

“I think so too,” Alexia says, chin resting on her palm as the world melts away, your eyes briefly meeting with hers as one of the children giggles at the face you have just pulled behind their mother’s back. A pang of disappointment reverberates in her chest as she grieves momentarily over the loss of her favourite person on Earth, wishing he could have shared the traumatic experience of today. He would’ve laughed so hard at her face when the lights went on.  

“She seems lovely, really. Very polite. Is it because she’s English?” 

“She is very…”

“I suppose the Latin came from her?” Alba asks with a smirk, prodding the fresh tattoo over the thin material of Alexia’s t-shirt, grinning as her sister hisses in pain. 

“Next time, we can go somewhere quieter and talk properly. I know that you’ll be busy when tonight is over.” 

Both Alexia and Alba shudder. “Mami!” her little sister groans, suppressing her gag. 

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Alba.” 

“Never say ‘sex’ in front of me again,” Alexia tells her smug mother.

“Well, never get so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice the balloons taped to your flat number.” 

Alexia bolts outside to check, and hates herself when she sees them. 

…

“Dance with me!” 

You grab Alexia’s hand, pulling her towards you. The party has lasted longer than she’s happy with, and you have seemingly forgotten about what you could be doing. You love to dance. You love music. 

The little boy who’d been your partner up until now sticks his tongue out at Alexia, and she reciprocates the gesture. She is the birthday girl, after all. 

You don’t understand a word of the music, but the beat flows through your hips as you move them against her. She runs her hands up and down your sides, your tank top now the only layer between your skin and her impatient fingers, hoodie having been stripped off the minute the party became interesting. 

“My mother likes you,” Alexia whispers into your ear as you sway in time to the rhythm. Her lips brush your ear lobe, and you shiver despite the growing heat between you. 

“This was very much a surprise,” you giggle in response, possibly answering wrong because her Spanish didn’t quite catch.

“Mhm.”

“I can’t wait for them to leave.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. “You are not having fun?” 

“I am,” you reply with a nod, a smirk slowly creeping into your content expression. She holds her breath, reminding herself of the presence of her family as you grind into her. “But I also can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Alexia shudders.

“I will tell them to go.” 

They cut the cake. 

They sing again, completing the lyrics this time. You are even taught them before-hand, pushed out to the side of the crowd, very much silently told that you currently hold no place in Alexia’s life in comparison to these people. They all love her. You aren’t there yet. 

But, she values your presence. 

Alexia doesn’t care much about the people here tonight. She sees them almost every day, and she knows they are constants. What she does care about is you. 

You, in that tank top. You, with your hair down, face fresh even though your day must have been exhausting. You, with a red mark on your collarbone that no one knows how to point out to you in English. 

Soon, everyone is gone, and you are panting underneath her. Her lips capture yours, muffling the groan that comes with the movement of her fingers inside you. Your legs wrap around her body tighter, heels digging into her back. 

Her hair falls around you; encapsulating you, surrounding you with only her. Her smell, her taste, her fingers. 

You moan as her determination to destroy you becomes apparent. She hits every spot that has been neglected for the past few months, and though it is the first time the two of you are doing this, it’s as if Alexia has studied your body for years already.

She breaks apart from you as you come, your back arching off the mattress, chest pressing against hers. She wants to see your face for the first time. If she had a camera, she would have used it. You look beautiful. 

Nothing on Earth compares to the cliff you have just been pushed off, and it is as if you are falling for eternity. 

She goes again, and again, and again. She’s an athlete. 

She ruins you, but her strong arms hold you together afterwards. 

You fall asleep, for the first time in a while, with someone by your side. Whose hands find purchase on her favourite part of you, pulling you on top of her as she whines at your own tired attempt to make her feel good. Alexia whispers that she has been given enough, that she doesn’t need it, and she thinks you fall asleep to the sound of her incomprehensible, breathy Spanish. You cling to her. 

…

The tour ends. 

You couldn’t be happier. The final show is a blessing, and the tears in your eyes are of joy. You, Gio, and Anya are going home at last. 

However, the well-decorated flat you walk into lacks everything possible, because there is no Alexia standing in the middle of the living room. She can’t be here, though you wish things were different. The season has been successful for her so far, and she is busy. 

You really miss her. One night wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, and you are starting to realise the gravity of your blushes. 

You like Alexia, and you have fallen hard and fast.

“You’re not coming back with us,” your brother says knowingly, skiing beside you down the picturesque blue run in Les Gets. You have come here every year since you were eight. April is a little later than usual, and the snow often turns to slush towards the afternoon – though one could argue that is simply a cue to move onto apres-ski – but it is pleasant to be on holiday with your family. People try to bother you, but it is easier to pretend you don’t see their waves when you have your ski goggles pulled over your eyes. 

Your brother coughs, not pleased that you are ignoring him, reducing him to ‘everyone else’. (His ego, far too preened, far too large, cannot handle the idea of that.)

In front of the two of you, your father turns with precision and great technique. You can’t relate: you’re drunk. You have been since this morning. 

“Sorry?” Your innocence is pretence and he rolls his eyes behind his Oakleys. 

“Your flight. I saw it was booked to take you somewhere else. Somewhere you’ve been going a lot.” 

“You’re not subtle.” 

“You’re not subtle,” he replies, skis dangerously close to yours. You have to swerve, sending you onto the off-piste section of the run much to your irritation. With the excuse of tackling the jumps, however, you are lucky to evade further questioning, watching as he glides off into the distance, reaching the banner and skidding to a halt to wait for you and your mother. Your mother prefers to drink more than ski. She is always holding up the rear. 

When you return to the chalet, bought by your parents a decade ago to solidify their roots in Les Gets, your brother seems to have remembered your conversation from earlier. Your parents have gone out for dinner, leaving the two of you to make something for yourselves. He is glad to have you alone. 

“You don’t like lads, do you?” And, in truth, it’s an insightful question by his standards. He cares; he just does not know how to show it. 

Pausing the construction of your sandwich for a moment, you allow him to see you for who you are. He’s your brother, after all. “Not at all,” comes your response. 

He hums. “Thought so. You’d have gone out with half of England’s football team otherwise. God knows that they don’t mind.” 

“England has a women’s team.” 

“Gross.” His lips purse as he thinks about his little sister’s love life, and he decides that he would like to know more about Barcelona. “Are you buying a villa?” 

“What?” 

“Well, you go to Barcelona a lot. Are you buying a villa with the girls? Is that what celebrities do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Mum and Dad buy villas. It isn’t just celebrities who splurge on property.” 

“You’re not answering my question.” 

“I wish you’d never become a lawyer.” 

He laughs – hearty and deep. His laugh reminds you of dark forests for some reason; tall trees that dwarf your body, but keep you safe nonetheless. “I wish you’d never gotten famous. My life would be so much quieter if half my mates weren’t trying to squeeze something or other out of my connections.” His pride is profound in his misery, and you smile, blushing. “You’re not buying a villa.” 

“Well done, genius,” you taunt, assembling your sandwich once again in hopes that the baguette will kill the buzz in your mind. You can’t really think when you’re drunk, and, recently, when there is nothing else to occupy you, your mind wanders to Alexia. What is she doing now? Does she miss you? Is she excited to see you in three days? 

It dawns upon his face with an amusing animation. “You’re seeing someone,” he accuses. 

“Maybe,” you shrug. “She’d be one lucky girl.” 

“One unlucky girl, you mean. I’d better find out who she is and tell her to run for the hills. You’re about two decades overdue for an exorcism, and it shows.” He swiftly appears behind you, despite his lumbering limbs, and flicks your ear as your teeth sink into your dinner. You squeal, pushing backwards to get him away from you. “What’s her name? Who is she? What does she do?”

“She is… classified.” 

He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to find a list of Spanish names and see which one turns you into a tomato.” 

“She’s still classified.” You prod your index finger into his shoulder.

“Hey.” You retract your finger, surprised by the tenderness of his tone. “You can tell me, you know. You’re my little sister. I really don’t give enough of a fuck to spread it.” 

With great shame, you absolutely do not need to be told twice to talk about your favourite Spanish woman on the planet at the moment. He actually has to beg you to stop. 

…

Things with Alexia are good. 

Not just in terms of your relationship, but in general, too. Walks are more enjoyable, and so are mornings, afternoons, evenings. She likes that you feel comfortable to chill in her flat while she goes to training. She likes that she comes home to you. She likes that you spend your days with a pencil between your teeth, a blank page set out in front of you. 

Now that the tour is over, it is clear what comes next. The new album will be the best ever made, you have decided, because you might finally understand the lyrics that you sing. They could resonate. 

They will resonate. 

Alexia asks you to be her girlfriend when she drops you off at the airport. Your plane is private and she can kiss you goodbye when you agree. 

You love being Alexia’s girlfriend. You repeat your new identity over and over as you fly back to London, and it is a mantra that plays on loop in your mind as you get on with life back home. 

The girls tease you mercilessly when you spill it. All three of you are on the balcony, though this time there is a joint placed between your fingers rather than a cigarette. Slightly high, more so giddy about Alexia, you confess. They’re happy for you, but Gio can’t help but text Anya later that night. 

Gio: Have you seen the new plan? 

Anya: What plan? 

Gio is sitting upright in her bed, ensuring that her panic is quiet so her new boyfriend does not wake up. Her fingers hover over the keys shamefully, but she has to tell someone and it can’t be you.

Gio: The publicity plan. 

It’s at your studio session the next day when all comes to light. Your manager/publicist appears, which is honestly quite rare. She’s not fond of the claustrophobia of the small room, nor the darkness it becomes shrouded in when you, Gio, and Anya are trying not to murder each other. 

Dave swivels around on his chair, bored with the bickering. You aren’t sure about a lyric, but they disagree, even if Anya knows you have a better point than the third member of your group. 

Your manager clears her throat. “Y/n, may I speak with you? It’s quite important.” 

“Do this lyric without me,” you grit out to Gio. 

“It’s your solo.” 

“I don’t care.” 

With that, you follow your manager into the corridor. 

They hear your protests from the studio, the shout of frustration piercing through the small gap underneath the door, overcoming the supposedly impregnable sound-proofing. 

There are tears streaming down your face upon your return. Fuck her, and fuck him. 

Anya and Gio can’t look at you. Their chins dip to their chest as they slump in place, succumbing to the predetermined guilt they discovered last night. 

“It’s not fair,” you cry to them as they refuse to turn around, throwing yourself onto the sofa with a heaving sob. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair. She’s going to hate me — she’s not going to love me anymore, and I… I love her.”

Anya’s mouth opens with a sob of her own. She had thought Alexia was a dalliance. She hadn’t realised. 

It’s fun to have someone, she knows, but it is painful to love them. 

You are clearly not enjoying yourself now. 

“You love her?” she asks, though she is sure of the answer as another gasp leaves your body with a chilling desperation. 

“Yes, I fucking love her. It was obvious.” 

“But you—”

“Because I’m not out!” 

“So what did she tell you?” 

“They want it to last a few months. Enough to draw the attention away from my aversion to men and his relationship with some blogger.” 

Anya gulps. A few months is a lot to endure, especially for the footballer whose heart you’ll be breaking. “You’ve said no, right?” she tries, paling as she grips onto the mic stand, trying in vain to remember the harmony she is supposed to sing. “You’ve told them… You’re you, of course you’ve said no!”

“Of course,” Gio adds, equally in denial. 

You can only shake your head. 

You were not given a choice. 

Telling Alexia is hard, and not just because of the tears running through your words as you try to get them out over the phone. 

In Barcelona, her head hangs in disappointment. She is never going to be good enough for you, she tells herself. The world will soon slot you by the side of another celebrity, and you will be pictured together as many times as humanly possible. No one will know that she is the one you call when you need to talk to someone, or that it is her rose that is pressed between your favourite copy of Little Women, saved from Sant Jordi. No one will be any the wiser to the girlfriend you keep in Spain, nor assume that you are visiting the country for a reason other than tourism and partying with your favourite foreign men’s football team. 

It goes like this for months. 

It sours the second- place finish in the league even more; makes the Champions League semi-final exit soul-destroying; and completely ruins her joy about winning the Copa de la Reina (worsened by a picture of you and him released the morning of the final). 

She is still your girlfriend, but she is always one step behind you. She is in the shadows of the crowd when you sell out Wembley for the first time, and is just out of frame in the picture captured backstage of you and your lover embracing. His muscles do not feel the same as Alexia’s, but he becomes a friend, you guess. He isn’t fond of the arrangement either. 

Then, when Alexia feels as though she might explode from the jealousy she harbours, she is tested once more as you go radio silent for a day. It’s unbearable. You usually text her every hour. 

She misses hearing you greet her with ‘I took a smoke break’. She misses the taste of your lips, and the heat of your breath, and the swell of emotion you cause inside of her when you show her that you really care. 

It’s a hard day. The Euros have started, and Spain has won their first two group stage matches. Vilda is terrible as usual, but it is nothing in comparison to the cavity left in her chest where you have carved out your notifications. Alexia has never wished to be distracted from football before, but today is clearly Judgement Day. 

“Is this about your girlfriend?” Jenni pesters, mocking Alexia’s frown by exaggerating it on her own face. “She’s not pinging your phone every five minutes and now you’re inconsolable.” 

“I have many things to be upset about,” Alexia replies moodily, though Vilda’s earlier berating has had no effect on her mood because it simply cannot get worse. “Our coach is shit, and we don’t get treated like England or Holland does.”

“And your girlfriend hasn’t texted you.” 

“Yes, Jenni. She hasn’t texted me.” 

She sighs. 

Jenni is repulsed by the fire in Alexia’s belly seemingly having been put out. Her grimace is noticeable as she bends down to unlace her boots, glancing around the shoddy locker room, imagining what Alexia claims a few of the other teams have. 

“Maybe she’s busy. She is, like, famous. She could be out for lunch with Shakira!” 

“No, that was last month.” 

Jenni pauses for a moment, awestruck at her friend's seriousness, before collecting herself and trying another approach. “Why don’t we do some shooting practice while you wait for her to call? That way, Spain gets more goals, and you’re…” 

She doesn’t get to finish, cut off by the alarming brrrp of Alexia’s phone. Her friend saddens at the volume, pitying Alexia for how loud she has turned her ringer up just in case she had been missing your notification all along. 

Alexia swipes her phone up from the bench, and hurries into the toilets. 

Throughout the five months you have been dating, Alexia has become increasingly more aware of your intense reactions to emotional situations. You feel when you feel. She admires you for your work ethic, as you do her, because you fly from Barcelona to London and back again, all while writing songs, humming melodies, and holding together your high-profile life. Unfortunately, your determination and tendency to give everything and more has bled into every aspect of your life. And you are a wreck when she finally gets a word out of you. 

“Tranquila, cariño,” she tries as you suck in a pathetically shallow breath. She knows exactly how many kilometres away from her you are, and she wishes she could sprint the distance. “Tranquila. What has happened?” 

“I… I fired her.” 

“Who?” 

“My manager.” Alexia’s hand balls into a fist and she quietly celebrates. Well, until you sob again. “I mean, we all fired her. But now we have no manager and Dave is concerned about the structure of our group and the album sucks and it’s shit and HE tried to kiss me yesterday, even though he’s got a girlfriend too!” 

“Búa, más slower, por favor. I’m not inglesa!” 

Life, even if you are upset right now, starts to look up. You even get to spend a month with her, practising your Spanish (mejor-ing your nivel de español), meeting her family in a more appropriate context, and even watching the first match of the 2017-2018 season. Which Alexia is adamant they will win. 

…

She proposes in November; a year after you kissed. 

It’s not a hard decision to make. Not when you have built IKEA furniture together, and spent a week in Menorca with her, her mother, and her sister. Not when her English is littered with your vocabulary and references to Virgil and the like, and your family can all shout at you in Spanish because they’ve heard her do it so many times. Not when ‘I love you’ is the easiest sentence she’s ever said. Every minute of her life that she gives you is like exchanging part of her soul for pure, complete bliss. 

You’re fucking freezing, and befuddled at the fact that Alexia has requested to take a walk in the park near your flat. Your Spanish girlfriend, the same woman who finds summer too temperate in England, has somehow turned into a snow-lover, even if there is only damp grass and a biting wind. Alexia wishes England had white Christmases, but it’s a myth, she has discovered. 

The ring sits in her coat pocket. She chose it with Alba before she left the warmer climate of Barcelona, and her sister did not ask her whether she was rushing into things. It’s not too soon; if anything, she should’ve asked a year ago. 

“Fuck me, it’s cold,” you groan as you shiver. She takes your hand, her woollen gloves itchy against your bare skin, but it warms you up. “We could be inside, in bed. There’s a new series we could start, or, I don’t know, don’t you have some football game to watch?” 

“I hate watching football with you.” 

You part your lips to respond, but she is not lying and she has said it before. Some bullshit about you supporting all the wrong teams. 

“Well, I hate it when you drag me out into the freezing cold for no reason. If you want a dog to bring on walks, just say so. We can go to Battersea before you leave tomorrow.” 

“Don’t,” she murmurs, halting you both near the inky water of the lake you have been circling for the past five minutes. It sucks that her visits are temporary, even if you are technically moved into each other’s homes (she has your keys, you have hers). With the remaining time left before her flight tomorrow at noon, she has worked up the courage to do it now. 

It’s like scoring a goal: receive the pass; dribble; gear up for it; shoot. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Her free hand reaches into her pocket. “Nada.” 

“No, you’re acting weird…” You blink a few times as if to adjust better to the dim light coming from the distant lampposts. A plop sounds from the water, and she jumps. She’s on edge.

“No.” 

“Yes. Jesus, you haven’t decided to break up with me in the middle of a park at night, have you?” Your question packs an unnerved insecurity, and she feels a little guilty about the suspense. She fiddles with the ring in her pocket, and then she takes a deep breath. “Hey,” you try tenderly. “Seriously, Ale, what’s wrong?” 

“Te lo dije. Nothing.” 

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She sighs, “here,” and she grabs your hand to press it into the soft warmth inside. And there’s a piece of metal, heated by her fingers. With a chunk of rock on top of it. It feels like an engagement ring. You’re probably not getting broken up with tonight. 

“Are you proposing?” 

“Are you saying yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hòstia.” She frowns, and you consider pushing her into the lake. “I am going to say it now.”

“But you already—”

A quick display of her athleticism, for the muscles exist despite being buried underneath all those layers, and she is down on one knee. Her joggers will have wet patches, and she hates the squelch of the mud beneath her, but she has a perfect view of your surprise. Your tears. 

“Bueno. Your brother helped me to… write the speech,” she starts, and her rehearsal is adorable. Although, honestly, you don’t hear what she has to say because you have already made up your mind. 

You tell her yes in as many languages as you can. 

And she thanks you with breathy moans into your mouth as you guide her towards a bench, and then your flat, and finally your bed. 

When you are finished, well into the early hours of the morning she will have to leave, you climb out of bed, missing the firm grip of her toned arms the minute you’re out of it. There is a burning, overwhelming sureness inside of you that you can’t escape. You know it is soon – probably too soon for most – but there is a person out there for everyone, and yours is right in your bed. 

Your guitar, slightly dusty from the neglect because of your frequent visits to Barcelona, rumbles when you pluck it from its stand, collapsing into the armchair beside your bed with a groan, feeling the ache of your muscles that only affirm just how good a time you’ve had with your fiancée. 

You don’t play anything interesting, but the noise is enough to rouse Alexia from her heavy slumber. She lifts her head from where it has been buried within the silk pillows of your bed, and watches as your fingers pluck the nylon strings with vague allusion to one of your older songs. The weight of her ring – your engagement ring – does not seem to affect your playing: in fact, Alexia realises your hand was naked without it. You hum, fingers beginning to itch for a cigarette the minute the guitar starts to bore you, and she clears her throat. 

Her grin is self-satisfied and certain. “Me voy a casar contigo,” she says into the dark stillness of your bedroom.

“I love you,” you reply.

…

Being engaged is fun. 

Like, really fun. 

You stay in Barcelona in December, hiding from the bitter chill of England. No one questions it, and the absence of a manager grants you so much freedom. The girls pop to the city one weekend to brainstorm a song, but, other than that, you are content to forget your own identity and become Alexia’s fiancée, one of the regulars at the increasingly more popular Barça Femení games (only the team know you’re there, able to see through the caps and sunglasses). 

There are still rumours circulating about you and him, though their credibility has lessened ever since he revealed himself to have been in LA for a while. To the world, you’re sort of MIA. They catch you occasionally when you return to London for photoshoots or just to chat with your friends and family, but they get nothing more. Your Instagram posts are few and far between, and the most recent paparazzi picture is of you leaving Gio’s house to buy her a pregnancy test. 

When the test is positive, something is tweaked inside of you, and you return to Barcelona – a place that is now your home too – carrying a lead-ish guilt. 

Alexia loves her football, and Alexia is obsessed with her career. You are too, but you have done what you can, really. The BRIT nominees will be announced tomorrow, and you know that you and the girls are on that list. You have your fame, you have your money. But Alexia has neither, and she should. Especially when her male counterparts are raised high and mighty on large, golden platforms. 

You know just how ambitious she is, and that is why you lack surprise when you enter her flat to find her hunched over her iPad at the dining table, replaying the same twenty-second clip over and over until she has identified every single fault and created a plan to correct them. 

She barely registers your presence, but you don’t mind how absorbed she is in her footage. It is nice to make the ever-composed Alexia jump when you slink up behind her, pressing your lips against her neck. She dissolves herself in the fuzzy feeling you give her.

“Hola,” she says, regaining control when she spots another mistake, grasping her pen tightly as she scribbles down Spanish words you can’t be bothered to read. 

“Hola,” you reciprocate, though you are a lot more enthusiastic about it. “Tengo una pregunta.” 

“Oh no.” You wrap your arms around her shoulders, and she relaxes. Your ring reflects the light from her screen as if to remind her that you are hers, and that softens her previous sternness slightly. Another kiss to the skin behind her ear, and she is more open to talk. 

Clicking your tongue, you think of where to start. “Okay, first, I have news.”

“About Gio? Is she okay?” 

“She’s… pregnant.” The emergency you were recalled to London for was actually a pleasant surprise for her and her boyfriend. You’re unsure about how committed they are to each other, and whether a baby is a great idea, but you held your tongue when Anya shook her head at you. 

“Uf. Pobrecita, ¿no? She loves tequila.” 

“She does love tequila,” you agree with a chuckle. You extend your hand slightly and press pause on the footage. Alexia pushes back against you. Her chair scrapes against the wooden floorboards, but there is a gap between her and the table now. She motions for you to sit in her lap. 

She tilts your chin up and kisses you gently: a welcome home kiss. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?”

“What would you do if I told you that I was pregnant tomorrow?” 

“I would ask you if you have been cheating on me with a man,” she replies instantly. You laugh, head falling forwards, resting on her shoulder. She runs her hands up your sides, fingers firm, thighs tensing underneath you. 

“But hypothetically. If it were possible,” you continue, a smirk working its way onto your lips, guilt forgotten. You may have spent your plane journey scrolling through pictures of Alexia with the various babies in your life. It was a self-indulgent act, and it has very much led you to now. 

Her eyebrows furrow with the adorable crinkle in between them, and she is seriously trying to work out if she is missing something. You go to London, you come back, you want a baby? 

But she loves you. And she is very intrigued. 

“Is it mine?” 

“Yes, it’s yours.” 

She watches the smirk on your face blossom into a smile, and she feels a matching one tug her lips upwards. “Is it going to support España or England?” The latter is pronounced in your accent, and you make a mental note to ask Jenni if she has been doing impressions of you to her teammates. 

“It can choose when it’s older,” you say, waving off her stupid football question. Since dating her, your interest in football has decreased. She has sort of put you off. You only really watch it to watch her now, or when United are playing an interesting game and your father is antsy enough to text you every minute. 

“No, it can’t.” You blink. She pulls you into her. “It chooses now. Spain or England, and Manchester United or Barcelona. There are right answers.” 

“Manches–”

“Wrong! I think I will have to make sure the baby is not brainwashed.” 

You panic for a moment. “Wait, you do know I’m not really pregnant, right?!” 

Alexia is not the most ready for children, but she is always prepared to give you everything you want. “If you want a baby, mi amor, let’s make a baby. Sin chicos.” You giggle coyly as she hoists you up – the display of strength exuding an unbearably sexy cockiness. “And after,” she says in between kisses as she stands, “we can look on the Internet for options.” 

“¡Vamos!”

…

The Barcelona women’s team congas its way back into the Home team changing room of the Joan Gamper, following a 7-0 win. Alexia kicked off the goal-laden game in the sixth minute, and she is on cloud nine. Victory is the sweetest taste in her mouth, and one where she knows you are watching is even better. 

Mapi flicks her shoulder as they dance to the music bursting from someone or other’s speaker. “You’re so happy,” she says, her grin wide and eyes shining. They dance topless, most of them, but Alexia has subtly been rushing to get dressed and find you. Barcelona is a beautiful city, and she has promised that you can take her to dinner somewhere now that your morning sickness has subsided and only started to affect you when it is supposed to. 

“We just won,” she explains over the shouts of joy from her teammates. 

María León joined from Atleti this season, but she has known Alexia longer than that, and she can tell when there is something more to football in her emotions. Though it is a well-kept secret, Alexia has two obsessions, and you are one of them. 

“Yo sé. But you have been very happy recently, in general. Except, you don’t come out for team nights or hang back to practise more after training, so it is definitely to do with Y/n.” Alexia’s absence in her teammates’ lives is actually unusual, seeing as you are very encouraging and a firm believer in the ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality. Your urging is what sends Alexia to bars and clubs with the girls, though she has neglected all of these outings ever since you showed her your positive pregnancy test (best belated birthday present ever). “So… what’s going on?” 

“You’re so nosy.” 

“I’m interested. I love her, and I want to know how she has made it so that you haven’t had a bad day for the last three months, even when we lost to Bilbao. Is it sex? Does she suffer through–”

“No!” Alexia interjects, cheeks reddening. Mapi smirks at the twenty-four-year-old, proud to have embarrassed her. She still claims that she is not a prude. Her phone buzzes on the bench – you’re asking how long she is going to take.

Mapi swipes Alexia’s clean clothes from her grip, holding them behind her back as she giggles at her friend’s exasperation. “Tell me, or go outside like that.” 

“Good thing it’s May,” Alexia shrugs, grabbing her phone and bag, knowing you won’t at all mind spending time with her in just her sports bra. She is pulled back by Mapi, who has hooked her finger into the waistband of Alexia’s shorts and yanked hard enough for them to have stretched. 

“Ale, tell me.” 

“No. You’re a gossip.” 

“I’m not a gossip.” 

“You so are.” 

“Am not.” 

“So it wasn’t you who told Leila about Patri’s crush when I made it clear that we weren’t even supposed to know?” Mapi shifts uncomfortably, letting go of the shorts. “And it definitely wasn’t you who let everyone find out about my engagement because you don’t know what an inside voice is?” 

“Hey, you never specified that you were going to be sneaky about it!” she defends, as she has done ever since the entire canteen went silent in shock and then, two seconds later, broke out into a clamour of pleas to be bridesmaids and to get Bad Bunny invited to the wedding. 

“It was implied,” Alexia shoots back with a glare. 

“Fine. Be annoying. I’ll just ask Y/n.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s got better things to do.” 

“Ouch,” Leila says, patting Mapi on the back as she shoves her way into the conversation. The two are partners in crime, and Alexia hates that she is now outnumbered. “But tell us. Please, Ale.” 

“We’ll even not nutmeg you for a week.” They love to try. It’s their highest priority mission.

“A month,” Alexia negotiates. 

“Yes! Just tell us.” 

“Y/n is pregnant.” Three months down the line is not necessarily when she wants to announce her personal business to the entirety of Spain, but you both know that it’s safe to tell people now.

Mapi laughs. “Ay, Alexia, you don’t have to lie to us.”

She looks at her friends blankly, having not expected this reaction. When she told her mother, the woman at least had it in her to take it seriously (albeit with quite the cautious ‘are you sure?’). “I’m not lying,” she then says, more to Leila than the giggling Mapi in front of her.

“You’re not…?” Leila tries, grappling with it. Two pairs of eyes drift down to Alexia’s crotch, squinting at the material as though some previously concealed appendage is going to jump out at them.  

Alexia clears her throat. 

“I’m sorry. How?!” 

“The normal way most lesbians–”

“She’s, like, actually pregnant? Like, de verdad, she is pregnant?” 

“Or she’s smuggling a lime under her shirt.” Her nod is small and she has the glimmer of a smile on her face despite Leila and Mapi’s gobsmacked expressions. Her phone buzzes: it’s you again. “And, if you two don’t mind, I don’t want to leave her waiting for me outside.” 

“Because she’s…” 

“Exactly.” 

When she finally escapes the changing room, she climbs into her car. With heartbreak from both you and your dad, you have sold your i8 in favour of getting Alexia a Land Rover. Most of your money is in savings. You earn loads, but it is hard to find things you want to spend it on, and a lot of it goes towards private jets to get you to and from Alexia. 

You are sitting in the passenger seat. “Jugaste bien,” you say as her hand moves up from its instinctive resting place on your thigh, settling on the growing swell of your stomach. “I’m so hungry. I could eat a horse.” 

“A horse?” 

“Or a house. Or, I don’t know, an entire cavalry. Feed me.” Her alarm — a mistranslation — causes her to almost run over the steward directing her out of the car park. “Tengo mucha hambre, Ale.” She nods with a roll of her eyes. She’s been warned about pregnant women. 

…

In the bustling excitement of Estadi Johan Cruyff, which has slowly filled with more and more fans in the time you have known the plastic seats and improving pitch, you find yourself in the midst of an unexpected turn of events. With your due date approaching and Alexia’s insistence that you are surely made of glass, you have been forced to part from your sisters (Gio and Anya) and live in Barcelona. She wants the baby to be born here. You’ve negotiated that the next one will be had in London. 

Alexia’s mother notices the deep breath you take in, well-acquainted with the horror on your face having worn that same expression twice before. ¿Estás bien?” she asks you, the steadiness of her voice comforting to the flurry inside your head. 

The whistle blows and the game kicks off. This can’t be happening now. 

It’s too early. There’s a… What are they called? Braxton-hicks? 

“Sí,” you affirm with a curt nod. The not-contraction doesn’t hurt that much, you tell yourself. You settle in the seat and focus on the match in front of you, using the rhythm of the crowd’s cheers (it can now be called a crowd!) to keep you grounded. With a reassuring smile, Eli offers you her hand. You take it and try not to crush her metacarpals. 

It’s definitely possible that you are in actual labour, considering the increasing intensity of your contractions, but you are not about to leave the match. Alexia would notice your absence. This game is important for her team – it’s the last before the Christmas break. 

At halftime, Eli quietly reassesses you, tricking you into seeing the team’s medic when guiding you to the ‘toilet’. Already briefed on the situation, the medic asks you a few questions in accented English, much like that of your newly trilingual fiancée. “Don’t tell her,” you beg quietly through a huffed sigh, gladly taking the seat offered to you. “I’ll wait until it’s finished.” 

“There is another hour left.” 

Your ears burn and another contraction shoots through you. You shake your head, fending off the pain while you do so. “He can’t be a Barcelona fan,” you insist. Eli grins at the knowledge that her first grandchild will be a boy, but you do not see it, too focused on convincing the medic to keep the child’s other mother in the dark about what is currently happening in the Barcelona medical room. “I’ll wait.” 

Eli hands you your phone per your request. You call Gio, whose daughter is only two months old. “Don’t tell me,” she starts when you fail to greet her. The sound of her voice, her accent, her tone is relieving, though you are incredibly grateful for the woman who continues to hold your hand as though you are her own daughter. “Nah, nah. Where are you? I’m gonna jump on a flight, alright? I’ll call Anya and we’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t… rush,” you groan. 

“Babe, we are going to rush. Where are you?!” 

“A match!” You try to remember the breathing exercises you learnt for this exact moment. “Her match. Second half’s only just started. She… She doesn’t know.” 

Gio’s loud, boisterous laugh rings out, and you can tell that she is not at home. No one with a newborn baby can afford to make noise at that volume. “Fucking hell. Ever heard of sense?” You don’t respond, embarrassed that you are in too much pain to think of a comeback. “I’ve left Mia at my mum’s, so don’t you worry. Want me to bring anything from home? Cadbury’s, maybe?” 

“One of those massive bars?” 

“Yep, done deal.” She pauses. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna ring Anya now, alright? Call your mum – or your dad, if you two haven’t yet made up. I’ll see you soon. Tell Alexia her baby’s on the way!” 

Your protests are cut off by the final beep of her hanging up, and your head drops back as another contraction, your body squeezed as though some giant rubber band has just snapped back into place. Eli stands up, worried now. 

Before you can tell her that you are alright, a gush of water hits the sterile floor with an unnerving splatter. The prospect of having to care for another life suddenly becomes very real. “Tenemos que ir al hospital.” 

“No.” 

“Soy la abuela. Yo sé que hacer.” Even the medic, who has nervously stayed by your side, much more experienced with ACLs than broken waters (and stubborn pregnant women), looks intimidated by the firmness of Eli’s words. “Por favor”: she softens her blow. 

You glance around the room, slowly descending into agony and helpless against the wrath of rationality from your fiancée’s mother. “How long’s left of the match? ¿Cuántos minutos quedan?” 

The medic holds up all ten fingers. You grapple with your body, begging the baby to sit tight for a moment. “Let her finish. We can go when the whistle blows.”

Your contractions get closer together. 

Eli’s frustration leads her to ask God for the baby to not have inherited your stubbornness. She also loves you more for it; admiring your insistence to keep Alexia from missing everything. 

You don’t call your own mother. You simply type out a shaky text to the family group chat; blunt and to the point. ‘Baby. Now.’

Half of your universe storms the web, booking flights to Barcelona. Anya and Gio are almost at the airport already — a few steps ahead of your panicking parents and your brother, who has been enjoying dinner at the Savoy with his clients. Those who serve as your planets, revolving around you like you are the sun, do you a favour, letting Dave know that you probably won’t make it to the Skype call scheduled for tomorrow morning. Dave, in turn, now expanding into management, informs your newly-hired publicist (good riddance to the old one). The world has expected a pregnancy announcement ever since you failed to appear at your most recent awards show, despite winning in your category. 

It's almost an eternity later that Alexia, football boots clacking against the floor, flings open the door of the medical room. Eli calls out, warning her daughter about slipping on the sizable puddle that has spread out beneath you. 

Your fiancée is valiant in her attempt to mask her sheer panic. 

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asks her mother, stepping over your amniotic fluid and placing her hand on your shoulder. You squint, trying to open your eyes though this contraction has been the most excruciating so far. 

“We were waiting for you. She was adamant that you finished your match.” 

“No football match is more important than her!” If you understood Catalan (and weren’t in labour), you’d have teased her for being a sap. “Call an ambulance, Jesus Christ. Look at her — she needs a doctor.” Her composure revisits her fleetingly, and she turns to the medic. “Thank you for looking after her.” There is no answer because it is drowned out by her barking more orders her mother’s way. 

“No ambulance,” you declare before your mouth opens in a silent sob. “Drive me. Not an ambulance.” 

The last glimpse the Estadi Johan Cruyff gets of Alexia Putellas in 2018 is her carrying you to her mother’s car, your face buried in her team-issued jacket in case anyone is waiting outside to take pictures of the players. 

Eli drives; something she doesn’t like doing often but feels is necessary with the nervous bounce of her daughter’s legs in the backseat enough to convince her that they’d speed like the Flash if anyone else ended up behind the wheel. She knows Barcelona, can navigate it with her eyes closed, and you are at the hospital before you can begin to tell Alexia how much you think you can’t do this. 

“I really fucking can’t do this!” you cry out, situated in the delivery room. Sweat rolls down the side of your face, already dampening your hair. Alexia thinks you look beautiful, and she has been made proud of the last two hours. You’ve also helped her a lot with English swearwords. 

“You can.” 

“I can’t.” You’re told to push again. “Alexia, you are having the… next… fucking… beach ball.” Each word is punctuated by a guttural moan. 

Waves of intense pain contort your face in agony, and the midwife continues to talk you through your task as though instructing you how to park a car. “Estás haciendo muy bien, mi amor,” she tells you, ignoring the possibility that you may have rendered her left hand boneless. 

“There’s a baby coming out of my vagina,” you shout, “don’t even try to test my Spanish, you twat.” 

The midwife shoots your fiancée a pitiful look. “She’ll take it back,” she says in Catalan. 

“She’s getting quite inventive.” 

“There’s been worse.”

You can imagine the conversation taking place in the middle of you delivering her literal child. “No, I won’t! It’s breaking me in half.” You grip her hand harder. “Never. Again.” 

But, with a final, visceral (and heavily encouraged) push, the room is filled with the sound of life. Nico comes into the world screaming at the top of his lungs. All Alexia can think to say is, “definitely yours.” 

…

Life is a lot more tiring trying to juggle being a mother and a pop star. 

The press have a field day when you announce the birth of your son with a simple Instagram post, your engagement ring second only to the swaddled lump on your chest. The caption (‘ours’) sparks debate on who exactly is the other parent. Well, father. Alexia’s teammates, while waiting to finally be allowed to meet your bundle, spend a good two months teasing her mercilessly about it. Most notably, Alexia almost loses La Reina to Papi. 

2019 comes with change — a lot of it. 

You hire a new manager so that Dave can focus fully on the last album 2sday will produce. The group has been together for six years, and you have made your millions.You seek neither money nor fame, but it comes knocking on the door of your quaint apartment in Barcelona anyway, along with a record deal only for you. A solo act.

Between Nico crying, Alexia playing football, and you trying to write songs that don’t end up criminally depressing, the contract on your dining table slowly becomes forgotten about. Alexia is too stressed about the impending World Cup to grant you a moment to breathe. You spend your days in Barcelona with a baby attached to your hip, the question of his parenthood still a mystery to the public, and, ever so slowly, you begin to resent your life. 

It could be postpartum depression, but you have no time to really investigate the symptoms. 

Alexia, two weeks before she needs to leave for her national camp and then the World Cup in France, comes home to an eerily silent apartment. 

She calls out your name, wondering if you have perhaps gone to her mother’s house. The terrible sinking feeling comes with your reply. “Can we talk?” you ask. 

She finds you perched on the Egyptian cotton sheets that cover your double bed. The sheets are out of place here, greatly exceeding the original budget of the decor, and, where Alexia sees this as you adding to her life, you feel you are somewhere you don’t belong. It is fine when she is next to you, holding your hand, claiming the other half of the now six-month-old baby boy gurgling in his carseat. When she isn’t there, though, the vacant space taunts you. 

“I have no friends here,” you tell her quietly. The gravity of the mood settling over you pulls her onto the mattress, not caring if the sheen of sweat she wears as her outermost layer of clothing dirties the expensive creamy white beneath her. “I have no friends, I don’t speak the language, and I think that I have played at being a normal person for long enough. I mean, it’s great to watch you and to be there for you, but, darling, that’s not who I am. This,” you gesture to the loungewear you have on, stained with dribble, “is not who I am.” 

Alexia hears what you are saying. She understands; she remembers the nights where you’d call her, a cigarette rasping your voice, sparkles shining in the valley between your breasts. She has seen this coming. It would be impossible not to notice the dimming of such a strong love between you: still present, yet slowly fading away. 

“They want me to sign a new deal. Alone.” The suitcases lined up in the corner of the bedroom become glaringly obvious. Nico is in his carseat for a reason. “I think it would be good for me to go back to London. I need to feel like myself again, and my parents are willing to watch him. I sold my flat – I’ve bought a house in Highgate.” Tears sting your eyes as you speak, and you know where Alexia’s shoulder is without having to look, resting your head against it. “I love you. I love you so much, but I just can’t do this anymore.” 

It’s as if the ground crumbles away beneath her. Your words hang above Alexia’s neck like an axe, waiting to execute her, waiting to end everything. She can’t look at Nico, whose face crumples at his mother’s clear heartbreak. 

The world, once vibrant, lays in ruins. Her funny story from training dies on her tongue, and her question of whether you wanted to visit her mother before she left for camp disintegrates, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Do you still want to marry me?” she asks, and you hate the way her voice cracks with uncertainty. “Are you moving permanently?” 

“I haven’t called anything off. It’s still going ahead as planned.” She senses the but. “But I… I can’t think here. I can’t be here. I want – I need – to go home.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

She is going to be at the World Cup anyway. You and her will always find your way back to each other. She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

She is going to be busy. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Take all the time you need.” 

She is going to fall apart without you. 

[existencebringsonlypain]

I love when German is just English with like two German words. we're all related. it's so fun

im drinking cola and playing fortnite bro that little german kid was right this rips

[gothicflowers]

Alejandro x Reader

“You speak Spanish?”

SFW Fluff

Warnings: Fluff

It was just a crush at first. I mean he’s tall, dark, handsome and a voice that will make your knees weak. You felt like a teen again blushing every time you were around him. It’s been six months since you stepped off that plane and were greeted by Alejandro. He quickly picked out an affectionate nickname for you. Unknowingly to you he loved seeing you blush whenever he called you it.

He admires your eyes, your laugh, the way you fidget with your clothes when he talks to you. But most of all how caring you were. You always checked in on everyone after missions. You had a way of speaking and showing love and compassion in everything you do. He wants to give you the world. He wants a necklace around your neck with both your names engraved. He realized it all when he found you lounging on the old couch in the garage wrapped up in his blanket reading book.

“What is that book your reading about”

“It’s a love story”

“You read love stories, I didn’t take you as a reader”

“Most people read to escape a reality to go to one they want to be in”

“Is that what you desire”

“What”

“Love, and romance. That is what you want.”

“I guess so”

“Do you not have that waiting for you at home”

“No, I don’t think there is a man who understands this job and could meet my needs who would be willing to love me. Do you have someone?”

“I have my family but not someone to come home to”

Being in tf141 made it almost impossible to have a relationship. How each of your teammates had spouses was something you couldn’t figure out. You had given up on dating or any idea of a future relationship. But over these past months you’ve grown extremely close with Ale. He would bring you books, small trinkets that reminded him of you. Flowers would randomly appear on your table whenever he got back from scouting. Always having your coffee made when you walked into the meeting room. Things that where small but so important to you.

-

The mission was done. A small celebration was held with everyone involved in the operation. The night was finally unwinding and most had turned into their beds for the night. But something had caught your attention. Alejandro’s office door was cracked open and his was talking to Rudy, you’re not one for ease dropping but you could play it off like you where going to grab something from your bed so why not listen in momentarily.

“Me he enamorado de ella pero no quiero alejarla. Ella es todo lo que quiero, todo lo que jamás podría soñar. No quiero que t/n se vaya sin que yo diga lo que tengo que decir.” (I have fallen in love with her but I won’t want to pull her away. She is everything I want, all I could ever dream of. I don’t want y/n to leave without me saying what I need to say) his voice was desperate and full for worry. It was clear in Rudy’s body language from what you could see that this wasn’t the first time Alejandro was talking about you this way.

Entonces ve y dile cómo te sientes hermano. (Then go and tell her brother) Rudy was practically begging and laughing at the same time for Ale to confess to you.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He felt the same way about you. Slowly backing away from the door you practically skipped like a child to outside to your recent lounge spot. What do you do now?

-

It was well past midnight when you heard footsteps coming up from behind.

“Seen you out here so I thought maybe you’d like some company” Alejandro’s deep voice said.

“I always enjoy your company” you shyly say to him with your cheeks blush covered by the night sky.

He sat next to you on the bench for two. The crickets chirping and the breeze was a soothing silence. You needed to tell him, just get it off your chest. The mission was over. So if this conversation doesn’t go well you will be heading back to base in two days anyways and you could forget about him.

“You know all you have to do is ask”

“What do you mean mi amor” his eyes staring deep into yours.

“Pídeme que me quede contigo y lo haré. Te escuché hablar con Rudy y he estado tratando de encontrar una manera de decirte lo mismo” (Ask me to stay for you and I will. I overheard you talking with Rudy and I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you the same thing.)

Ale looked at you in shock. Partly in shock that you just said that all in fluent Spanish but that you’re asking him to take you.

A brief second of panic sets in when he continues to say nothing. Then his lips are crashing into yours. His lips are soft and are in perfect sync with your lips moving against his.

“Stay with me. We can build a life together.”

“I will stay for you Alejandro”

He pulled you in for another passionate kiss. After what felt like eternity you both pulled apart for air. Foreheads still touching. His eyes blown full of joy and love for you.

“You didn’t tell me you spoke Spanish”

“You asked if I knew enough to get by, not if I was fluent”

[pandoa]

desperation

where rook hunt is desperate for your touch

~rook hunt x gender neutral reader~ warnings: intimate cuddling (sfw), translated french because i do not speak the language🕺

Desperation in Rook Hunt looks like lipstick stains, endless caresses, and incoherent words of romance whispered from his moving lips. He runs on adrenaline. Adrenaline that wishes to keep you embraced in his arms all throughout the night. 

Desperation in Rook Hunt is passionate, frantic yet gentle, and almost in an ardent haze. There’s nothing left in his mind except you, and you alone. He only wishes to show you the wholeheartedness of his emotions as he feels the warmth of his body embracing yours, hands circling around your waist as his head makes it onto your shoulder, keeping you there as if you’d fade from existence if he’d ever let go.

Your hands ever so softly run through his hair as the hat he once wore falls to the ground, forgotten by both its owner and you. A sigh escapes his mouth. A sigh that says your touch eases him. A sigh that asks you to keep going. A sigh that says “i love you, please never let go.”

His lips make it to yours, almost eager, as your hands remain entangled in his hair, eyes closed and hearts racing. Heat radiates off of Rook’s cheeks, face ablaze and flushed at your touch as he holds your chin in the palm of his hand, lips placing gentle kisses on every inch of your now scarlet face. His movement is constant and neverending. Emotional and never fleeting. He remains close to you like a dream that’s just come true. A wish that the stars had just granted. 

Each peck on your face comes with a mumbling of phrases you may or may not understand. Rook knows this, yet that does not stop him from using them. He only wants to let all of the words he’d been longing to say out of his mouth, lest he missed his chance. You listen, eyes still shut as you feel his whispers tickling the side of your cheek, ears, and neck, while Rook continues to confess all of the things he adored about you. 

Kiss.

“Je t’aime beaucoup…”

Another kiss.

“J’ai soif de toi…”

And another.

“Tu es ma passion…”

And another.

“Je suis fou de toi…”

And another.

“J’ai besoin de toi…”

He continues on until even words fail to explain just how much he truly loves you. The sun begins to set, the stars peek out from their spots in the sky, and you and Rook continue, limbs now tangled around one another as you fall asleep within the warmth of Rook’s arms. Your head buried in his chest, Rook’s heart relaxes as he places an innocent kiss to your forehead, wishing you a good night’s rest. The peaceful sounds of your breathing is enough to put his mind at ease. Your love is real and so is his.

Desperation in Rook Hunt is waking up at the crack of dawn the following day and immediately reaching his arm over to the side, hands drifting towards where yours should have been. It’s feeling the emptiness in the covers of his bed, the sudden coldness of his room, and the loneliness his heart knows all too well at the realization that it was all a simple dream. A trick of his mind to remind him that in reality, your touches were unattainable and long gone. 

You were a ghost and your love was merely fragments of the memories Rook had held dear to him, and him alone. He yearned for you. He longed for your return. He was desperate for you. 

The torture it was to never hear your voice, the agony he felt after every false dream, the complete and utter hopelessness he had, only wishing to feel your lips on his one final time. The pain he felt for you was one created in beauty—the beauty of longing for someone you once held close in your arms. Desperation. Despair.

But to be in despair was to love, and to love was to remember you. 

“Mon trésor… je t'aime tellement que ça fait mal…”

It was just a shame that for Rook to remember you…

...Was misery.

a/n: sips cup of tears

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Was jemand willentlich verbergen will, sei es vor anderen, sei es vor sich selber, auch was er unbewußt in sich trägt: die Sprache bringt es an den Tag.

Whatever someone wants to deliberately hide, be it from others or from themselves, or even what they unconsciously carry within themselves: language brings it to light.

Victor Klemperer (1881 – 1960), German Romance philologist

[sefaradweb]

🇪🇸 Ladino es un idioma romance hablado principalmente por judíos sefardíes en Israel, los Balcanes, el norte de África, Grecia y Turquía, aunque está casi extinto en muchas de estas regiones. Este idioma tiene sus raíces en España y fue llevado a sus ubicaciones actuales por los descendientes de los judíos españoles que fueron expulsados después de 1492. Ladino conserva muchas palabras y características gramaticales que han desaparecido del español moderno. También tiene un sistema de sonidos más conservador; por ejemplo, mantiene los sonidos "f" y "g" donde el español moderno usa una "h" muda, como se puede ver en "fijo" y "fablar" del ladino en comparación con "hijo" y "hablar" en español, o en "agora" del ladino versus "ahora" en español. Históricamente, el ladino se escribía con escrituras hebreas como Rashi o Solitreo, pero en el siglo XXI es más comúnmente escrito con el alfabeto latino. Además, el ladino tiene una tradición literaria de siglos, incluyendo muchas obras traducidas.

🇮🇱 El ladino es una lingua romance ke es hablada prinsipialmente por djidios sefarditas en Israel, los Balcanes, el Norte de Afrika, Grecia i Turkiya, anke es pratikamente istinta en munchas de estas rejiones. Esta lingua tiene sus rases en Espanya i fue traída a sus lokalidades aktuales por los descendientes de los djidios espanyoles ke fueron eschados despues de 1492. El ladino guarda munchas de las palavras i karacteristikaz gramatikales ke disparecieron del espanyol moderno. Tambe tiene un sistema de sonios mas konservador; por eshemplo, mantiene los sonios "f" i "g" onde el espanyol moderno usa una "h" ke no se pronunsia, komo se ve en "fijo" i "fablar" del ladino kontra "hijo" i "hablar" en espanyol, o en "agora" del ladino kontra "ahora" en espanyol. Istorikamente, el ladino se eskrevia kon skripturas ebreas komo Rashi o Solitreo, pero en el siglo XXI es mas komunmente eskrito kon el alfabeto latino. Ademas, el ladino tiene una tradision literaria de siglos, inkluyendo munchas obras traduzidas.

🇺🇸 Ladino is a Romance language spoken by Sephardic Jews primarily in Israel, the Balkans, North Africa, Greece, and Turkey, though it is nearly extinct in many of these regions. This language has its roots in Spain and was carried to its current locations by the descendants of Spanish Jews who were expelled after 1492. Ladino retains many words and grammatical features that have disappeared from modern Spanish. It also has a more conservative sound system; for example, it maintains "f" and "g" sounds where modern Spanish uses a silent "h," as seen in Ladino's "fijo" and "fablar" versus Spanish's "hijo" and "hablar," or in Ladino's "agora" versus Spanish's "ahora." Historically, Ladino was written using Hebrew scripts like Rashi or Solitreo, but in the 21st century, it is more commonly written in the Latin alphabet. Additionally, Ladino has a centuries-old literary tradition, including many works in translation.

Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. "Ladino language". Encyclopedia Britannica, 14 Dec. 2023, https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ladino-language. Accessed 3 May 2024.

[rigelmejo]

Languages I tried to learn:

Spanish: Me llamo Mejo. I don't remember how to spell things in Spanish, or anything much besides introducing myself and como estas? muy bien. tres bien. tres mal. verde, azul, roja, rosa, blanco, gracias, de nada.

It was in middle school, one class for one semester, I remember I found it really hard. I think all the words that stuck were words I heard in real life, from elementary teachers year after year, or friends saying como estas, or the TV. I can read nonfiction spanish like a Linguistics textbook I have, or wikipedia, or some short news blurbs, but I think a lot of the reading ability is just me relying on cognates with French and English, and similar grammar to French in some ways. If it's a fiction book, there's a lot I can't read, and if it's a radio show/podcast I can only understand a sentence once in a while.

I studied Spanish a little on my own again in college, listening to Language Transfer Spanish (only a handful of lessons), Coffee Break Spanish (only a handful), and Dreaming Spanish (a really cool youtube channel - I only watched a few videos but I'd love to watch more one day). I only studied for a few months in college, mostly to hear the DIFFERENCE between Spanish and French pronunciation so I stopped confusing them in my head when reading. It did work, I got a much better ability to differentiate Spanish and French pronunciation, and got a mental framework for how each sounds so that when I read now I mentally 'hear' the right pronunciation. I can sound out words in both languages better now, guess a better approximate pronunciation of stuff I read, and when I hear French or Spanish my brain 'clicks' quicker into realizing which language I'm hearing and recognizing what words I do know. Whereas before I did the crash study of Spanish, my mental framework of French pronunciation was super weak and I was confusing it with a bunch of romance languages and couldn't recognize words I heard at all.

German: Ich heisse Mejo, wie heisst du? ich mochte eine kekze, ich habe zwei hunds, ich bin, du bist, er/sie/es ist, wir sind, heir seid, sie Sie sind (a conjugation song my teacher had us sing all the time), bitte, danke, guten morgen, iche swimme gut, ich komme aus United States, wunderbar, blaue, braun (?), ich weiss nicht, ich liebe meine sestra (?), ich swimme, ich spreche deutsch ein bitte, Die pferd ist gross (big?).

I studied it for 2 years in high school, we did a ton of conjugation tables and we did 2 years of Rosetta stone. My take on Rosetta stone: I'm glad school paid for it, and that I never did, because it is way too slow for any self-study learner and a waste of money. I learned a lot of nouns from Rosetta stone (a few hundred), because the program was basically seeing a picture with the word in german and matching them, and recording your pronunciation. I don't remember much active vocabulary, what I typed above is nearly all I remember how to say. But I can passively read okay... ish? Maybe at an A2 level. I can navigate informational German sites like university sites and news sites, and find some key information I'm looking for, and I can understand the small bits of German in American action movies and comics. In retrospect, I did not know how to study a language in high school, my teacher taught to the book and tests so I did well on tests but couldn't do much outside of answer test questions and fill-in-the-blank sentences for conjugations, I'm frankly surprised I learned enough to get the small bits of German in American comics (like X-men).

To be fair to my high school, the high school classes were half the pace of college classes: so a beginner 1 class for 1 semester of college, would equate to 2 semesters of high school. So by the end of 2 high school years of German, we just covered Beginner 1 and 2 which would land potentially around A2 level. If I wanted to continue learning, I think I know enough that I could probably push myself to learn by reading and looking up words, or jumping into upper beginner learning material, I have a decent foundation of common words passive vocabulary I don't remember until I see it/hear it again.

French: je m'appelle Mejo, comment allez-vous? comment ca va? Tres bien, tres mal, j'ecrire un petit.

My active vocabulary is absolute trash right now. Whenever I don't use French for over a month, I forget to say almost everything I used to know how to say, then if I get back into French for a few weeks a lot of my active vocabulary comes back... but even then, it's probably less than 1000 words I can use to talk, off the top of my head, when I'm using French regularly. Speaking and writing are my weakest skills in French, and they're super weak! I do know how to talk my way around topics though with 300 ish words, so I mostly do that when I have to.

My reading skill in French is fairly good - I can read pretty much anything fiction or nonfiction, my Google is in French so my search results and Wikipedia results are automatically in French, and a lot of news sites, that probably helps me see a little French regularly. I 'lose' my reading skill if I take a 6 month or longer break from French, but it comes back within a few hours of trying to read again. My reading skills in most languages I've studied pretty much come back within hours, if I try reading again. I'm usually back to my last 'top' reading level within a couple weeks of reading in a language again. My reading skill in French is about what my reading level was in college for English. I think my reading skill in French helps indirectly with reading Spanish a bit, especially non-fiction Spanish where I run into more cognates.

My French listening skill is maybe at an A2 level? It's much better than it used to be (as it used to be that I understood almost nothing spoken), but I can read pretty much anything whereas I definitely CANNOT even listen to an audiobook. When I listen to audiobooks I only understand maybe 70%, even though I can read and understand 95%-100%. I like the youtube channel Comprehensible French and I'd like to listen to more some time, when I want to work on improving my listening skills more. In college, I studied French for 1 semester just to see if I COULD learn to do anything in a language! Since in middle and high school I had tried studying Spanish, German, and self-studying Japanese, and never learned enough to do anything useful in any of those language. So I took a class in college, my wonderful professor taught us er verb conjugation, and Je present-tense, j'ai (I have), and Je vais (I am going to) conjugations so we could express one version of present past and future tense, this helped a lot with figuring out how to say a LOT with just those 3 tenses and all the regular er verbs.

That same semester, on my own, I studied 300 common words to express yourself in a language (a tumblr word list) and that helped me start talking/writing really basically quickly. That was super motivating. From there I studied a 1000 common words list online, with sentence examples, just reading it daily, and re-reading it weekly, for a few months. After that, I tried reading graded readers and news articles and wikipedia, looking up words about once a paragraph or when they looked like words that were the most critical to grasping the main idea. So I was reading while looking words up by the time the class ended, and then I kept reading. By 1 year, I was looking up 1-5 words a page, and reading novels and thicker non-fiction stuff like informational books, and by 1.5 years I was not looking up words except in fiction and old history books, then by 2 years I wasn't looking up any words. Around the end of year 1 I read a French grammar explanation site entirely in French, read 300 pages of Le Francais Par Le Methode Nature (I LOVE that book so much, it helped me so much at internalizing stuff and speeding up my reading comprehension, and I didn't even finish reading it), and listened to Coffee Break French podcast for a few months to develop a mental framework of the pronunciation. After the pronunciation work, I mentally had sounds for what I read and got better at guessing pronunciations, saying words I'd read, and recognizing some words I knew from reading in people's speech. I also got better at differentiating French from other romance languages when listening and reading, because before pronunciation audio study I had often confused them mentally and that made it hard to remember new words I learned because in my mind I couldn't remember which language the words were from.

By year 2, like I mentioned, I was reading pretty much whatever I wanted without looking words up. At that point, I just kept reading whenever I wanted, and reading got easier and easier until it felt almost as easy as reading English. I read English slightly faster, can scan for details in complicated fiction text faster in English, and reading French novels feels like I have to put a bit more effort in to analyze the underlying meaning of particular details (so it feels like reading in English did when I was in 11th and 12th grade IB English college-credit classes). Reading non fiction French feels virtually the same as reading English, I often forget my google results (like typing "wordX definition" or "X" wikipedia results) are in French unless I need to share the search result with someone else and realize I need to get to the English version of the result for them. I think my reading skill is maybe B2?

I stopped working on improving my French on purpose after year 2, since reading whatever I wanted was the initial goal I had. I still work on improving my listening skills once in a while, but I really need time to focus on it intensely for a while if I want to see my listening comprehension improve a lot. My speaking and writing skills are, like I mentioned, absolutely horrifically bad. If I wanted to improve those I'm not even sure how I could start except... maybe getting a language exchange partner or tutor. I think I could read a grammar guide again, write a TON of example sentences that I'd like to be able to say while making sure they're grammatically correct, and then practice talking to someone a LOT until the correct patterns are internalized. Because the thing is... reading... does not require you to really know the perfectly correct way to write/say things. When reading I don't need to remember gender of nouns, like if a word is le or la, I just read it quickly and know it's "the." When reading, I don't need to remember when the verb ending ent is pronounced or silent, I just scan it and move along while noticing which kind of noun the ent is conjugated for. I don't need to specifically know how to conjugate each version of past tense, I just need to recognize what the tense I'm reading means. I don't need to remember the irregular verbs and how to conjugate them myself, only recognize them when I read. So I'd really need to make a lot of things into specific correct habits if I want to improve speaking/writing.

(If you want to learn French to read: it's a very doable goal! French has a lot of cognates and near-cognates with English, and with romance languages if you know any words in another romance language. I would recommend you do at least a few months of studying French pronunciation/listening to French, even if you only plan to read, because a mental framework of pronunciation helped significantly in reading speed, translating reading skill to at least some listening and speaking skill, and in remembering new words you learn while reading. At least in my experience, I found a little pronunciation study helped TREMENDOUSLY with reading skill. Studying 1000 words, even as basically as I did with just reading a word list, made starting to read less of a hurdle. And the Le Francais Par Le Methode Nature book is such a wonderful graded reader that gradually increases vocabulary and grammar knowledge to a very decent foundation, if you're interested in possibly learning to read French BY reading French. The book is on Archive.org, and Ayan Academy on Youtube has the book lessons with audio on their youtube channel. There's also a lot of textbooks that specifically focus on teaching how to read French, I liked one by Charles Duff called French for Beginners - I also liked his Spanish book.)

Japanese: hajimemashita. Mejo desu, boku no namae wa Mejo desu, genki desu ka? genki desu. tenki desu ka? ii desu yo. boku wa sushi suki desu. inu to neko suki da. omae wa suki desu ka? tanoshii desu ka? omoshiroi tabemono da! shigoto wa isogashi da ne, tsukete kudasai. sumimasen, onegaishimasu. nihongo roku-nen ni o benkyoushimashita, muzukashi da. (I don't have a japanese keyboard installed on my computer right now). Like French, my japanese active vocabulary is AWFUL! I just do not talk or write to anyone, so I quickly forget how to say things, and then I still can't really say/write things... and if I take a break from studying Japanese for a month or more, I start forgetting whatever active vocabulary I was using. I do not think my active vocabulary will improve unless I start talking to people, and writing, a lot. One day...

I took a semester of Japanese in college, since I was able to learn how to do things in French the semester before. I felt that this time, in college, I'd learn to do something useful in Japanese and be more successful than my self-study attempts in high school. I had a great class, although it was very by-the-book. We learned using Genki, and utilized that textbook for EVERYTHING it could do. We recorded ourselves pronouncing the dialogue in each chapter (shadowed the dialogues), and were graded on pronunciation so it gave me a lot of motivation to really focus on pronouncing things decently and listen carefully to the sounds. We did every exercise in the book, from writing sentences to recording ourselves saying those sentences, and doing the audio exercises where we listened to short audio files and had to answer questions based on them. We also did weekly forum posts where we wrote about topics in Japanese using the words we just learned, and recorded ourselves saying what we wrote.

We got through the first half of Genki 1. Genki 1 and 2 has 1774 words (based on a search I just did "how many words in Genki 1"), so being generous if we learned 1/4 of those words then we studied 444 words. (I wish Genki 1 taught 1000+ words and Genki 2 taught 1000+ words just so the textbooks would at least teach 2000 words... or ideally I wish each Genki textbook taught 2000 words a piece... but Genki doesn't have as much vocabulary as I wish beginner textbooks did). The class was a good basic foundation, and at least taught me: hiragana and katakana (I studied with a simple mnemonics app for a couple weeks and the teacher provided study sheets with mnemonics), decent pronunciation and recognition when listening to Japanese pronunciation (I could look up any word I heard after this class just by listening to someone say it, and parse individual words in sentences which makes figuring out WHICH words I don't know and need to look up easier).

After that first semester, my self-study of Japanese was a hot mess for years! Also, at one point in college I was reading French 30 minutes a day (mostly maintaining my reading skill and gradually increasing passive vocabulary), studying Japanese 30 minutes a day (during which I learned almost nothing because Japanese required way more study time to make any noticeable improvements), and studying Russian 30 minutes to 2 hours a day (I was dating someone who spoke Russian, as well as their family and friends, and was basically crash studying common words and conversational stuff so I could talk to my partner's family and baby brother who we'd babysit, and my partner's roommates, also it was fun and cute to write/text Russian notes to each other - I'll mention Russian in a little bit). So I was barely making progress with Japanese for around 2 years.

I tried studying Heisig's Remember the Kanji, in the hopes if I learned kanji first in isolation then later reading and vocabulary-learning would be easier. HA HA HAAAAAAAA. I hated Heisig's book, I couldn't make up my own mnemonics, I ended up relying on kanjikoohi website and studying FROM other user's mnemonics. In 2 years I learned maybe 50 kanji, and it certainly didn't help that I can never focus on flashcards for long so of course I didn't manage to learn the 2000 kanji in Heisig's plan. I think it's an okay study idea for some people, but it sure wasn't for me! The only useful thing from the whole experience was that I learned I could USE mnemonic stories to help remember the appearance, meaning, and pronunciation of kanji or any words in any language.

At the beginning of year 2: I was no longer studying French actively (because I could read whatever I wanted so I'd just read books as desired once every few months), I was no longer studying Russian, and I had TIME for Japanese. Because Japanese was going to need 1-2 hours of study time daily, on average, or more, if I wanted to see significant progress in a reasonable amount of time. I also DESPERATELY needed a better study plan. I had been floundering, re-studying the same 500ish words and 50 kanji I had already studied before in class and in Heisig. I was also being too much of a perfectionist, and needed to change my whole mindset. Those first 2 years my plan had been: study 2000 kanji FIRST and do not learn any vocabulary until you have learned the kanji, then next read a WHOLE grammar guide before you start trying to read or listen or write or speak (since in French I'd cram studied grammar and 2000 common words BEFORE trying to read... but in French that cramming only took 3 months, whereas in Japanese it had been 2 years and I still hadn't finished). My perfectionist tendencies also made me feel the need to constantly RE-STUDY kanji and grammar because I was worried I didn't fully, perfectly, understand each thing.

So at the beginning of year 2 I changed my study plan, and study approach. Approach wise, I decided to veer away from my perfectionist tendencies.

My new plan for my study approach was: when I read a grammar guide to read NEW stuff regularly, and NOT do any review. (I would eventually allow myself to review materials I'd studied before IF I had free time after studying new things, but in the beginning I NEEDED to get myself to stop re-studying the same basic material forever). I would NOT take notes (because that got me into the perfectionist mindset I'd been stuck in during college), I would forgive myself for making mistakes. And I would learn from what had worked well with French - I would make my goal to start READING and doing stuff in Japanese ASAP. Because I knew actually reading/listening to the language was an activity that motivated me, that doing it as my study time was easy for me to consistently do (as I'd been able to consistently read French long enough to improve to my goal reading level), and it forced me to be comfortable with imperfection quicker (as I would not have perfect comprehension when listening/reading for YEARS, I'd need to get comfortable with just "understanding the main idea/enough").

My new study plan was: find another person's PRE MADE study plan that would prepare me for reading in Japanese, CRAM as much of that pre-made plan as I could, and start trying to read every single month until I found the activity doable. At that point, start reading and looking up words (like I had done in French). Now in retrospect... my japanese study plan changed a lot in the years afterward. But the study plan at that time worked incredibly well for helping me make significant progress and finally be able to DO SOMETHING I wanted to do in japanese, which was motivating. (I didn't use these at the time, but I highly recommend Tadoku Free Graded Reader's ASAP if you're studying Japanese, they are approachable as soon as you complete the first half of Genki 1... possibly even earlier, if you're okay with looking words up. I've used Tadoku's graded readers recently, and they helped a lot with developing a faster reading speed and becoming more comfortable WITH reading in Japanese).

The pre-made study plan I picked to use? Nukemarine's Let's Learn Japanese memrise courses. There were like 12 at the time (they're still on memrise if you find the user made courses and add them, they used to be labelled SGJL), and nowadays I think Nukemarine has the course for sale on his Patreon for use on Anki. I picked it because it taught kanji (with user added mnemonics), vocabulary (with sentence examples and audio), Tae Kim's Grammar Guide example sentences of grammar (with audio), and was organized so you learned a few hundred kanji, then words, then grammar, then you'd go to the next level pf the course and learn more of each. It was a course with everything in one: kanji I needed to study, grammar points, common words in sentence examples to practice listening and reading. I cram studied the course, got through I think 4-6 of the modules in the course in 6 months, and I practiced trying to read manga every month like I had planned.

By 6 months in, I could understand the main idea of manga pages if I looked up 1-3 keywords on each page. Reading a manga was doable, if I looked up a few keywords. I read a bit of Ranma 1/2, School Rumble, and Yotsubato. Then, because I'm an intense person, I tried to play my favorite video game in Japanese - Kingdom Hearts 2. I figured if I could play KH2, then I could keep studying Japanese by reading/watching/playing things and looking up words as I did stuff in Japanese. (If you would like to learn Japanese by playing video games, I recommend the youtuber Game Gengo - he posts Japanese lessons using gameplay and he teaches a lot each video, he makes Grammar Guide videos using gameplay examples, and he makes recommendations for what games are more useful for studying and how to approach studying with video games). By 6 months, I could play KH2, able to follow the main idea by looking 1-3 keywords up every few minutes. It was draining, it took immense mental effort on my part, I could only play for 2 hours at a time before I'd be too exhausted to continue, but it was doable. That was the turning point when I finally felt like I had learned to do SOMETHING in Japanese, and like I could keep studying my favorite way - by reading/watching/playing stuff in the language.

Then things got chaotic. I studied japaneseaudiolessons.com for a few months, and during that time I learned I remember new words VERY WELL when using audio flashcards with target language sentences/english sentences (I love japaneseaudiolessons.com, their lessons are free and they also have a free grammar guide, and nowadays they're making kanji books with mnemonics and example sentences... which I like and much prefer over Heisig's books). So I learned a few hundred new words, I kept reading manga and learned a hundred new words, I watched some lets plays and learned a hundred new words, I tried to play Crisis Core and Persona 3 in Japanese which fried my brain it felt so difficult (learned a hundred words). And by 2.5 years I'd learned maybe 1500 words from Nukemarine's lessons, japaneseaudiolessons.com, and reading/watching/playing Japanese.

And then... I decided to study Chinese! So Japanese took a pause, where I did nothing to study. A couple years later, I had time for Japanese again, and found my hanzi knowledge helped with reading Japanese A LOT. Even though I only knew 1500 words, I could guess a lot of kanji words, and suddenly I could play games like Crisis Core and Persona 3 without looking up any words, read some texts and grasp the main idea without looking up words, and read some manga for the overall main idea without looking up words! (I still needed to look up words in all cases if I wanted to understand specific details). I realized, thanks to some hanzi-kanji similar meanings, my biggest weak spot was SPOKEN vocabulary!

I suddenly could vaguely read like 80% of the kanji words I saw, but many hiragana words (or kanji words typed in hiragana) were a mystery to me. Grammar was also still giving me issues, as I'd only studied basic grammar so advanced grammar points were still incomprehensible.

I focused a lot on using Clozemaster for a while (studied 600 words in sentences with audio) to improve my vocabulary listening recognition and grammar comprehension, read some bits of grammar guides (I STILL need to read more about grammar), and now I'm doing Glossika Japanese since the primarily AUDIO use of the lessons is helping me increase spoken vocabulary recognition. Glossika is in sentences, with audio and text (if I look at the text), so like with Clozemaster, I am using it to gradually increase grammar understanding, and both spoken and text vocabulary recognition. It's going fairly well. I can play Yakuza just in Japanese and follow the main idea (I can look up words to understand details, but I can follow enough of the main idea to just PLAY if I'm too lazy to look words up).

Playing games I'm more familiar with, with less slang, are easier now and drain me a bit less so I can play for longer in japanese (like KH2 and Crisis Core). Manga are hit or miss on if I need to look up key words to grasp the main idea, but I prefer to look words up to learn the PRONUNCIATION. I can watch some shows and some lets plays and follow the main ideas entirely without looking up words (like Final Fantasy X lets plays, KH2 lets plays, shows like Our Dining Table), whereas other shows I can grasp the main idea but mostly from visual cues and honestly should look up words when watching (like Samurai Cat, Criminologist Himura and Novelist Alice). Novels are readable now, they require me to look up a LOT of keywords for main idea and details (like 5-10 a page), and I usually have TTS play so I hear pronunciations, but it is doable... if draining. My next study plan, once I improve my listening vocabulary to be closer to my kanji-word reading recognition, is to get Satori Reader app and read as MUCH as I can for several months. That will be my plan, once I'm through all the words in Glossika Japanese. I have studied 3378 sentences in Glossika so far this year, and I think that's at least 1500 words, so I think I'm getting toward a point where my vocabulary is finally INCREASING past the level it used to be at. I can notice improvements in comprehension of jdramas and video games lets plays especially, I am much better at just listening to japanese and grasping more of the main idea with less mental strain.

Chinese: I watched the Guardian cdrama, fell in love as it's everything I love in a story, and wanted to read the novel by priest. At the time, the novel wasn't fully translated. (Also, I started reading Mo Du's translation, that also wasn't finished). So: I wanted to read the novel. Me and wanting to read? EXTREMELY motivating. Reading is a primary reason I study the languages I have, and made the progress I managed, so having actual novels I was actively TRYING to read really kicked me into gear quickly. I learned from all my wasted time not-making-progress in Japanese for years, and made a much better study plan for Chinese when I started. I studied Chinese around 2 hours a day on average my first year, and thanks to the time put in, I made progress nearly as fast (in terms of days) as I did in French. I studied Chinese 4 times longer per day than I studied French on average, which also helped my Chinese improve in a timely manner.

So what did I do? I wrote a lot of posts about it so feel free to check those out for in depth explanations. But the short of it is: I looked up words whenever curious, when watching cdramas (Guardian, The Untamed, The Lost Tomb). I would watch with english/chinese dual subs (which on youtube is often the default subtitles on cdramas so that was convenient). This was month 1-3 ish, I would see dual subtitles, and type the pinyin into Google Translate app of words I heard that I wanted to see the hanzi that matched/see which english translation it went with. If I typed the pinyin wrong, I'd write in the hanzi. I was also reading Tuttle Learn Chinese Characters (800 characters - my favorite hanzi book with mnemonics), A grammar guide summary on a website, dongchinese.com's pinyin pronunciation guide, and watching youtube videos explaining tones. That was the first few months.

Then I read what other people did to learn to read, and used Ben Whatley's 2000 common chinese words memrise decks (hanzi words+pinyin+audio). I started reading graded readers such as Mandarin Companion (my favorite for beginners who know 100-500 words), Sinolingua (hardest), Pleco graded readers for sale (I liked these after Mandarin Companion). When I'd gotten through 1000 words in the memrise deck, I was around 6 months in, and had read some graded readers with 100-500 unique words. I started watching cdramas with only chinese subtitles (during study time - during relaxation time I still watched with dual subtitles, and would try to read the chinese sentences once in a while for practice understanding grammar and matching new words to english translation in the subs). At first I could only watch 5-20 minutes of a cdrama in only chinese before I'd be exhausted, and I'd look up key unknown words to understand the main idea once every 1-5 minutes. After a few months of this, I built up both my recognition of words I'd studied and my mental endurance, and I could watch show episodes all the way through in one sitting and just pause every 5ish minutes to look a key word up. I could watch certain easier shows like Granting You A Dreamlike Life and follow the main idea without looking any words up, after the first few episodes.

Around then I'd studied all 2000 words in Ben Whatley's deck (keep in mind: studying a memrise deck for me meant studying NEW words for a few weeks only, then doing a week of reviewing those 1000 words, take a break for a few weeks, then study 1000 NEW words and only review once done with all those new words... which is my usual process for using any SRS type app, it's how I use glossika now. It's just the only way I personally can get myself through those types of study materials. I get my actual "review/recognition" of those newly studied words by READING and listening to stuff in the language regularly, looking words up AGAIN while reading/listening until the words stick in my memory). So I was around month 8ish, I had read 500-1200 word graded readers in that period. Around month 8, I started trying to read webnovels using Pleco (I'd also recommend Readibu, or just reading in any eReader or web browser that allows you to click-translate once you know enough words - I also like using TTS function, particularly using Edge's Read Aloud tool which has the best TTS voice). It was draining, exhausting, very hard, and it took 2 hours to get through a chapter. I started with Guardian, Tian Ya Ke, and some dmbj fanfics. Gradually, chapters that used to take 2 hours to read got easier, I learned more words, and eventually I could finish 1 Tian Ya Ke chapter in 20 minutes. Around a year in, I started trying to read PRINT novels and books, to work on extensive reading skills, reading speed, and reading without a click-translation tool as a crutch. I started with Xiao Wang Zi (In retrospect, Tu Tu Da Wang is a much better story to start with a a beginner! I recommend all Heavenly Path Notion site beginner recommendations over what I started with, I started with unnecessarily harder stuff). It took 2 weeks to read on paper, only looking up 1-2 words per page. After that, I would go back and forth between extensively reading (sometimes while playing audiobooks or TTS), and intensively reading (looking up 1-10 words per page or chapter). I'd switch between novels I could comfortably extensively read, and novels I needed to look up words for, and just kept pushing the difficulty up. That's still more or less how I deal with what I pick to read, and how to read. I tried to read more, and I watched more chinese shows with chinese only subs. When Word of Honor cdrama came out around 14 months into learning, I watched that without english subs because I wanted to watch episodes IMMEDIATELY. I definitely got better at understanding shows, because after that I got better and better at comprehending shows, and by 1.5 years I could watch shows with no english subs if I wanted to check out a cdrama that had no english subs (without having to look up unknown words for main idea, understanding most details without word lookup, and without paying more attention than I'd pay in english)... although older cdramas, and some political and wuxia ones, I still need to concentrate harder and probably should look up words for more detail comprehension. But shows like: Humans cdrama, Go Ahead, Hikaru No Go (Qi Hun), most modern stuff iQiyi puts out (except adult crime dramas I need to pay more attention), Ice Fantasy, Love Between Fairy and Devil, I can watch with no english subs and not need to pay any more attention than if I was watching in english. I am now working on watching cdramas with NO subtitles, no hanzi to reference, to improve listening skills. Because I would like to be able to eventually listen to audiobooks with ease. I'm getting there... I can grasp the main idea of some audiobooks, and some audio dramas, now.

By 2 years I could read most things I wanted to read (cnovels, on the level of "grasp the main idea" without looking words up for some novels and then up to "grasp main idea and nearly all details" 98%+ comprehension for other novels), I could watch most things I wanted to watch in chinese with chinese subtitles (I still need to practice watching with no subtitles).

I am now maybe 4 years into studying? My reading skill I work on intermittently, the reading skill comes back to me within a few hours of reading so I just progressively pick a bit harder of a novel once in a while, and keep reading what I want to, reading on and off every few months. With novels, I really like reading things in their original language (since with shows I can at least HEAR the original language even if I see english subs, whereas there are very few english-chinese parallel text novels). So I often am reading at least 1 novel in chinese. When I'm lazy or short on time I like to read manhua as they're easy to read, fun, and have a few favorites (comedy like 19 Tian, and some ghost/comedy ones that remind me of dmbj, and some crime/horror manhua - like chinese webnovels, you can often find manhua by searching in google in hanzi or pinyin "manhua NAME-in-chinese zaixian" if you don't know what websites have the manhua you'd like to read, and once you find one manhua you like then you can browse that site for more). I watch shows with english subs still when I'm relaxing (or dual subs), or chinese subs if english subs aren't out yet or don't exist. My reading skills don't deteriorate much, and they come back quickly once I start reading regularly again. My listening skills deteriorate FAST, but also seem to come back within a reasonably short time period (a few days of listening or a handful of hours listening to things). Bilibili.com is fairly easy to make an account on (and you may be able to watch without an account), and I really recommend browsing bilibili if you're learning chinese (or japanese to be honest - so many japanese bl and musicals are on bilibili). I'm at the point where whenever I get on bilibili it recommends me audiobooks, BL shows, voiced manhua with music (which I love), audio dramas, reactions and commentaries on shows, and videos about new cdramas I might like. So just like youtube, I can easily go on bilibili and get sucked in by videos I'd like, except they're in chinese. It's also a way I find new manhua, donghua, BLs, and shows to get into.

I am now primarily working on listening skills. Now that I can read decently, I would like to be able to listen to audiobooks, since I like to listen to stuff while I exercise, clean, work, drive. I'm making gradual progress with that. I would also like to eventually improve my reading speed, but that's just sort of happening gradually as I keep reading extensively. (I have a few novels I want to read specifically my print versions for, since they have some content the webnovel version didn't have). My study plan lately has been: listen to audiobooks, listen to audio dramas, and occasionally listen to Spoonfed Chinese Anki deck audio files when I want to mostly just do review.

My active skills? Hahahaaaaaaaaa ;-; well. Sadly I suck at speaking and writing. When I'm reading chinese a lot, I have an active vocabulary that gets a bit bigger when I'm chatting/typing with people a lot (and the more active my chinese vocabulary, the less I can recall French or Japanese words I know)... so maybe 1000 words I can say/type reasonably quickly when I am talking to people a lot. When I'm not chatting/typing with people much, my chinese active vocabulary is small (like 300 words or something ridiculously tiny), even when I'm reading and listening a lot. I basically remember how to give my dog commands in Chinese (I taught him commands in Chinese, French, and Japanese lol), say some basic stuff like what I'm doing today/how I'm feeling/basic questions like what is X or what is the word for X or what does X mean. If I'm not reading or listening to chinese at all (such as when I take a few months break to focus entirely on japanese study), then I struggle to recall basic stuff like baba jiejie meimei gege and I feel super annoyed I for some reason can't recall baba! It's baba after all! (especially given that my brain will give me die die like historical novels or xianxia, ye, and obasan when I can't recall baba for dad). I couldn't remember how to say i have an older sister, her name is x "wo you yi ge jie jie. ta de mingzi shi X". Whereas right now, just because I heard chinese in the last month, I can remember how to say basic stuff. So yeah... if I take over a month break, my chinese active vocabulary falls to nearly nothing. It goes back up if I have to talk to people regularly, while also reading/listening to chinese. But when I'm taking a break from studying it gets bad lol.

(And lately I've been focusing hard on japanese study, like I mentioned, I studied over 3000 sentences the past few months in japanese. So lately I can recall Japanese words I'm trying to say, much faster than Chinese or French).

Russian: In college i tried to learn Russian for around 6 months. Then the relationship ended and I didn't need to talk to anyone in Russian anymore, and just stopped studying. I found some cool resources during those 6 months though! And tried to read 1 Spirk fanfiction in Russian (and learned physics is fizika which sounds similar to english, and extraterrestrial is inoplanetyanin - inter-planet-tian which is a very self explanatory word I love it). I also learned a few basic conversational things that I still haven't forgotten (mainly Poka for bye-bye).

What languages can I actually do anything in?

Chinese is probably my most comfortable language all around, because I can actually speak and type in chinese if I'm regularly using it, and I read/watch shows in chinese fairly regularly so my passive comfort is decent. My reading skill in Chinese feels comparable to how my reading skill in middle school in English was - I can read novels for adults, but miss some nuance and details unless I look up words, whereas if it's for teens or younger I get most details and most nuance, and I can read faster if it's for younger teens/written simply like some webnovels (like DMBJ), I can read manhua easily (and if they're full of a lot of specialized terms like crime manhua I can follow the main idea). I am sure if I keep reading in chinese, my reading skill will get better as my vocabulary increases more. Once I get better with audiobooks I'll be really hype. Chinese is the only language I think I could adjust to talking to people in, if I had to.

In French I probably have the best reading skill, as it feels just like reading English for me, except occasionally if the fiction novel is in a genre I haven't read before or it's a fairly old book. For everyday reading like online, I don't notice a difference between French and English in my reading speed or comprehension. My French listening skill is maybe an A2, I definitely cannot understand as many words when listening as when I'm reading. I can follow some TV shows main ideas, but I'm relying on visuals to guess what's going on, or relying on French subtitles since I can read them. If a person is speaking fast, I probably understand even less. As for typing or speaking French... I haven't done it in over a year, I can barely remember how to say anything...

Japanese: I'm basically testing if Glossika can get me to N3 level. I tried an N5 practice test online and I cannot pass it, but I can follow some TV shows main ideas, and I can follow the main idea of a decent amount of Lets Plays. So I am not sure what's going on with that. As I'd guess my vocabulary is around 2000-2500 words now, I can understand a lot of grammar that pops up in regular daily conversation, I can struggle through a novel okay... it's the pronunciation and hiragana words I lack recognition of, I can struggle through most japanese shows and follow the main plot even if I don't know many words in a particular show - and some shows I can follow most of the details and all of the main ideas. I can read manga aimed at teens for the main idea without looking up words, and for details too if I look up words. So I'm not sure what studying would help me pass an N5, N4, practice test... I do think my vocabulary and grammar understanding is gradually improving, as watching shows IS getting Noticeably Easier every month or so. My reading skill is also significantly better than it was at the beginning of the year (still where my Chinese reading skill was at around 8-10 months into learning Chinese, or my French was around 6 months into learning, but... at a point where I CAN read some stuff for the main idea, and can read without feeling drained if I look up 5-10 keywords per page).

My listening skill in Japanese is better than French... in a way. My listening skill in japanese is lower than my reading skill, but what I can listen to I can understand at normal speed - so I can understand a lot of video game lines, and some jdramas (especially daily life type shows like Our Dining Table, Midnight Diner), and even somewhat harder jdramas I can follow the main plot and some specific lines fully (Criminologist Himura, MIU 404). I am at the point where I can watch shows ONLY in japanese if that's the only option, and follow the main ideas of the plot usually, without being Too exhausted, which is where I was at in Chinese around 8-10 months into studying. My pronunciation skills - poor! Not as poor as French, since I can recall a few hundred words off the top of my head, if I'm studying Japanese more than Chinese on a given month. It's slowly improving. But like with any language I'm studying... I do not think it will improve that much unless I purposely start writing a lot, and chatting with people. And I'd rather keep working on listening and listening vocabulary more first, and reading more with Satori Reader first. I'd say my reading skill is artificially inflated IF there's kanji in the text, otherwise my listening skill (if I have visuals to look at like a person or show) is the highest). I think if I go by vocabulary I know, I am maybe N4-N3 level and especially more N3 level with additional vocabulary I can guess if I see kanji to reference. I think I'm getting into N3 level vocabulary wise, because with shows I can start to follow almost all lines if it's a daily life show, and follow most main ideas even if it's a crime show. Speaking/writing is definitely N5 it's atrocious (which may be why I'm failing the N5 practice tests). Fun fact: my vocabulary knowledge seems skewed toward video game vocabulary (probably from how much i learned by gaming or watching lets plays - I can understand like 90% or more of every word in Final Fantasy X or Kingdom Hearts 2, and even Persona 3 or 1 I can understand over 80% of everything and 90%+ if I guess with kanji similarity to hanzi and context. I can play Persona 2 psp games just fine without looking words up, it just feels draining reading all the text... but if I watch a show like Samurai Cat, I barely recognize 50% of the words).

Spanish: I can read some nonfiction, I think it's mostly utilizing the few hundred common words I learned in college during the sprint with some Spanish learning materials, and cognates from French. I can read enough nonfiction to look for information. Fiction is quite hard, I can read bits of fiction. I cannot understand much spoken Spanish unless it's very basic stuff (like hello, bye, thank you, this is X). I can barely say anything except basic stuff. I can read nonfiction okay in Spanish (around my old middle school reading level in English), but I think that's mainly because I read through a few nonfiction textbooks in Spanish out of sheer determination.

German: I can read some nonfiction if it's short and I'm scanning it for information, or something in an American movie or comic with a few lines of German. I can understand the same stuff I can read. I can only say a few things. Basically I can do barely anything in German, except scan websites for information and understand small snippets of German in action movies and comics.

Russian: I forgot almost everything except I am/I love/Bye/Hi/Thanks/Please/This is a X/I want. I still remember how to read the alphabet though. I can't do anything in Russian except sound out words, and pick out a few Russian lines on American TV shows.

Italian: I technically didn't study Italian but I have read part of Italian by the Nature Method book (and would love to read it entirely when I have time), and my dad's family is Italian so I just know some words from growing up. Despite knowing nothing, I for some reason find it fun to read my parallel text of Dante's Inferno and learn some Italian words as I compare the English to the Italian. No doubt that's going to totally skew what Italian I know in a weird way, because Dante's inferno Italian is NOT how modern people talk. (But like I mentioned... give me a book in another language and I get really motivated to try to learn to read it...and apparently reading is the only skill I reliably managed to develop and maintain lol). I can't do much in Italian except read a little bit, mainly from cognates from Spanish and French.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #27

27. FRANCE Slimane - "Mon amour" 4th place

Decade ranking: 103/153 [Above The Black Mamba, below Marco Mengoni]

Slimane has a very powerrful voice. 🙂

THE RANKING

Okay, FINE. I suppose I can't leave it like that. 🙄 Although I'd much rather would.

So *SLIME*-MANE. There's a lot to unpack and a lot I know most people will disagree with my takes, but oh well. I've ranked Joost low, and Mustii low, so it's only fair the Slimane fans get some scalding hot truth tea splashed in the face from this deluded overthinker. Disliking men is a much more productive way to run away from my problems than simpling them is.

So remember how I spoke about songs designed to Make People Cry? You know I hold emotional extortion in contempt. "Pity" is just a slightly more charitable way of looking down at others, and shouldn't be strived for. These anthems are inherently designed to manipulate the undiscerning into uglycrying while offering very little sustainance. Yep, we're here yet again. Another song that doesn't pass even a tiny bit of scrutiny, except in a language most viewers do not speak.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that "Mon Amour"'s francophoneness is what made many people sleep on the fact that it's not exactly narratively sound. Most people that I've spoken about ESC to that understand French haven't responded well to "Mon Amour" (lol one of my French friends bursting into chat all "SLIMANE REPS US? EW. HIS MUSIC IS SO BORING AND CORNY 😣" hours after Mon Amour's release passed without comment from any of us ♥).

The indifference makes sense when you read the lyrics. It's filled with cliche's that scream "I YEM ZE FR0NCH~", a little bit too much on the nose. If I thought "Évidemment" was bad, this is worse. Lines such as "reviens à Paris" and ''Es-ce-que tu-m'aimes où pas?" are such clichés they feel thoughtless and expected, like someone writing out the monologue on autopilot.

But what sets me off is the overal narrative. Slimane and France have attempted to retcon "Mon amour" as "the story of an artist reaching out to his fans, seeking validation" but that is not what the lyrics read out. Instead, speak of the aftermath of a broken romance, where SHE has had her heart shattered to a degree that she LEFT THE PROTAGONIST'S HOMETOWN FOR AN UNKNOWN DESTINATION AND BROKE OFF ALL CONTACT. Instead of giving her, you know, personal space or time to reflect, or even lick his wounds, he keeps desperately asking her whether she still loves him or not. Dude, I don't know her, and I know the answer is "no". Give it a rest, and move on. Sadly, Slimane didn't move on and spends a full three minutes wailing on about it. "I want her, I need her only her, why doesn't she love me". We know where this ends - with a restraining order and either her or him dead and dismembered inside a dumpster six months later. (Australia's jury of snarky yet emotionally intelligent gays picking up on this and ranking him dead last ♥ bless them ♥)

As you can perhaps tell, the above realizations completely KILL the romantic aspect of the song for me. I cannot, and WILL NOT get into its grief and sadness. All the parties involved should be GLAD it's over.

Instrumentally, the song's just... generic piano ballad, nothing new or innovative here. Dime a dozen, we've heard it before, bla bla bla. "Mon amour" is a nothingburger, an empty vessel for Slimane's vocal chops.

Which brings me to another problem I have with it - I personally don't really care much about technical skill? Eurovision is an audio-visual SONG contest, not a SINGING contest. It is cool that you can nail those masturbatory vocal projections. You're a singer who can sing. "Loud" however is a pitch, not an emotion. It would have been more impressive if you've also discovered the cure of cancer alongside it. (Curing tumors with vocal vibrations. Medical students reading this, get on it so I can be impressed by Slimane.)

Focusing exclusively on that though, is annoying to me. Good Eurovision entrants start with a SONG. "Mon amour" barely classifies as one. End off.

That isn't to say I cannot respect Slimane's vocal for what it was. I mean THIS:

is a feat only a few vocalists can successfully pull off. It is MORE impressive the first time you witness it before the laws of Diminishing Returns kicks in. But it was immensely clever to trial it at Dora and then include it into the song itself - it gives the performance stakes and gravitas, so why not?

However that brought the song's weakness even more to the forefront to me. My logic is the following: if you can pull off such a stunt, then why aren't you the immediate fave to win? Eurovision 2024 was the most open year perhaps of all times, and I'm supposed to believe a voice THIS strong cannot win it by itself? There are enough examples of strong vocals POWERING through merely decent songs (Céline and Corinne Hermès for instance) into a first place. If you can pull that off and still lose doesn't that prove your song is fucking shite?

Going into the contest I was HOPING to get something out of the live besides Big Vocals and also that France wouldn't morph into a direct contender to win (You would HOPE that 2024's varied and exciting line-up was competitive enough as to not crown a vocal projection exercise as its winner), and ultimately, I got both of my wishes because Eurovision 2024 was BORISVISION. I was the meta this year, bitches, and I think fourth place is a perfectly reasonable result for a vocal that strong on a song that nonexistent.

But more importantly, Slimane managed to inject his performance with EMOTIONS and good god I really needed that.

It took a LOT of effort from Slimane for me to recognize that yes, this man is cooking with gas, and his expertise elevates the whole package. "Seductive" is the incorrect emotion for the subject matter but whatever. Ignoring the subject matter is the only way you can enjoy the song, so if that's what one must to do end the night on a high note, so be it. I let it pass, with few regrets.

Like Nutsa, he served enough for me to respect him ~as a performer~ who deserved the result he got. Like "Firefighter", I still have some contempt for the song itself, and there's a strict limit for how Im i'm willing to place it.

Turns out that boundary lies at Marco Mengoni. "Mon amour" always felt like a lazy, soulless answer to "Due vite" for me, and I'm not willing put it ahead, nor to re-examine my stance on DV so quickly after my 2023 ranking. "Due vite" was a song that ultimately wasn't my cup of tea, but it was the superior composition, and deserves a higher mark.

So ultimately, I end with Slimane a bittersweet note. A man with the capability to win the Eurovision Song Contest, yes and who manifested his impending loss with below average penmanship. If the French are looking for someone to blame for not winning once since 1977, they can start with their failure to recognize their 2024 song needed a revamp.

THE RANKING (again)

[sovietpostcards]

Okay, so for the "is Serbian or Russian easier" asker:

I'm studying Russian and a friend is studying Serbian, and we both started around the same time and put the same amount of time into our studies. This is not a definitive answer because the ease with which you pick up a language varies from person to person, and what your mother tongue is, but this are some things we discussed.

Serbian:

—If you speak a romance tongue you're going to have an easier time pronouncing it. —ES, PR , RO and IT, at least. No idea about French. It also uses less consonants per-word than russian so that might also be easier to learn if you don't speak a lenguaje that features them in abundance.

—It has a lot of grammatical rules that are a little bit to specific and that might be a pain. (Like verbs —or was it adjectives?— for the outdoors and the indoors being different, for example, but there are other's like that.)

—Less declinations than Russian, so you know? Maybe easier. Also also also, no hard and soft consonant symbols!

Russian:

—The grammar (at least up to the level I'm in) is quite straightforward. So once you get the gist of it you're fine. Also a lot of common use sentences are quite "simple", so you can get semi-conversational faster.

—As it is more widely spoken, it has more reasources than Serbian, which ultimately makes studying easier, whater you go the DIY way or get tutoring.

—This might be just my dyslexic Brain, but Russian cirillic is easier than Serbian cirillic.

I hope this is helpful, but I'm on my last braincells and it might not make sense. But ultimately, don't choose based on ease, becouse all lenguages are hard! The key to success is picking one you're really interested in and look forward to incorporating into your life!

Thank you so much! I definitely second the last paragraph.

[gollyplot]

Hey friends!

Long story short, my work want me to learn Portuguese (Brazilian) and Spanish so I can translate those languages, as well as the ones I currently work with. They're paying for private tuition for me, but for my self study, does anyone have any suggestions for good sites, apps or resources for learning PT-BR and ES at an intermediate-ish level? Or do I have any Brazilian or hispanohablante mutuals who'd be happy to chat?

For context I'm a professional translator and I know French and Italian (plus a few other non-romance languages) so I'm already very comfortable with romance language grammar, phonology and general vocab. I can already understand like... 40-60% of written Spanish, maybe 30-50% of written Portuguese and managed to get by pretty well speaking Spanish in shops and restaurants when I went to Madrid and Barcelona last year, so I'm definitely not looking for total beginner-level stuff!

Reblogs also appreciated 😌 obrigado / gracias!!

[kani-miso]

🙏 this looks so fun actually, here are some questions 😭

general questions

9. which prisoner's signature colour do you like the most?

trial questions

5. which 2nd trial MV do you enjoy the most, and why?

prisoner questions

2. what are your headcanons about es? (es isn’t a prisoner but we can ignore that for a second 😵‍💫)

thank you for these questions, i really appreciate it.

general questions

9. which prisoner's signature colour do you like the most?

not because i'm biased or anything but mikoto. his signature color represents him so perfectly. blue is usually used to represent 'honesty' which perfectly connects with double ("Come to know me as an honest man"). blue is also one of the most common colors used in industrial purposes. the dull blue is just used to potray his boring, endless cycle of work (996).

trial questions

5. which 2nd trial MV do you enjoy the most, and why?

i cannot tell you how much i love the purge march mv. the visuals are amazing, the baton twirl is the best part imo, also the amane army idea is astounding. i love how the marching band leader amane first didn't have the cult eyes but when the cat is shown to be dead/taken away, her eyes turn into the cult eyes. her cult eyes having a different shape than the 'magic' cult eyes is really smart. in 'magic', she's following the cults rules without pushing her own ideals into the doctrine. in putge march, she's punishing her mother for breaking the rules (killing a living being), but it really isn't only for that. the sort of real reason she killed her was to avenge the cat. thats why her swirly eyes are connected and not like circles in 'magic' (also the purge march cult eyes have a tint of purple, purple literally symbolizes magic). now about the baton twirl, there are 3 shots of the baton twirl. two with the camera view on the left and one with the camera view facing her. i take this as someone witnessing amane do the murder (you can see more 'proof' to this idea at the end where amane looks at the camera that's shaking).

prisoner (+guards) questions

2. what are your headcanons about es?

i have some, not much because i like leaning on the canon side.

they're really tidy and clean, to the point their floor has not a single speck of dust.

they dont have a favorite food/drink, they have weak taste buds.

they get bored so they have a book for journaling stuff and drawing doodles, in t2 they ended up not doing it anymore because they need to focus on work.

the reason they don't sleep on the bed is because of its weird texture.

996 routine.

sometimes, they secretly do their work outside because they like hearing the prisoners talk.

they read those romance books mahiru recommended in t1, they didn't like it but continued reading so mahiru will be happy.

they feel more comfortable with the t1 guilties instead of the t1 innos.

they once tried redbull when they saw the MeMe mv, they never ever tried it again.

they say pudding is their favorite food when the prisoners have a talk about their favorite foods so they dont feel left out.

somewhat distant yet close relationship with john (i have to include this).

they're the only person who is the most accepting of mikoto's system.

they used to like folding paper cranes, never did it again in t2 because it wastes their time.

spent their free time learning the milgram rune language and memorized it.

always late when its breakfast, lunch, and dinner time.

this is just the ones i remember thinking about.

[terry-perry]

Can I request either a Dad!Miguel O’Hara or Dad!Moon Knight where they’re singing luna de xelajú with their partner (the reader) and/or their daughter? thank you and I love your writing ❤️

Love this song!

Italicized lyrics - Marcy singing

Bold lyrics - Jake singing

Bold and italicized lyrics - Both singing

You woke up later than intended. It had been a long night as you had done plenty of online work until 2 in the morning. You wanted to spend a good chunk of hours not looking at a screen. Now that some of those hours were spent sleeping, it was time for food. Before that, however, you reached over to your husband's side of the bed. Unfortunately, it was empty.

"Aww," you whined softly. You must've slept longer than intended.

You slowly lifted your head off the pillow to listen for an idea of where he could be. The sound you were met with was unexpected as you heard two guitars strumming in melody.

They were at it again, you realized with a smile.

You slipped out of bed and made your way out of the bedroom. The music grew louder as you walked down the hall. You could hear Marcy's soft singing, almost like she was whispering. She had such a lovely voice. You and your husband wished she showed it off more.

You hoped these little sessions would do just the thing to help her come out of her shell, at least a little.

You entered the kitchen and, sure enough, your husband and daughter were seated at the table, continuing to play and sing together.

"Luna de Xelajú que supistes alumbrar,"

Marcy was getting better with her Spanish. You had Jake to thank for mastering the language. He was the side of your husband who spoke it, and he found the best way to teach her. He fueled his lessons with her love for music and taught her about songs he thought she'd enjoy.

The song they were currently playing together came with a sad love story involving a romance forced to end. The singer could only plead to the moon and wish for their love to return somehow. It was beautiful and tragic. Marcy loved it right away.

"En mis noches de pena por una morena de dulce mirar,"

"Luna de Xelajú me diste inspiración,"

"La canción que hoy te canto regada con llanto de mi corazón,"

Through Jake, she was able to discover a wide variety of music by Latin artists. He also showed her how to properly perform their songs by pronouncing them in a proper accent. He told her about the importance of rolling her rs and the tilde, among other things that made her sound almost like a native Spanish speaker.

"En mi vida no habrá, más cariño que tu mi amor,"

He never had doubts about her picking up the language. Not only was it in her blood but he knew once she put her mind to something, nothing could stop her from achieving her goals. He saw that in the way she mastered the guitar in only a few months and then added singing to the mix. It was just the confidence she needed a little more work on.

"Luna que me alumbro en mis noches de amor,"

You leaned against the archway and enjoyed the last few moments of the song with a soft smile. No matter what side of your husband was interacting with your daughter, they were always such a great source of strength and comfort to you as you were to them. Each special bond was hard to replicate. You were just happy Marcy could have one with each of them.

"Hoy consuelas la pena,"

"Por una morena que me abandono."

You gave a little applause for their performance. They, at last, acknowledged your presence by grinning at you in appreciation before Marcy turned back to Jake.

"¿Cómo estaba ese papi?" She casually asked her father how she did after the song was finished.

Jake chuckled warmly and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"Mucho mejor mi luna. ¡Bien hecho!"

[mrskillingjoke]

Fandom: Bud Spencer and Terence Hill Movies

Movie: Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro/ Zwei Asse trumpfen auf

Pairing: Charlie/Alan, platonic or romance

Language: german

Words: 336

Title: zu groß, zu hungrig, zu blau

Charlies Mutter hatte immer gesagt, dass er, wenn er wütend wird schnell die Beherrschung verliert. Er würde seinen Kopf komplett abschalten. Sie hatte recht.

Er hatte kaum nachgedacht, als er den blinden Passagier hinterhergejagt hatte. Am liebsten hätte er ihm den Kopf abgerissen. Dann fiel der Mann ins Wasser und Charlie wäre beinahe einfach weiter gefahren, bis er den Hai gesehen hatte, bis er gemerkt hatte, dass es Konsequenzen geben würde, wenn er den Kerl nicht herausholen würde. Er verachtete den blinden Passagier, aber er wollte trotzdem nicht verantwortlich für seinen Tod sein.

Also saß besagter blinder Passagier jetzt auf seinem Bett und ertrank stattdessen in einem von Charlies übergroßen Puffin‘  T-Shirt. Die blaue flauschige Decke lag über seinen Schultern und ließ seine blauen Augen noch größer und mitleiderregender erscheinen.

Er sah ehrlich gesagt erbärmlich aus, während er da saß mit tropfenden Haaren, eingekuschelt und seinen hungrigen Augen, die unverhohlen immer wieder Charlies Essen anstarrten.

Sein blinder Passagier, Alan, wie er sich vorstellte, sah noch dünner in dem T-Shirt aus, als er davor schon wirkte. Er war kaum mehr als eine halbe Portion und Charlie hätte wahrscheinlich Mitleid mit ihm, wenn er nicht sein Essen geklaut hätte.

Charlie seufzte, als er in die großen glänzenden Augen schaute und gab dem Mann einen kleinen Löffel auf einen Teller.

Alan inhalierte das Essen, als hätte er seit Jahren keine richtige Mahlzeit gegessen. Seine großen blauen Augen waren wieder auf Charlie gerichtet, der selbst kaum Zeit zum essen hatte, und sahen so hungrig aus.

Charlie seufzte und gab ihm seinen Teller. Er selbst nahm sich die halbvolle Pfanne und versuchte sein Essen noch zu genießen.

Wie ein so kleiner Körper seine Portionen so schnell und vollständig essen konnte, würde Charlie wahrscheinlich nie verstehen.

Warum er dem blinden Passagier überhaupt hilft wahrscheinlich genauso wenig.

Alan schien jetzt schon ein echtes Ärgernis zu sein.

Charlie sah ihn wieder an. Er sah immer noch erbärmlich aus. Schwimmend in zu großer Kleidung, hungrig das Essen verschlingend und diese großen blauen Augen.