#'salsaaaa'

[unicornio12am]

Parceeeeeee alguien que me enseñe a bailar salsaaaa, quiero bailar una salsa romántica, así bien pegaditos, vernos a los ojos y sonreír, nah que increíble sería. 地狱

[raisindave]

[Chapter 2] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Calling it a “whole women’s dormitory wing” was bold. What you encountered was more of a broom closet at the end of a hallway, with all the modern amenities of ceiling tiling that you’re almost positive is covered with asbestos. On the bright side, you had the luxury of having a bathroom to yourself, diligently marked by a yellow sticky note taped to the door with the word “Women’s” on it.

The sound of the familiar beeping of your standard-issue wristwatch forced you to remember that you were in an unfamiliar bed. You slap your hand down on the watch beside your bed, lazily running your thumb along its edge to flick the off button. Begrudgingly dragging your sluggish body from the heavy comfort of your warm blankets, it was time to get up and report for duty. Whatever that duty was.

Stepping down your hallway, you spy the unmistakable classic military special of pale oak circular tables signifying a mess hall: pale green linoleum floors, creased and bumpy from age, wear, and harsh climate. Almost on queue, a chair screeched backwards, detecting motion as you rounded the corner.

“Salsaaaa, nice to meet you. I’m John, but you can call me Soap.” You couldn’t easily forget his mohawk hairstyle, paired with the thick Scottish accent aligning with the flag emblem on his profile. “That’s Kyle Garrick. We call him Gaz.”

Gaz smiled and raised a hand in a dutiful wave, rising to hike over to greet you. Tall, slender, with dark, kind eyes that didn’t match the vicious demeanour you’d expect with someone with his confirmed kill count.

“Big fucker is Ghost, but you’re welcome to call him-”

“We’re going rucking, be geared in 20,” ‘Big fucker’ interjected, commanding the air out of the room.

Your eyebrows furrowed, a sly smile tugging at your lips as your eyes darted to gauge the reaction of your newfound comrades. You hadn’t gone rucking in ages—one of the perks of being a specialist. There was no way they were saying you had to go rucking with them. The thermostat said the outdoor temperature was a crisp -32 c, and the sun had no intention of rising for at least another two hours.

So much for being “just a translator.”

Ghost finally rose, though you wish he didn’t. His size triggered your fight or flight response, and Ghost would raise your hackles if you were a dog. That pale, skeletal mask crudely stitched onto a dark balaclava was like something straight out of a nightmare. You can see how this mask might effectively intimidate enemies, but you struggle to understand why he’s wearing it around comrades. You keep your gaze forward and back straight as instinctive compliance kicks in. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached you.

“This isn’t a vacation,” he leaned forward, penetrating your field of view, “lives are on the line, Corporal.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Words were jutting out of you as if you’d just been punched in the gut.

Rucking is not for the faint of heart. At least, not for you. For all you know, it could be a piece of cake. However, specialists usually get a pass to dodge rucking requirements with the excuse of study or practice. Price must have assumed that position, seeing as he was absent. A lack of training, compounded by a beyond hostile climate, meant the pack of equipment on your back was immensely heavy, even at a stationary position outside the base, especially not at the ass crack of the morning.

Ghost was leading the group, three perfect soldiers dutifully wearing their snow camouflage like they were born to it. The three of them were elegant, armoured troopers, willing and able to snuff the life out of a person in an instant. You, however, look like a tire company mascot. The smallest possible issue for the thermal pants left masses of unused fabric on your ankles and wrists. At least the elastic-based balaclava was snug on your face. White puffs of steam from everyone’s mouths stated the obvious: It’s fucking cold.

The boys didn’t make it easy either, dropping into dead sprints at indeterminate intervals, scrambling up cliff faces. Digging the heels of your boots into the snow, a slide down a small hill offered an infinitesimal break from the weight on your shoulders, swiftly followed by the next task of rising to your feet and catching up.

Air burned into your lungs, scorching your throat and searing into your chest. Cold, sweet spit floods into your open mouth. It’s hard to think straight when every ounce of energy goes toward lifting each foot out of the sinking snow, but it’s harder even to consider having to scan for hypothetical enemies in this condition.

“I take it they don’t go rucking much in the Shire, hey Salsa?” Called a Scottish voice from the top of a sheer hill you hadn’t even considered climbing. That’s a tally of two jokes about your height, and it’s not even been 12 hours.

He’ll have to settle for stern eye contact as an answer, which he smirked back at and disappeared behind the hill. Lacking dexterity thanks to the subzero climate, gloved fingers fumbled to grip powdery snow as you heaved your knees up to support the climb. Hot puffs of white steam cloud your vision and the top of the hill.

The scenery was beautiful, at least. A moment's pause gave your body a short moment to stop aching in strain to let you consider the view. Cresting sun over the frozen territory, a blanket of muffling snow made the whole world sound wonderfully silent. This virgin wilderness is like something out of a Bob Ross painting, and it could almost make the rucking worth it. Almost.

“We head back to base camp. Keep up.” Ghost’s husky Manchester accent cut through the silence; it took your frozen mind a moment to register his barbed comment. His frigid gaze sends a chill through your core that the sub-zero climate could never achieve.

Downhill was easy until it wasn’t. The boys made it look easy, gliding over the snow like it didn’t affect them. They even had the nerve to talk while they outran you easily, Gaz jumping up to swat at heavy tree branches, dumping snow on Soap, who ran behind him. Their boots don’t even sink into the snow like yours do. They don’t fumble, or wheeze or sweat. It was Soap who approached your narrow field of view, he had turned around to wait for you to jog along.

Pockets of hot and cold air settled in all the wrong places. Sweat pooled under your blazing hot thermal jacket while the promise of frostbite kissed the exposed skin on your wrist. There’s something sickening about the overstimulation, screaming into your conscience with each step.

Wordlessly meeting his unreadable blue eyes, he gripped the back of your pack, heaving it free from your shoulders, slipping his arms through the loops. Featherlight relief flooded into you as you unburdened your shoulders from the pack. Having adjusted to carrying all the extra weight, you almost effortlessly kept pace, finally feeling the cold air fill your lungs.

You finally had the opportunity to take in more details of your comrades. The three were nearly indistinguishable from behind, all in the same standard-issue winter armour and gear built for this type of climate. However, Ghost clearly stood about half a head taller than the other two, striding through the snow in steps that counted for two of yours. Gaz bounced along, only tailed by Soap, who seemed entirely unfazed by the extra weight. Showoff.

“Sergeant.” Ghost barked, jolting you to attention.

Raising your gaze once again, you caught Soap as he shrugged off your extra pack in one fell swoop, holding it limply toward Ghost. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if Ghost was mad; his resting demeanour seemed agitated. In this case, he was pissed off. That much was written in stone. The way he turned and locked his gaze on you, it sucked heat out of your face. Closing the distance between you two in only a few steps, his immense height blocked out the sun as he stood the closest to you since you started rucking before the sun was even up. Looking up at him through snow-covered eyelashes, he flicked his arm, flinging your sack into your chest, knocking the wind from your lips.

“Toughen up.”

For the remaining distance, you put your heart and soul into keeping pace, refusing to allow yourself to consider slowing down and risking the wrath of the Lieutenant. At this point, you were running on the fumes of shame and sheer willpower.

It took the remaining strength you had not to drop and lay on the floor like a starfish. Alas, once again, appearances take priority as you tried to go for that smug nothing hurts me disposition despite the situation on the hike. Pushing closed your quarters' door, you finally shuck off the remaining thermal layers after returning your body armour and pack bashfully to Ghost in the makeshift armoury. Peeling off the second pair of pants, you lay on the cot, overworked muscles radiating heat, thighs scorching to the touch.

Rifling through your bag for a fresh edition of the same standard t-shirt and pants you’ve been prescribed for years, eyes caught the white envelope Laswell handed you yesterday. You clumsily ripped the seal, unfurling a new SIM card, and a smile warmed your face. At least you’ll be able to make a call. It made you wonder if she knew you’d be on edge and needed a pep talk from a familiar voice. If it’s 09:00 here, it’s got to be… 22:00 in California. With luck, he’ll pick up.

On days like this, Uncle Chucky was your lifeline. A voice of reason, a bastion of wisdom, a tad bit of an alcoholic, and someone who’s been in the military since before you were conceived. Chucky is the kind of person that makes the world go round,’ but too much of him will drive you crazy. Delightfully stubborn, pleasantly infuriating, and a damn good sense of humour. The familiar phone number was an effortless dial.

“What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m usually so confident, so sure-footed, I’m so on edge, and they can tell.” Your voice was thick with irritation, picking at your fingernails with your phone pinned between your shoulder and ear.

“You said you felt on edge when you first landed in Somalia, but those nerves passed the second you started working.”

“Somalia was different. I had other specialists with me, not just soldiers.” You kick the toe of your boot on the doorframe, “not to mention other new faces with which I could blend in. This time, I'm the sole outlier.”

“That’s the thing when you get yourself in the military, my love.” An audible sigh came from his side microphone before he spoke again. “The big fish picked on the little fish. Eventually, you survive getting pecked at long enough to chirp at the people below you.”

“It’s fucking gross. It’s like a boys' club. I’ll never be in their circle, not really.”

“That’s it, I’m pulling the plug,” you shook as an unbecoming booming voice rose from the speaker, “Enough with the pity party. They’re testing your limits, and you’re letting them win. Get - a fucking - grip, Lua.”

Your head spun at the change of tone, enraptured by shock as his burst of agitation faded into something more patient.

“Baby love, I know you can do this, and if you weren’t qualified, they wouldn’t have chosen you.” Chuck breathed into the mic, stifling a laugh before speaking again, “Y’know, in my final years in the Marines, whenever someone tried to puff up their feathers at me, I’d imagine them crying listening to Mr. Brightside. Works every time.”

Laughter erupted from you as your mind wrapped around the sentiment. A gentle tear streaming down Ghost’s mask as he hiccuped back tears, listening to the whimsical musings of The Killers. Calmness and confidence swirled into your chest, breathing a satisfying breath for the first time in what felt like months.

“On the Brightside, heh, I got a stupid little nickname for being a fucking moron at my first meeting… They’re calling me Salsa now. Apparently, I was slipping and fumbling, and it looked like dancing.” You smirked, nipping at the raw skin around your fingernails.

The unmistakable snort of someone inhaling their drink in laughter burst from your speakers.

“They call you Salsa?”

“Mhmm.”

“My love, Salsa is … “ he smothered a laugh.

“What?”

“Salsa is an acronym. It- it means ‘Student Aviator Lacking Situational Awareness,’ they’re fucking with you.”

A spark of shame sliced across your brow. You thought they were being sweet and endearing… giving you a cheeky nickname to welcome you to the crew. The reality was a thinly veiled malicious jab at you. They found humour in your nerves about being a lone female, surrounded by strangers, in a place where nobody would be able to find you if you disappeared. As quickly as your shame faded, a new emotion manifested: white-hot rage.

“I gotta go. I love you, Chuck, I’ll be in touch.” swallowing your bile to donate the last few moments of calmness to your precious uncle before the end call button clicked. Like that, you shrugged into your quarter-zip and tore down the hall.

They had the nerve to be in the gym as if the morning ruck you’ll feel in your bones for days was a lazy evening stroll. Something about how they carried on as best buddies, humiliating you in code while smiling to your face, made your blood boil. It made you question if Soap knew Ghost would give you an earful if he took your pack off your back.

“Y’know, that’s real fucking sweet of you,” your voice cut into the small gym. “Pretending to be nice to me.”

Stepping forward, you closed the distance as eyebrows furrowed over blue and brown eyes. They even had the nerve to look shocked, their dumbfounded faces looking like a deer in headlights. Your jaw worked before you spoke.

“Salsa… Student Aviator Lacking Situational Awareness?”

Soap huffed out a laugh, but a sharp look from Gaz extinguished his smile.

“Funny, it takes a big man to make a girl feel like shit as soon as I step into your little clubhouse. Don’t worry, I won't be here for long.” Take extra care to accentuate every syllable, resting your palms resting on your waist to avoid the possibility of you throwing a fridge at them.

“We were just being cheeky,” Gaz spoke up for the two, “didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

“Cheeky? Picking on someone who’s burdened with having a different skillset from you. What’re you, five?” You spat back.

“We’ve all been jabbed at when we’re the new guy, we’ve all been at the butt end of some banter.”

You bit back the creeping urge to spit back that your situation is nothing like his. Of course, those two knuckleheads didn’t have the empathy to grasp the situation from your perspective. You blinked, simmering in your thoughts. Wrath, translating into a simmering rage, washed into you. Working your jaw from side to side, you ended the silence.

“Cheers.”

Before anything had time to register, you were walking down the hall toward your linen closet of a bedroom, fingernails digging into your sweaty palms. White hot rage darkened your vision, electrified by a simmering sense of self-consciousness. In an instant, you snapped out as you caught Laswell’s gaze past your furrowed brow, dissolving your demeanour, manifesting your most polite smile to shield her from any indication that everything isn’t peachy. You took the opportunity to duck into the bathroom. Despite her unique ability to follow you, you deemed it a safe option. However, you genuinely had the excuse to take a much-needed shower. A precious opportunity that you refused to let pass.

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Master List

[cat-vase]

japurr post the salsa o(*´▽｀)o

Salsaaaa :]

[gnomeyflamingo]

Alejandro: “The restaurant only has a 12hr wait time, that’s good right?”

Atreo: “This is so unfair. Why are you punishing me?!”

Acco: “Have fun Mummy.”

Brielle: “Thanks sweetie, behave for your brother, and Atreo please, just do this for us?"

Atreo: "Ugh!”

Brielle: “We have milestones to complete, it’s important. Don’t you want more moodlet solvers?”

Atreo: “But it’s Acco, you’re making me spend time with Acco!”

Acco: "Papi can you bring me back hot food? You don't have to pay for it, just use the pack a lunch interaction."

Acco: “I know this a long shot but are we going to do something together?”

Atreo: “No go to bed.”

Acco: “But it’s 5 pm!”

Atreo: “It's actually 10 pm, seems you can't tell time yet. Way past bedtime. Upstairs you go. You have to listen to me. I'm in charge, you heard Mum."

Acco: “Ugh you’re the worst!”

Atreo: “I keep telling you Accomplished Stink Bottom; I don’t care what you think. Mostly I forget you even exist."

Acco: “You’re a big, gross meanie!”

Atreo: “Again, I don't care what you think. Go to bed."

Acco: “I hope the Watcher makes you end up with Zehra!"

Atreo: “What a horrible thing to say! It’s okay, it’s the tiredness talking.”

Acco: “I HATE YOU!”

Atreo: “Aw I hate you too. Don’t forget to brush your teeth”

Acco: *grumbles* “I’m going to scrapbook about this so hard.”

Atreo: *sings* "I’m awesome, I’m awesome, I’m awesome at making salsaaaa out of only 3 tomatoes!”

*Cooks fancily*

Atreo: “This bowl of salsa looks great, selfie time! Come on followers, validate me. Yes I got a like from Asmara already!”

Atreo puts on a scary movie whilst Acco works through his anger by making art upstairs.

Atreo: “Hm babysitting isn’t too bad.”

Acco: “Take that Atreo monster drawing! Glitter! There, right in your hideous eyes! Now you look as horrible as you make me feel!”

*Ominous music plays…*

Atreo: “Oo Asmara messaged. Those are some flirty emojis. I should respond so I’m too distracted to lock the doors or notice anyone who might be outside looking through the kitchen window.”

(I'm so good at building suspense right?)

Atreo: “Asmara? You okay? You’re calling instead of texting- AH! OMW!”

Nanny Keohola: “Atreo, you’ve gotten so big! It’s me, your loving, totally qualified nanny. Do you remember me?”

Atreo: “Yes! That's why I'm running away in terror. AHHHH!”

Atreo: “Acco you have to listen, I’m not joking, nanny Keohola is back-”

Acco: “W-what?!”

Atreo: “She's broken in, she’s downstairs!”

Acco: “Wh-what do we do?”

Atreo: “AH! I hear her coming, quick to the balcony!”

Atreo: “I hope this patio furniture barricade holds…”

Acco: “HELP! HELP! NEIGHBOURS?! HELP!”

Atreo: “Shout louder Acco! HELP, HELP AN ESCAPED CONVICT IS TRYING TO PRETEND TO BE OUR NANNY!”

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[greeds]

i made honey lime garlic butter salmon with mango salsaaaa to be eaten w basmati rice and black beans and um whatever the fuck brussel sprout dish i just invented

[achoo---uu]

Oe rial amo la salsaaaa

[ashh-club]

Salsaaaa

Que pena... Ay no, qué vergüenza pensar en ti viéndome bailar. Verme a través del cristal mientras intento coordinar mis pies, caderas, manos y mente para no distraerme con... Tu presencia.

5,6,7 y... Básico, talón, pico adelante, pico atrás, derecha con talón, vuelta y- tu mano se extiende frente a mí, pero tus ojos estan en los míos... Quiero dejarme llevar por tu tacto y- oh, perdí el ritmo ¿Qué paso seguía?

Ya no puedo arreglarlo, la música se detiene, todos vuelven a sus posiciones, sigo quieta... Porque tu sigues sin moverte ¿Qué esperas? Volvamos a iniciar...

Oye, ojitos lindos, deja de mirarme así con tu mano extendida que me ilusiono... Bien, la tomaré y- wooo bien, volvemos... derecha, latino, punta talón, tunel ¿Seguía un vuelta? Yo te sigo el paso. No recuerdo tener que dar tantas vueltas, pero tus ojos están en mí, no me puedo detener, no quiero hacerlo.

Cinturón, salto, básico atrás, títere, básico adelante, títere, pico, pico... ¿Cómo será recibir un pico tuyo? No. No, concéntrate: punta, talón, punta, talón, PUNTA, cambio, chachacha, cinturón... Y siento tu brazo rodear mi cintura, seguido de tu mano que empuja mi cadera hacia afuera, giro, marco, vuelta, marco, giro nuevamente, mi espalda es recibida por tus manos que me guían por la pista, permites que nuestros dedos se entrelacen, subes mi pierna a tu cadera sin soltar mi muslo (¿Desde cuándo bailas tango?) y- sonríes... MIERDA TU SONRISA.

"ASHLEY"

"... Ermmm ¿Ah?"

"A tu posici��n Ashley, te equivocaste y te demoraste en reaccionar ¿Qué te está pasando últimamente? Necesito que te concentres. Desde arriba todo el mundo, 1, 2, tres y..."

[radiocalamar]

Él está en su salsaaaa

PICO | KUCAMONGA

La serie en 3D mediante Virtua Tennis y Sims 4 está llegando a radio calamar. Quedate en el hashtag.

[esics]

i always feel like an asshole complaining too bc its like "oh they just wanna be your friend" but at what point does it become overbearing and almost downright manipulative to spamm like 40 messages asking to hang out, while im asleep, and then getting upset when i dont respond, making some random comment then asking like 3 questions then another question then like 5 messages in a row of fucking ngvmvmvmllsalsaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[clydeoberholt]

eyyy blood knows blood amiright? im latino, black, and native so no one can ever tell what race i am lmao but yeah ur rly cute!!

ayyyyyy! muchas gracias, hermano!

[funnyuforg0t]

<3 to make snacks

[that-fallen-child]

uppppppdateeeeee

i am now in school again, yay (sarcastic),

also i’m almost fully recovered so i’ll have to end this thread soon :( so before i go, let me just spill my brain beans into here and overfill your brain beans about how my day went :)

1. school was boring

2. during my math class my cousin came in and brought me a plate of chips and salsa. but one of the school rules was that you couldn't eat in class, so i waited for the 10 minute break after class. our math teacher, however, took waaay too long to realize she took up almost all of our break time, so i only had time to stuff two chips into my mouth before the next class started. THEN THE SAME THING HAPPENED AGAIN ON THE NEXT CLASS aaand now my chips aren’t crispy :(

3. ONE OF MY CLASSMATES SAID HE HAD AN ANIME SWORDSMAN PROFILE PIC TO OUR CLASS. GUESS WHAT CHARACTER IT WAS.

IT WAS BOTW LINK. DRAWN IN AN ANIME STYLE. WITH THE MASTER SWORD.

i’m sorry but *WHEEZE-*

although, he did mention that he played botw, and he might have just said that so that other classmates who didn't know who botw link was would understand what his pfp was... but it’s still pretty funny to me though.

it also gave me this slowly growing urge to make my own profile pic sans the skeleton for the shits and giggles and gosh as every minute goes by it is getting harder to ignore. i really want funny skeleton man to be in my class now oh god

4. okay so in the same MATH class, we had a sort of google doc thing where people could see the doc and put their own stuff in

aaaaand...

i swear to god some wise crackhead put this there on purpose and it almost made me lose my shit in front of like 30 people

there was also a misspelling of math which was “MEth” in one of the paragraphs, and i originally thought it was some play on "ME + math = MEth" made by the teachers until later when the misspelt word was fixed by someone. it made me realize that it was probably one of my classmates who made that error on purpose. now that i think about it, it was probably the same wise crackhead from before lol

anyway yeah that's it. now if you'll excuse me, imma go and eat my sad uncrispy chips and salsa until i eventually break into a thousand pieces :)

helloooooo tumblr! if anyone is reading this, i woke up today with a runny nose and a sore throat. which means i am sick.

not very fun.

since i got bored, i downloaded tumblr on my phone after binging a bunch of tumblr videos so i could like. entertain myself while i'm sick.

and you know what? fluff it. im going to name this character development arc

✨Sick But Sexy✨

and all it'll be is a thread of me spewing out random stuff until i get better.

let's do this >B)

[popper9823]

La salsa es vidaaaaaa, es amooor, es arteee nada logra elevarne tanto como ese fuego.

La salsa y pintar, la salsa y bailar, la salsa y el desayuno, la vida, sentir, observar, la salsa y la salsaaaa.

[kaegrams]

Me gusta esa salsaaaa ma!

A mi también 😎

[rainbowmuses]

salsaaaa angel hi !! it's been such a pleasure having you here at hidden w us for so long & it's always v much a joy to be able to write w you against all of your lovely characters !! unless i've managed to lose something ( which is def possible rip ) , i don't think we have any active threads , which i feel like we'll certainly have to change soon bc i miss writing threads w you !! keep being wonderful !! ❤

Aria, my angel! Oh you can always send random starters my way because I will gladly write with you. It never ceases to amaze me just how invested I get whenever we have an active thread going. You are so fucking amazing, wow!

[mozzzz05]

I just read ‘masala’ as ‘salsa’, when I realised my mistake, I went back to the word and tried to read it correctly, clearly my brain is not functioning because some how I got ‘ma salsaaaa’