#Mexican theme party

[wekillitwithfire]

jenny nicholson understands me and my love for theme parks and themed restaurants and themed hotels and essentially any heavily themed experience

[blue-da-ba-dee]

Had a pot luck at work today and I am in a food coma😂 Everything absolutely smacked😩

[hylianengineer]

If you ever want to make your gluten-intolerant friends cry, make them eat at a Mexican-American restaurant.

[roomselfcontain2]

Luxury over standard chamber and hall Selfcontain visit website 1 single room for rent with pop TV console bullet proofs doors modern computerized shower in the bath room with kitchen furniture interior design located in a mini estate at rumuekini area in port Harcourt city rivers state Nigeria

[onsomenewsht]

I've got peace and I've got love

About a surprise for your birthday even if you hate your birthday

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 for anyone who needs to feel celebrated

Birthdays are a complicated matter.

You don’t hate them, no one really does.

People should be loved loudly, their mere presence on Earth should be reason enough to celebrate them.

You care about your family and your friends, baking cakes and inflating balloons and dressing up for a themed party are not a problem - you’re the first one to arrive and the last to leave.

Celebrating your birthday though? Hell, no.

For most, it doesn’t make sense.

A day in a whole year when anyone is entitled to be under the biggest spotlight, getting gifts and all the wanted attention. Yet, you’d rather hide in the remotest corner of the planet than hear someone sing “happy birthday” to you.

Despite the insistence and the repeated attempts over the years, your mother has finally accepted that you don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Your best friend has accepted that you’ll avoid a surprise party like the plague. Everyone who knows you, knows it.

Alexia included.

At least she knows now, after last year.

The two of you got together just shy of three months before your birthday. Bless her good heart, she thought a surprise ambush might be appreciated.

She’s not going to make the same mistake twice in a row, but she wants to do something.

“You told me she hates birthdays”, Alba points out, a bit confused, sipping her coffee as if her sister isn’t in the middle of an inconclusive rant.

“She hates her own, not birthdays in general”

“I still think you should just buy her a nice present, wish her a happy birthday and move on like she asked you to do”

“It seems so, I don’t know, incomplete?”, the blonde tries to explain, “How do I make sure I show how much I appreciate her if I can’t celebrate her?”

“You better celebrate her every day, not just on the birthday–”

“I do it, idiot!”

Alexia is quick in her jab, but thankfully the younger girl is used to her attitude by now.

Cup saved from any spill, Alba barely has enough patience to give another, simple pearl of wisdom, “So do it like any other day, but, you know, on her birthday”

It’s good advice, even if she’d never admit it.

Alexia spends most of her day off plotting, her free time during the week before your birthday completely taken over by careful planning and prep.

You can tell immediately that something is off, but you let it slide because she’s cute when she’s on a mission, and you don’t really want to spoil her fun.

At the stroke of midnight, like a mischievous fairy godmother, your best friend calls you to sing a personalized rendition of “Die, Die My Darling��� like every year since you’re sixteen and think you’re oh-so-funny.

Your mother sends a present from the entire family, along with a picture of a cake you’re not going to eat but you’re glad they’ll enjoy in your name. Alexia’s mother and sister send flowers, and you have to reassure your girlfriend that it’s a genuinely appreciated sentiment.

Said girlfriend kisses you for every year spent on this Earth and then moves on, as if nothing happened. As if nothing is going to happen.

It’s suspicious, really suspicious.

The day passes by without any major incident.

At work just a few colleagues know it’s your birthday, they politely hand you a card with bad jokes written all over it. You mindlessly send the same three reactions at every text message, nonetheless appreciating everyone who remembered and took the time to wish you a happy birthday. A kind waitress adds a slice of dessert as you pick up take-out at your favourite Mexican place, probably prompted by Alexia when she ordered over the phone and sent you to the restaurant.

Guard down, you open the door to your girlfriend’s apartment, still not connecting the dots.

Thank the goddesses and gods above for that nice waitress, because what you find inside is definitely a first and the food wouldn’t have survived the surprise if not for the well-secured package.

Soft music - that, to your shame, you only realise too late is your favorite record - resonates through the room, which is filled with dozens of floating balloons reaching the ceiling.

You take a few tentative steps inside, noticing pictures carefully tied to each string with numbers scribbled on the corners.

Snaps of the past year, memories so simple in their significance you sometimes fail to give a good measure of. Dinners out with friends, an unflattering portrait of an early morning during the summer, the first time holding your niece. You linger over a photo of you and Alexia talking on Mapi’s couch, neither of you looking at the camera, as it’s clear you had eyes only for each other.

“I’ve never seen this one”, you whisper, emotion thick in your voice.

Your girlfriend is leaning on the further wall of the entrance, a confident stance failing to hide a note of nervousness. The way her hands are buried in the pocket of old sweatpants and her eyes are studying every single macro-expression shifting on your face are a clear tell for you.

"Ingrid sent it to me some times ago”

“It’s beautiful”

“It is”, she agrees easily, still not daring to come closer.

Alexia’s gaze drops as soon as you notice there’s a handwritten message on the back of every photo, her cheeks flushing slightly.

You take the time to read each one attentively, smiling at her thoughtfulness and the care she put into all the moments chosen. People and occasions that hold meaning for you, no matter how big or small. You feel love in every single one.

“You put a lot of thought into this”

“I had to sacrifice a couple of good ones”, she mumbles, almost upset with herself.

The commitment to matching the number of pictures to your age it’s impressive, you have to admit.

A burst of laughter fills the entire apartment, Alexia finally meeting your gaze and taking in how moved you’re by her surprise.

The fear of overstepping had been like an annoying voice, whispering in her ear as she scribbled on the back of the photos or tried to wrap gifts without running out of patience or tape.

“Do you like it?”, her doubt creeping in her voice.

“I don’t hate it”, you joke, still eager to ease her worries, “No one has ever put this much thought or effort into– I don’t know, celebrating my birthday, I guess”

“You deserve to be celebrated”

You take the few steps to fill the gap between you two, food forgotten somewhere behind, and throw yourself into her already open arms.

“Thank you”

“I love you”

The kiss you share is a clear enough answer. Sometimes, it’s not even necessary to spell it out - action speaks louder than words, they say. She holds you for as long as you need, music still playing softly in the background.

“Is this a good moment to mention that you have to open as many presents as you have in years?”

“Alexia!”

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Post Maiden-Home Win

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming will be skattered throughout the rest of the story. Please feel free to skip parts you find uncomfortable or to stop reading the rest of the story in general. no harm no foul.

The days between the Texas and Mexican Grands Prix were a whirlwind, but they started with a night I’d never forget. Fresh off my first Formula 1 victory—on home soil, no less—I was swept into a celebration that felt larger than life. Nearly every driver on the grid showed up, save for a few who had family commitments or simply didn’t have the energy for our kind of chaos. Even they made a point to swing by and congratulate me before heading off to their flights or their quieter plans.

For once, the usual rivalries and tensions seemed to melt away. We were just a group of racers, toasting to a milestone that felt as much theirs as it was mine. The party buzzed with laughter, music, and the kind of camaraderie you only find in moments like these. It was as if my win had become a victory for everyone who had ever dared to chase a dream.

The party was everything I imagined a post-win celebration could be—yet so much more. For the first time since I’d joined the grid, the spotlight wasn’t about what I lacked, who I wasn’t, or why I didn’t belong. It was about me—a victor, a competitor, an equal.

The night felt surreal. The other drivers hoisted me onto their shoulders, chanting my name as if I was their hero, not just the lone woman who had somehow clawed her way onto the grid. Lando handed me a drink with a grin, promising that "you'll never forget your first win party," while Franco spun me around in a dance I didn’t know the steps to but couldn’t stop laughing through. Even Max, who was usually stoic, clinked his glass against mine and said, “You deserve it. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

For a few fleeting hours, the endless battle for respect and recognition faded into the background. I wasn’t the woman who had replaced Lance Stroll and had her abilities questioned at every turn. I wasn’t the target of snide remarks, belittling jokes, or the subject of ugly rumors that accused me of everything from sleeping my way into the sport to only being here for the media attention. I wasn’t the outsider fighting for space in a world that had never wanted me.

I was a winner.

But even in the glow of celebration, the shadows lingered. I knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. The headlines tomorrow would still dissect every detail of my performance, and the doubters would still find ways to diminish my success. The whispers wouldn’t stop—about how my team must have favored me, how it was “just luck,” or how the other drivers had “gone easy” on me because of my gender.

Still, as the music pounded and the lights danced across the room, I let myself live in this moment. For once, the people around me weren’t doubting me—they were celebrating with me. I drank it all in: the laughter, the clinking glasses, the genuine congratulations. Even if the road ahead would be just as steep, tonight, I wasn’t just a female driver in a male-dominated sport. Tonight, I was a champion.

Knock, knock, knock.

The pounding on the door echoed like a drumline in my head. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my face, and prayed whoever it was would give up and go away. No such luck.

“Y/N!” Lewis’s voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “We know you’re in there. Open up before I have Charles break the door down.”

“I’m not breaking anything,” Charles protested, his tone light and teasing. “But we will stand here until you let us in.”

I groaned louder, dragging myself out of bed. My head felt like it was splitting in two, and the room spun just from standing. I stumbled to the door and cracked it open, glaring at the two figures on the other side.

Lewis and Charles stood there, both looking annoyingly chipper for people who had been at the same party as me. Lewis held a bag of something greasy-smelling, and Charles waved a bottle of water in one hand and a sports drink in the other.

“Ugh,” I muttered, letting the door swing open wider as I shuffled back toward the couch. “I’m dying. Leave me here to rot.”

Lewis chuckled, stepping inside and setting the bag on the coffee table. “We figured you’d say that. So we brought reinforcements—breakfast and hydration.”

Charles grinned, handing me the water first. “Drink this before Lewis starts lecturing you about recovery.”

I sank onto the couch, sipping the water while Lewis unpacked the bag. The smell of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns hit me, and despite my nausea, my stomach growled.

“See? You’re not that far gone,” Lewis said, passing me a sandwich.

Before I could thank them, another knock came at the door, softer this time.

“Now what?” I grumbled, shuffling back to answer it.

When I opened the door, Lando was leaning against the frame, his hair a mess and his hoodie pulled halfway over his face like it was his armor against the world. Franco stood behind him, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“We heard there was a hangover party,” Lando mumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Did you bring food?” Franco asked, peering around him.

“Not you too,” I said, but there was no bite in my tone.

“You looked worse than me at the party,” Lando quipped, flopping onto the couch next to me. “And that’s saying something.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, taking a bite of the sandwich.

Franco perched on the armrest of the couch, watching me like I was some science experiment. “Do you always look this awful after drinking?”

“Do you always look this awful without drinking?” I shot back, earning a laugh from everyone in the room.

As the boys bickered and passed around the food Lewis had brought, the headache began to fade, replaced by something lighter, warmer.

-time skip-

Later that day, I was shipped off to Mexico City for the next race. The plane ride was uneventful, a mix of peace and monotony as I rode alone. First-class perks and my comfiest headphones helped pass the time, but it didn’t stop the creeping anticipation in my mind.

When I landed, my manager was already waiting, hustling me through the crowded airport. “Let’s get you to the hotel,” she said briskly. “You’ve got a little time to settle in before the meeting.”

I nodded, grateful for the momentary reprieve. By the time we arrived, I was too tired to do much more than toss my suitcase in the corner and collapse onto the bed for a quick nap. The quiet was short-lived, though, as the "big post-win meeting" loomed closer. Apparently, with Fernando and me both in strong positions for points after years of tough seasons, the team wanted to capitalize on the momentum. They saw this as an opportunity—not just to boost morale but to prepare us for the new pressure we’d be carrying on our shoulders.

When I finally walked into the makeshift meeting space, the buzz of conversation among the team greeted me. I scanned the room, offering small nods and smiles to familiar faces. But one gaze stopped me cold.

I clocked him instantly. The same guy from last weekend. His presence was a scar in my memory—a faded yet sharp reminder of a strange encounter I hadn’t quite shaken. His eyes locked on me, unrelenting and piercing, like he was trying to peel away every layer of my being. It wasn’t just uncomfortable; it was invasive, like he was searching for something I hadn’t consented to share.

I busied myself with casual chatter among the team, doing my best to avoid his line of sight. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. His questions started out innocuous enough but quickly grew more probing, each one designed to worm his way past my walls.

“So, Y/N,” he said, leaning just a bit too close, his voice smooth but loaded with something darker, “what’s it like carrying the hopes of an entire country on your shoulders? I imagine it’s… intoxicating.”

I forced a polite smile. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but I try to focus on the team effort. We all contribute to the success.”

He chuckled, as if my answer amused him. “Modest. But we both know you’re more than just another driver.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. My grip tightened on the water bottle in my hand as I tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground, cracking a joke with one of the engineers standing nearby.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Fernando watching the exchange, his sharp gaze flicking between me and the guy—Henry, as he finally introduced himself. Fernando’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching just slightly. He seemed to sense my discomfort, his focus narrowing in on Henry’s posture, which was all demanding presence and misplaced confidence.

Before Fernando could step in, the door swung open, and our team principal, Mike, strode in with a clipboard. The room quieted instantly as he called everyone to order.

I exhaled a small breath of relief, grateful for the interruption. Henry finally stepped back, though I could feel his eyes lingering on me as the meeting began. My focus stayed firmly on Mike, but my skin crawled with the residual unease of Henry’s attention.

Whatever the team wanted to prepare us for, it seemed I’d have to brace myself for more than just the pressure of the championship fight.

As the meeting progressed, Mike laid out the agenda with his usual no-nonsense tone. He congratulated Fernando and me on our recent performances, his words tinged with that managerial mix of pride and urgency.

“We’re in a great position,” he began, “but we need to push harder. Especially with the Constructor’s Championship still within reach. To that end, there’ll be some changes to help maximize efficiency and improve collaboration across both sides of the garage.”

I shifted in my chair, already sensing where this was headed.

“Y/N,” Mike said, his gaze landing on me. “You’ve done exceptionally well under the circumstances, but as the newest driver, there’s still room for growth—both in understanding the car and in working more seamlessly with the engineering team.”

I nodded, doing my best to look composed. “Of course. Whatever helps the team.”

“Good,” he replied. “You’ll be spending more time with Henry and his team the rest of this season. They’ll walk you through the car’s nuances, collect your feedback, and ensure we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

Outwardly, I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I winced. Of course he would be leading this. I stole a glance at Henry, who sat across the room with that same infuriatingly smug posture. He gave me a small, knowing smile that only made my stomach twist.

“As for you, Fernando,” Mike continued, turning his attention to my teammate, “your side of the garage will be following a similar approach, though with less urgency. You’ve proven time and again that you understand the car and the team’s dynamics. But we’ll still use this as an opportunity to fine-tune.”

Fernando gave a slight nod, his face unreadable. I caught his eye for a brief second, and there was a flicker of something there—concern, maybe.

The meeting wrapped up with the usual reminders about strategy sessions and media commitments, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on the looming task of spending more time with Henry. I didn’t doubt his skills as an engineer—he’d been with the team long before I arrived, and his reputation for precision was well-known. But his unnerving presence made the thought of working closely with him almost unbearable.

As we filed out of the room, Fernando caught up to me, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

I hesitated, glancing around to make sure Henry wasn’t within earshot. “I will be,” I said, offering a small, forced smile.

Fernando frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his tone soft but firm. “If he gives you trouble, you tell me. Understood?”

I nodded, the weight of his words grounding me for a moment. “Thanks, Fernando.”

He gave a small nod before stepping away to join his side of the garage.

I took a deep breath and turned toward Henry, who was waiting near the door, his hands in his pockets and that same unreadable look in his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. “Lead the way.”

This was going to suck.

-time skip-

The next day was grueling. Henry and two other engineers, Mark and Tom, had me stationed in one of the team’s garages, walking me through nearly every detail about the car ahead of the Mexican GP. Aero dynamics, brake wear, tire degradation on the high-altitude track—it felt like I was cramming for an exam I hadn’t studied for.

Mark and Tom were professional, efficient, and clear in their explanations. They answered my questions patiently, sometimes even offering diagrams to make things easier to grasp. But Henry... Henry was a different story.

“So, Y/N,” Henry drawled at one point, leaning casually against the workbench as if we weren’t on a tight schedule, “do you ever worry you’ll... break a nail handling the wheel? Or does the team have a special manicure budget for you?”

I froze, gripping the edge of the table to keep my temper in check. Mark coughed awkwardly, glancing between us, while Tom cleared his throat.

“Henry,” Tom said carefully, “let’s stay on topic. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Henry waved him off with a smirk. “Relax, Tom. Just trying to lighten the mood. Y/N can handle a joke, can’t you?”

I forced a tight smile, biting back the sharp retort burning in my throat. “Let’s focus on the car, shall we? There’s plenty I still need to learn.”

For a moment, I thought that might shut him up, but Henry only leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You know, you’d learn a lot faster if you weren’t so tense. I could help you... unwind, if you’d like.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Henry—”

“Let it go, Mark,” Henry snapped, straightening up and glaring at him. “I’m in charge here. Maybe focus on your job instead of babysitting.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, but I forced myself to keep going. I nodded along as Mark and Tom did their best to continue the session, subtly redirecting the focus back to the technical aspects of the car.

By the time we wrapped up, my head was pounding—not just from the overload of information, but from the constant strain of dealing with Henry’s veiled jabs and innuendos.

Back at the hotel, I trudged into the lobby, my mood dark and my patience worn thin. As I passed through, a burst of laughter caught my attention. I glanced over to see a small group of drivers lounging in one of the seating areas, looking relaxed and carefree.

Charles spotted me first, his smile warm and genuine as he waved me over. “Y/N! Come join us.”

I hesitated, torn between my sour mood and the temptation of their easy camaraderie. Lando, sprawled across one of the couches, noticed my hesitation and grinned. “You look like you’ve had the longest day in history. We’ve got snacks and bad TV—instant cure for whatever’s bothering you.”

Franco leaned against the armrest, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “And if that doesn’t work, I hear Lando’s jokes are so bad they’ll make you laugh out of pity.”

Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. “That sounds... tempting,” I admitted, stepping closer.

Charles patted the empty seat next to him. “Come on. You seem like you need this more than we do.”

As I sank into the seat, the weight of the day began to lift. Their laughter, their lighthearted banter—it was a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone in this world, even if some days it felt like it.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

[pascals-doll]

—★ GATÚBELA

╰┈─➤ IN WHICH ELLIE GOES TO A PARTY AND FELL IN LOVE WITH A MYSTERIOUS GIRL.

—★ READER INFO

LOYAL, FIERCE, AND ALLURING

─◌✰್ READER’S MOODBOARD

you were always sticking to what you knew, cautious of change which always created inner-conflict for yourself which is probably how you ended up in this situation. you found yourself with a cheating boyfriend and it just takes one night for your bestfriend!dina to take you out to reggaeton party, bumping you into the perfect stranger.

early 20s reader! reader is latina!, no specific-latina ethnicity identified just race (very little is written around certain mexican culture/heritage!!), mentions of tan skin-tone, references to latina beauty, tatted!reader, reader speaks spanish!!, mentions of catholic/hispanic religion, reader wears alot of bold eye makeup/cateye makeup, references to being like catwoman/ a femme fatale, reader wears la virgen/statement hispanic gold jewelry/medallions.

—★ ELLIE WILLIAMS INFO

TOUGH, PLAYFUL, AND EASYGOING

─◌✰್ ELLIE’S MOODBOARD

one night ellie is coerced by her bestfriend!jesse into going to a house party his friend was dj-ing. ellie was usually always away from the riled up crowds, smoking, mindlessly flirting with some girl if she got lucky while her bestfriend had some girl shaking it on him. jesse must’ve dragged ellie to just the perfect party, a reggaetón party where ellie isn’t in the back anymore.

early 20s!ellie, masculine!ellie, tatted!ellie, ellie learns about latino heritage/spanish, ellie having admiration for reader’s ethnic beauty!

—★ SERIES MASTERLIST

🫧 description: MODERN AU! SMUT/SUGGESTIVE CONTENT IN CHAPTERS, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF TOXIC EX RELATIONSHIP, IDENTIFICATION OF SEXUALITY , PARTYING, DRINKING, SMOKING MARIJUANA, VIOLENCE IN CERTAIN CHAPTER, SLIGHT MENTION OF BLOOD IN CERTAIN CHAPTER, INTENSE THEMES, ANGST, TALK ABOUT HOMOPHOBIA IN HISPANIC FAMILIES IN CERTAIN CHAPTERS.

🫧 LATINAS FOR ELLIE WILLIAMS RISE

🫧 THIS MY FIRST SERIES!!! PLEASE BE KIND AND I HOPE YALL ENJOY 🩵

🫧 this story has a whole ass playlist tbh on my spotify so i only put a tracklist so you could get a vibe of the storyline!

—🎧📼 MIXTAPE | GATUBELA -KAROL G ELLA ME LEVANTO -DADDY YANKEE 8 AM —YOUNG MIKO CLASSY 101 - YOUNG MIKO CONTIGO - KAROL G TE AMO -RIHANNA FINA- YOUNG MIKO Y BAD BUNNY DISPO-KAROL G Y YOUNG MIKO AGOURA HILLS -DOJA CAT OYE MI AMOR -MANÀ LES-CHILDISH GAMBINO LAND OF THE SNAKES- J.COLE MOONLIGHT -KALI UCHIS \\AGUARDIENTE Y LÍMON %ᵕ‿‿ᵕ% -KALI UCHIS

🎀CHAPTER ONE: GATÚBELA

🎀CHAPTER TWO: CONVENIENCE STORE

🎀CHAPTER THREE: DISPO

🎀CHAPTER FOUR: AGORA HILLS

🎀CHAPTER FIVE: coming soon…

© copy right claims to pascals-doll | do not try to copy/steal my series publishings in any shape or form. do not claim my work as yours.

[lightsovermonaco]

Wedding Date, Part 1 (Pato O'Ward)

an: requests and comments always welcome! There will be at least two more parts to this series.

wc: 4900

Summary: Pato is in need of a wedding date, desperately. Despite hating him, and despite him knowing it, he asks you to be his date and you agree.

"I need a date to this wedding next weekend."

"So? Take your sister." You don't bother to look up from the magazine you flip through. Pato is always in need of a date for something and he always takes his sister. If she's busy, he'll take his mother, or a cousin, or another relative until he's exhausted all options. You're not entirely sure why he's pacing in his trailer now like a caged beast, because even if by some rarity they were all busy, there's a slew of women around the paddock that would jump at the chance to go with him... just not you.

Your distaste of Pato began long before you were ‘promoted’ to the glamorous role of being his pseudo-handler. His flirtatious personality, womanizing one liners and general flippant humor surrounding racing rubs you the wrong way. Racing is a serious business and should be treated as such. It's his lifeblood, not a hobby. Some days you question his dedication, honestly- but voicing said opinions isn't your place. 

Oh, and women. He loves women, too. And the occasional man- You don’t judge him on that front, but god would it kill him to be discreet?

Besides- he's so loud, physically as well as mentally. Being around Pato drains your social battery quicker than a meeting with Zac Brown, and that's saying something. All the Mexican driver does is yap- and not in the fun, gossipy way that people do with their friends.  

In short, you cannot stand the man and would rather walk a mile over hot coals than spend an unnecessary minute with him. 

However, unfortunately for you, your exemplary ability to separate your personal feelings from your work made you the prime candidate for being an assistant. If you had to pinpoint the core tenet of your day to day life, it was the importance of separating church and state; wherein this case, the church is a race track and the state is yourself. People like that apparently, because multiple of your colleagues recommended you for your current role when the job opened up. 

Cue your transition to being Pato's personal therapist slash coordinator slash problem solver. 

Pato scoffs and throws his hands up like a child denied their favorite treat, "so she's busy. And last time I took her to a wedding, she made me leave so early I didn't even get cake! It was horrible.”

"Honestly, from what I heard that's not her fault. Who waits until eleven pm to serve the wedding cake?"

Pato pauses, his half undone race suit swaying slightly at the waist as he turns to wag a finger at you "Someone who doesn't want to interrupt the party, that's who. We were all out on the dance floor, having fun and enjoying ourselves!” You roll your eyes, but Pato either doesn't notice or doesnt care as he continues, “And I'm getting kinda sick of having her at every event... she likes to steal the spotlight."

"Here we go," you mumble, flipping the page and preparing for a long winded Pato-themed rant. 

“I love her, but when I'm the one that's invited in the first place I don't want to leave early. I want to enjoy it, you know? This is Felix's wedding, I want to bring someone fun… hey!” Pato snaps his fingers and turns to you with wide eyes and a grin that has you instantly on edge. You know that face; it means he's got a wild idea, particularly one that requires your assistance to complete. 

“Who am I messaging,” you deadpan as you pull out your phone. No doubt there's some obscure influencer that he's set his eyes on. It'll be up to you then to set up the date (using Pato's Instagram of course, to which you have full access), arrange her flights, ensure her dress is suitable so as to not cause a scandal, and secure two hotel rooms for however long Pato decides his holiday should be. 

“No one! No one- I was just thinking…” Pato’s eyes twinkle like stars. He rolls his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he contemplates his request, until finally he says, “why don't you come with me?”

You choke on air at the absurd suggestion. A million reasons flood your mind: because it's unprofessional and because you'd rather endure nails scraping on a chalkboard until the end of time to name a few. 

“I'm not hearing a no,” Pato sing-songs as his stupid grin grows wider and wider. 

“No!” You would like to tell him to fuck off, but your self respect keeps you from doing so. “Where the hell did that insane idea come from-”

“Come on,” Pato holds his hands out in front of him like a beggar in search of pocket change. “Come with me! I'll pay for whatever dress you pick out, the hotel room, flights, everything. I'll take care of it all. Who knows,” Pato shrugs then, the corner of his mouth lifting again in a devilish smile. “Maybe you'll even have fun.”

“Uh, no. Hell no. Even if it wasn't completely unprofessional, I would lose my mind before we even got on a plane. So thanks, but no thanks to being your fake date.”

Pato throws his hands up, the action causing his black fireproofs to come free of his race suit and expose an inch or two of his stomach. Not that you notice. Or care. “Oh come on! Am I really that horrible to be around?”

“Yes,” you respond without looking up from your phone. You make a note on your calendar to have Pato's mental sanity checked before the end of the break, because clearly the music city GP has knocked something loose in his head. 

“I'll give you my race bonus next time I score points.”

That finally gives you pause. You've seen those checks, even deposited them on his behalf once or twice. Tempting, very tempting. Possibly enticing enough for you to throw all thoughts of work-life balance out the window and commit to a few days of torture.

“Can I get that offer in writing?”

**********

“This is insane.” Despite the excessive force you exert on your suitcase, you can't zip the damn thing shut. You've tried sitting on it, rearranging twice, and removing a few things that you decided you don't absolutely need. Maybe the stubborn luggage is the first of many bad omens, the start of the bad luck you've brought upon yourself by accepting Pato's bargain. Perhaps the wisest thing to do is to call him and cancel, even if doing so at the last minute makes you a bit of an ass. 

But doing so would mean you miss an all inclusive, all expenses paid trip to Copenhagen, and who could pass that up? You've never stepped foot outside the Midwest, let alone outside of the country. Passing up an opportunity like this seems wasteful. Anyone else would jump at the opportunity. You shouldn’t let your dislike of the man supplying the credit card stop you from enjoying something.

“Fucking hell,” you mumble under your breath. You can't change your mind now, not after Pato's bought you a dress that's more expensive than the one you wore to your senior prom. The guilt of leaving him to fend for himself and arrive at his best mate's wedding dateless would eat you alive. And besides, you are not returning the dress you picked out. 

“One more go. If I can't get this dumb thing closed in the next three minutes, I won't go.” You tip your head towards the ceiling, “hear that? Three minutes!” 

Your aimless skyward shout is answered by your upstairs neighbor, who stamps their foot. “Ah- sorry Miss. Underwood!” The cranky old woman that lives above you has reported you more than once for bogus reasons; you would rather not have to deal with the front office before your international trip. 

Someone, somewhere must have heard your plea and responded with much more grace than Miss. Underwood, because the suitcase zips closed near effortlessly on your next attempt. “Aha! Finally! God, that was close.”

A message pops up on your phone with near poetic timing, coming not a second after you've dramatically wiped your brow and dusted off your hands. 

I'm leaving now, should be there in about a half hour. You ready?

The idea of riding in a car with Pato alone sounds less ideal than following his strict diet for a single day. Reminding yourself that this is a professional weekend away in Europe and not a personal venture is enough to settle your nerves for now. You can be professional, no problem. Easy peasy.

Yep. I'm still fine with an Uber if you don't want to drive me.

Too late I made up my mind :) see you soon!

“Insufferable.” Dread sets in where excitement lived earlier. You aren't a hundred percent sure you can survive four days with Pato O'Ward in a foreign country. Your limits will be tested, that much you know for sure because you can count on Pato to push every available button you have in order to get a rise out of you. 

Opting for a balance between comfort and style, a simple pair of black leggings and an oversized vintage indy 500 sweater is your preferred travel outfit. Your hair you leave in your usual casual style, not bothering to put in the effort to do anything special with it when it'll likely be ruined by the time you touch down in Copenhagen. 

Pato knocks when he arrives, which seems far too polite to be correct. Part of you expected him to barge in unannounced and make your one bedroom apartment his own. “Hola bella,” he greets with a smile. His hands stay in his pockets. He doesn't invite himself in, despite you leaving the door wide open when you step away to grab your things. 

Interesting. 

“You can come in,” you call over your shoulder. “I have to finish packing up my makeup since you're here early.”

“Oh, yeah sorry. Traffic was lighter than I expected.” It’s odd seeing Pato in anything that isn’t papaya colored or decorated with some sort of racing logo. He wears a forest green hoodie with a little red heart in the center with a pair of matching sweats. It’s one of those outfits that seems cringe on the average person, but works infuriatingly well on Pato.

Pato doesn't venture further into your apartment than the three steps that are required for him to be able to close the door without it hitting him. You purse your lips and motion to the sofa as your hosting instinct takes over, “you can sit if you want. I should only be a few minutes.”

“Take your time, our flight doesn't leave for a few hours. No rush.” You hate it when Pato tips his head and smiles like that because for a split second every time you hate him a little bit less. Thankfully, it all comes back in full force when he looks away from you. 

Despite Pato’s reassurance you do rush, because the idea of him scrutinizing your place is mortifying. Like, ‘oh fuck me I forgot to wear pants to the board meeting' level of embarrassing to know that he’s out there judging your decor or wondering how you’ve shoved so much into such a tiny one bedroom apartment. Sure, it's small, but it's home and you couldn't imagine living anywhere else. While a bigger place might be nice someday, your paychecks remind you to keep your dreams in check on a biweekly basis. 

To be safe and avoid giving Pato time to linger, you sweep the contents of your vanity into a zippered bag and stuff it into your carry on. You do a final cursory lap through the attached bathroom to ensure all hair dryers, candle warmers, and taps are turned off or unplugged. Once satisfied, you drag your overweight suitcase out. 

“Okay, I think I'm ready.” 

Pato stands in your living room checking out the knock off vintage style race posters that decorate the walls. As expensive as authentic race memorabilia is, you can’t exactly afford to spend hundreds on a single slip of paper for the sake only of hanging it on a wall. Only one poster is real and that is the poster you purchased from the first race you were trackside for with Arrow. Pato points to that one with a cheeky grin, “that's the first race you worked with us, isn't it? I remember that being the first time I saw you on track.” 

“Yes, it was. Now can we go?” You shift on your feet, uncomfortable now that Pato is seeing a side of you that you don't normally share with anyone but your close friends and family. Heaven forbid he notices the family photos on the lower shelf, then you'll be mortified when he laughs at how silly you looked in your Halloween costumes when you were little. 

“Oh yeah, of course. I'm sure you're excited to get a move on!” Pato reaches for your suitcase which catches you off guard. You snatch the handle before he can. “I can help, I really don’t mind. You’re doing me a favor after all.”

Your stubborn independence does not allow you to accept unnecessary help, so you shake your head. “Sorry,” you mumble as your cheeks heat. “I can take care of it.” 

“Alright, note to self… don't be too polite or it'll set you off.” Pato winks, then holds the door for you as you both exit. He waits at the stairs while you lock up, then leads the way to the Mercedes parked at the curb. 

“Right, just the one suitcase? You've got your dress packed in here right?” Pato hefts the suitcase into the car and grins. “Actually I know the answer to that. I told you that you could've spent more on a dress. A hundred dollars? That's it?”

“I don't like wasting money,” you snap. “To some of us, that's expensive.” 

Money has been, and always will be, a touchy subject. Growing up with very little means that you now scrutinize every penny, only spending regularly on things that are strictly necessary. Your budget each month is airtight and you are always careful to save a fair amount before you so much as consider treating yourself to something off your wishlist. 

Pato holds up his hands in apology. “Wasn't trying to insult you, just trying to make conversation. You're doing me a favor here so I just wanted to make sure you got what you wanted.” 

“Right, sure.” Spinning the ring on your left index finger has become somewhat of a nervous tick for you. Pato’s eyes flick to your hands, which immediately sets you on edge. Racing drivers are an observant breed, which is something you silently curse the universe for. 

The ride to the airport is filled with awkward silences. The quiet is broken by the sound of the engine and the occasional directive from the gps on the dash. Pato’s playlist is a mix of spanish and english and you willfully ignore when he occasionally sings along under his breath. So you keep quiet with your attention locked on your phone to avoid being dragged into any small talk. 

The plane ride is more of the same: quiet and tense. Which is partially because despite you insisting on a simple, affordable coach ticket, Pato had ignored your wishes and booked both of you in business class. At least the long flight would be comfortable if nothing else. Granted it would be more enjoyable if you weren't sitting next to a five-foot-something racing driver, but beggars can't be choosers. 

“It's a long flight, so I thought I'd give you the window. The sun will be coming up when we're over Europe, and the view is always to die for. I got us seats on the left side of the plane so you can have the best photo opportunities.” 

That's the second time today that Pato has surprised you, though you would rather eat soap than admit that to his face. “I usually like the aisle, but thanks I guess. I'll probably be sleeping anyway.” 

Pato's expression is one of regret, like maybe he's realizing how insane of an idea this is. “Err, right. I guess I should've known that, considering how often we fly together.”

“We don't fly together. When we have to fly to a race, you fly business class and I sit in the back with the rest of the regular people,” you remind him without remorse. You hate when he throws his wealth in your face, like the seat you're occupying doesn't cost a month's worth of your salary. 

“Right…” 

You almost feel bad. But then you remember that Pato has everything he could ever want or need, and you’re right back to where you started. 

Despite how well you think you hide it, Pato is fully aware of your feelings toward him, or rather lack thereof. Where the relationships you nurture with your other colleagues are fun and friendly, the one you maintain with Pato is strictly professional. Seeing you pivot from laughing with Rossi- Rossi of all people- one minute, to relaying instructions to him in a mechanical voice is evidence enough of how little you think of him. 

Pato has no idea why you're so set on hating him. He has no inkling what he might have done to deserve such animosity. It seems like no matter what he does, your frosty attitude only worsens into an arctic chill. He thought that bringing you on this trip might open your eyes to the other side of him, that maybe allowing you to see what he was like outside of the track could prove to you that he wasn’t the devil that you thought he was. 

So far, no dice. You declined his invitation to join him for breakfast at the highest rated cafe in the city this morning, so he'd gone alone instead and relished the fact that not a single person asked him for a photo or shoved a scrap of paper in his face for him to sign. Once in a while it was nice to fly under the radar, to pass by hundreds of people on the street and have them be none the wiser to his achievements. 

The concept of downtime is foreign to Pato. Being alone and unbothered gave him time to ruminate, which is why he generally preferred to surround himself with a certain level of chaos. In the paddock, that generally meant entertaining himself and others by being the class clown. Cameras are everywhere on a race weekend, watching him like a bug under a magnifying glass, so he generally humored them by putting on a bit of a show. In his personal life, the chaos came from the frequent visits to his hometown where he would be surrounded by family and pets that kept him on his toes. 

Now that he has had time to reflect, Pato is beginning to see the foolishness in his impulsive decision. Asking you to be his date was arguably up there with the dumbest things he's ever done, and that's saying something considering he'd once poured honey in Rossi's boots on a race weekend. He understands now, at least partially, why you were hesitant to accept. 

It doesn't bother him, the fact that you can't stand him. Pato enjoys poking you, seeing how far he can press before you snap at him. It's his way of flirting because yes, he thinks you're gorgeous. There's no point denying it so he might as well embrace it. Perhaps his invitation was wholly selfish, his way of trying to cope with the offseason and knowing he likely wouldn’t be seeing you for weeks at a time. You would miss him as little as one might miss the sticky summer humidity, while Pato would miss you like the sun misses the moon. 

Which is fine. It's fine if you don't laugh at his jokes. It's fine if your lip curls like you've smelt rotten milk whenever he speaks and you don't think he's looking. It’s fine that you don’t spare him a second of your attention, even now when he’s brought you on a trip that he thought could be the start of some positive change. That's all fine, because it doesn't matter if you like him or not. 

Okay, on second thought, maybe it does bother him a little. 

If anything, Pato hopes that this weekend will be the start of you at least tolerating him. Salvaging a scrap of understanding from you cannot be impossible, and even if it were, Pato has defied the odds numerous times before. No one believed in him when he was coming up through the karting ranks, but he did. And he believes in himself now, that he can begin to alter your opinion of him one small gesture at a time. 

Pato unlocks his phone to message you. 

Do you have plans today? I was gonna go to a few museums and see the sights if you wanna join. Up to you!

He debates for a minute about the exclamation mark. Is it too in your face? Too cheery or forceful? Eventually he deletes it before hitting send. Better to sound nonchalant than overdo it. 

His phone remains face down on the table until he finishes his tea. Seeming too eager could be his downfall and he is determined to make this seem as casual as possible. Only once an appropriate amount of time has passed does he allow himself to read your response: sure. I guess so but I don't want to blow my entire budget in one day just fyi

That's fair, dw a lot of it is free!

I'll be ready in an hour 

An hour, Pato can keep himself busy for an hour. Popping in an earbud and exploring for a bit seems like a decent option; he spends thirty minutes listening to music and just walking with no real aim in mind. Once back at the hotel, just on time as per usual, he freshens up in his room. 

Bare bones and necessities is what Patp prefers when he travels. He doesn't like the pomp and circumstance that comes along with a suite; the hotel staff treat him differently when he stays in the expensive rooms even if they haven't the faintest clue who he is. He prefers unassuming, single bed rooms that are no fuss, no muss. And that sort of room is exactly what he booked himself in Copenhagen: low nightly rate, plain but clean white bed sheets, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. 

The room Pato picked for you was this room's opposite. The queen suite was available on the website when he made the last minute reservation and he had not seen any reason not to treat you to a taste of luxury for the weekend. Silk sheets, a fully decorated sitting room, and walk in waterfall shower were only the tip of the iceberg. Included in the weekend rate was a night at the in-house spa if you chose to use it. And while Pato is quite certain you won't bother, he thinks the choice might be nice nonetheless.

Pato had selected that room without a second thought and gone as far as requesting your favorite drinks be stocked up in the suite fridge for your arrival. Since arriving last night, you haven't mentioned the room. Which doesn't matter, because Pato doesn't need the praise; in fact, kind words would feel slightly out of place from you. 

The elevator takes Pato to the top floor, where he finds your room at the end of the hall. It's not hard to find, considering there's three doors in the entire hallway. Pato knocks twice, then steps back to wait. 

“Yeah, coming,” comes your muffled call from inside. The brass room number plate on the door reflects a slightly distorted version of Pato. He can't make a decent impression looking wonky with his hair a mess; how unattractive is hair that stands up on end in every which way? Pato runs his fingers through his hair to loosen up the extra putty he'd applied. The door opens suddenly and you catch him red handed, one hand in his hair and the other holding his phone. 

Perfect.

“I guess I'm never escaping the vanity accusations huh?” Pato's laugh is shaky, awkward even to his own ears. He drops his hands and does his best not to let his gaze wander over you, as tempting as it is. He's determined to make a good impression this weekend, and blatantly checking you out probably wouldn't help his case. 

“Nope, never.” You shake your head and let the oak door click shut behind you. “Well then, you're the man with the plan. Have you been to Copenhagen before or are you just going to the typical tourist places?”

“Hold on, hold on. I think that's the most you've ever said to me at once that wasn't work related. I need a second to process this- you have a personality? This is big news!” Pato grins, hoping to ease into things. He knows it's bad when you don't immediately return the smile. 

Pato doesn't really tend to think around you,  hence the near constant shitty jokes. His brain takes a break from its normal high strung, ping ponging thoughts and empties itself of unnecessary noise. When in your presence, Pato is unfiltered and unapologetically himself. 

When you started at McLaren, he quickly learned that you were safe. Judgment was not something you leveled lightly upon someone. Your prickly exterior was a way of ensuring you don't let the wrong people get close enough to hurt you, but Pato knows that's not all of it. Regardless of how you presented yourself to the world, Pato knows you care deeply for those you choose to include in your life. He also knows you'll always be there when he fails, a steady shoulder for him to lean on- which is more than he can say about many of his previous driver assistants. 

Being comfortable is freeing, but it also gets him in trouble with you more often than he would like. Judging by your current deadpan, he's qualified deadlast as far as ‘appropriately timed humor’ is concerned. “That was a joke,” Pato says after a pause that stretches for an eternity.”

“I am aware that was your attempt at being funny.” You cross your arms and Pato notes the tiny papaya indy car embroidered on the cuff of your cream sweater. “Has anyone ever told you that you're insufferable? You know what, on second thought maybe I'll just stay here.” 

All at once, Pato flies through fear, regret and guilt in the half second it takes you to turn towards the door. He fucks everything up, doesnt he? Gets a good thing going for once, finally convinces you to spend some one on one time with him, and he winds up spilling the marbles. This isn't racing; he can't act on instinct and expect the best outcome. He has to be calculated, hold his tongue and not speak until he's sure the words are the one he wants to say. 

“No wait.” Pato’s fingers brush your arm to stop you. “Look, I'm just trying to be sure you enjoy your time here. I've never been here before,” he adds in answer to your earlier question. “I'm as much of a tourist as you are, so having an exploration partner would be good.” 

“I don't really feel like doing anything with you if you're going to be a dick. No, let me speak,” you say when he opens his mouth. “No macho bullshit alright? Just be normal. I don't need all the bravado and the jokes that make me feel like shit. Just… be Pato, alright? Be yourself for once.”

Pato knows he deserves all that and more. You let him off easy, really. He's been focused on creating a persona instead of being real with you. So Pato nods, centering himself like Rossi taught him last season. Once he feels like himself again some handful of breaths later, he offers you a genuine smile. 

“Let me start again. They have an aquarium here,” Pato says, voice light. Without willing it, a half smile appears on his lips when you tip your head ever so slightly, indicating for him to continue. “I love aquariums, sea otters are my favorite animal. And the jellyfish are cute too! With their squishy bodies and the tentacles-”

There he goes again, his mouth racing a lap ahead of his good sense. Pato's apologetic wince isn't a proper apology, but you accept it nonetheless and throw him a bone that he'll happily chew on. 

“I like aquariums. That sounds like it could be fun.”

[rainbowdrinkrbruja]

Many Aztec Dancers in the US will be hosting Mexica New Year performances and celebrations in March

I am asking white allies to attend these events and be ready to cause a disruption if necessary. We don't know how long ICE raids will continue, but if it goes on into March, ICE will target these events

I'm also asking white allies to play Latine music at their parties, barbecues, and whatnot. Yes, I am serious. I even made a list of popular Latine artists and bands from both Latin America and the US that you can check out:

I am not saying to have a "Mexican" themed party. I'm saying to play Latine music at your parties

[greensagephase]

Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Verse)

AO3 | Spotify

Nonviolent Communication

Soft Spider-Man!Miguel x Spider-Woman!Reader | ongoing story; 351k words Slow burn; Colleagues to Friends to Lovers; Miguel heals from his losses; no physical touch until like chapter 13, so the slow burn is kinda real

After the events of BTSV, you're recruited into the Spider Society. Your boss is distant, works day and night. You can't help but feel intrigued by him despite his coldness. One day he shows up to your apartment after you fail to show up for duties. (Order of fic below!)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | One-Shots ⬇️

Thanksgiving One-Shot for Nonviolent Communication Blanca Navidad One-Shot for Nonviolent Communication New Year's One-Shot for Nonviolent Communication

Part Twelve | One-Shot ⬇️

Valentine's Day One-Shot for Nonviolent Communication Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen |

Head Canons (Roommate version)

Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |

Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One |

Part Twenty-Two |

When they Met - Short Thought on their First Interaction (not part of fic)

Link to all Nonviolent Communication Fanart

For Better or Worse Masterlist - Series Dance Lessons - Fanart for FBOW

Making Tamales with Miguel Fluff Baking Halloween Cookies with Miguel Fluff A November Morning Fluff Double Trouble 18+ 2099 Miguel X Reader X Variant Miguel, adult themes, no plot | You find yourself with two Miguel's. Double Trouble 18+ - Part Two 2099 Miguel X Reader X Variant Miguel Waking Up with Miguel Fluff, short piece Miguel on Peeling an Orange for you Short Drabble, fluff Miguel and His Wife/Husband Short Drabble, fluff Miguel and Gabriella | Easter 🐇 Fluff, short drabble Nicknames I would give Miguel as his romantic partner Just nicknames for Miguel, drabble The Boop Thing but at The Spider Society Fluff A Romantic Concert Night Fluff What If...? Mother's Day, smut, fluff What If...? Father's Day Version Part 2, Father's Day, smut, fluff A Strong Man Chilling w/ Miguel on a couch, smut Meeting Miguel at a Mexican Party Just my delulu thoughts on it, unedited, no format Expectant Father! Miguel Fluff "Made by Spider-Man himself" Fluff, some suggestive comments, Halloween-themed

A Hardworking Man long drabble; fluff; AU Miguel Getting Freaky with Miguel on Valentine's smut; format is spelling out "valentine's" Flores Amarillas fluff; short

[vidavalor]

The Dance/Ball of The Forty-One

In Good Omens, we see only a handful of flashbacks from Crowley and Aziraphale's past but two of them-- arguably, two of the most significant-- have something in common: the number 41.

There's the big one that we're being shown in multiple parts-- 1941-- but that is also taking place nineteen hundred years after the flashback set in the ancient Rome of 41 A.D.. The two also interconnect, with Part 2 of 1941 involving references between Crowley and Aziraphale to that night in ancient Rome.

So, why might Good Omens be repeating this number?

I think that this is a queer history reference to The Dance of The Forty-One-- also sometimes known as The Ball of The Forty One-- which was a Mexican society scandal in 1901. Basically, the police raided a private party in Mexico City that turned out to be a secret, queer, high society dance. They busted up a party that had a lot of men in drag and some sex workers in attendance and it was the height of scandal at the time. The police arrested 41 people at the party, which is how the scandal got its name in the press.

Many of the people at The Dance of The Forty-One, though, were very wealthy and very well-connected. They were more than willing to buy the silence of the police and press and did just that. While some names got out and some people were prosecuted, not everyone was. Of the 41 arrested, 12 wound up identified and went to prison but many others were able to buy their way to silence and a lack of jailtime.

It's thought that the press didn't manage to somehow get all of the information about who was at the party anyway because the government of Mexico wound up getting involved. Why did they? Because one of the attendees (and organizers lol) was apparently Ignacio de la Torre y Mier... the son-in-law of the then-President of Mexico.

The Dance/Ball of The Forty-One is thought by some to be the first time that queerness and existing queer community was openly discussed by most of the Mexican media, in large part because the nature of the story was so big that it couldn't be kept out of the normally pretty censored papers. There was plenty of the kind of hate that we might sadly expect. The group was often called (not just by the media but by people in general) "The 41 Maricones", a Spanish perjorative along the same lines of the English faggot.

This party is also responsible for a bit of one of Good Omens' favorite things-- etymology aka the history of words and their meanings. The Dance of The Forty-One is what led to the number 41 in Spanish-- cuarenta y uno-- becoming slang for a queer person across several Spanish-speaking countries.

So, on the very queer Good Omens, having some very significant years in the story contain the number 41 in a reference to The Dance of The Forty-One when this is the story of the secret romance of its queer main characters-- complete with them having a ball that goes a bit awry-- seems pretty fitting.

Other references to similar historical instances are already in Good Omens, like nods to the fate of Oscar Wilde and Aziraphale learning to gavotte in The Hundred Guineas Club, which had some ties to the eventual Cleveland Street scandal. Just as Crowley and Aziraphale have spent millennia dodging the supernatural police of their world, they've also been moving in queer circles on Earth where humans have been doing the same.

Additionally, there's a song that I don't think is being referenced here in Good Omens or anything but which goes along with this theme and is also very Crowley/Aziraphale. It's arguably the best song ever made by the Dave Matthews Band, and one which some have long interpreted as being something that is very Good Omens: a blasphemous love song queer-coded through use of etymology. Which song? The romantic pine fest 'mysteriously' 😉 entitled "#41".

[emberphoenixisgoingtolive]

The Nublar Six's parents hosting a sleepover

sequel to this post

Darius’s mother:

Taught her boys how to be a good host

Cooks the kids pizza and party food

Lets the kids address her as Carol (her first name)

Lets them know they’re allowed to eat anything non–alcoholic from the kitchen if they’re hungry

Happy to leave the kids to do their own thing but makes sure they know she’s there if they need them

Is pretty cool about the kids staying up late but asks that they’re quiet past midnight

(She needs sleep since she works two jobs so the Nublar Six are very willing to do that)

However if any of the kids has a nightmare she insists they come and find her if they want so she can help calm them down

Ben’s mother:

Slightly strict house rules (e.g. no shoes inside or on the carpets, etc)

Asks the kids to call her Mrs Pincus

Only lets Ben have sleepovers with people she really trusts (and she insists on meeting the parents beforehand)

Lights out by 10pm (she is persuaded to make it 11pm)

Heating is on almost all the time

Very sweet with everyone and gives everyone a hug when they arrive

Makes sure to feed them healthy food (everyone but Ben sneaks sugary food in their packing bags)

Very good cook

Makes elaborate snack platters

Brooklynn’s dads:

Try (a bit too hard) to be the Cool Dads(™) (imagine Regina’s mother in Mean Girls)

Lets them call them by their first names

“You can try a bit of alcohol but make sure you do it in the house ;)”

Takes the kids for rides on their motorbike

Check on the kids every other hour or so

Lets them order takeaway and stay up as late as they want

Sets out a massive breakfast for when they wake up

Sammy’s family:

Very welcoming

Sammy's mom and dad let them call them by their first names (not sure what they are)

Gives everyone a tour of the ranch whether they want it or not (they all want it ofc)

Takes the kids in a tractor ride

Cooks up an entire feast of Mexican food that everyone loves

Lets the kids stay up late but warns them that they will wake up at 6am since that’s when everyone wakes up to start farm work (if they manage to sleep through the 5:30am rooster)

Leaves the kids to it but someone appears every couple of hours with a new plate of snacks

No one is leaving Sammy’s house hungry

Kenji’s dad:

Never let Kenji have guests; everything was too expensive and he didn’t want anything getting ruined

(Kenji’s mother would’ve gone all out making a fun, themed sleepover for Kenji and his friends, preparing them snacks and stuff)

Yaz’s mother:

Pretty chill but puts everything valuable in her bedroom and tells them it’s off limits

Officially her title is Mrs Fadoula but is separated from her father and asks the kids to call her Nadia

Is okay with the kids staying up late but asks that they’re quiet past 11pm (like Darius’s mother, she needs her sleep)

Same as Darius’s mother, she’d let them wake her up for a nightmare

Cooks the most amazing Lebanese food that everyone loves

Leaves them all something for breakfast since she probably has to get up to work early

BONUS: Darius’s dad (if he didn’t die):

Super welcoming

Lets the kids call him Frederick

Tells the kids he’s here if they need him

Gets invited to play party games with everyone else

Tries to cook something and burns it by accident

[inkabelledesigns]

Ever since building this shelf with my grandpa and brother in law over the summer, I've had so much fun dressing it up in different ways. Right now it's very Bendy themed, so I have all my completed customs from Bendy and the Ink Machine and Bendy and the Dark Revival, along with my figures that I've never had a good spot for before. XD There's even a few fun gags in there, like the rubber duck to represent our inky duckies from the BATDR Cast Lovestreams, or the box of miniature coca colas up near Joey (Dave Rivas really likes Mexican Coca Cola). I even put up one of my mannequins to represent Carl! (The funny thing is both of my mannequins have names, that one is usually called Hermes.) And of course, I love the functionality of it being an actual bookshelf, so we have all the Bendy books there in the order they came out. Now I can pick them up to read far more easily. I would have more plushies here, but they all live in other parts of the room. Big ones go on the bed (plus Sammy), and little ones go in the beanbag chair. The two shoulder riders are just so small and actually stand upright, so I felt they worked best here.

I've never really had all my lil guys out like this before, it's nice. And of course, for the one non-Bendy portion, I had some fun. So earlier this year, I got the Rainbow High set that was Skyler's studio tools for fashion design for half off. I specifically wanted it so that my mini me doll would have a desk and art supplies, and it did not disappoint! As you can see, we're making good use of it, along with a couple of other doll accessories, like Neon Frights Draculaura's laptop, a Barbie teacup I found thrifting, my Sammy Lawrence Lego as a "doll for dolls", and even a Disney ILY 4Ever cupcake, because of course we need that. XD My cousin very graciously crocheted me this Mario mushroom, and I've been using it as both decor and a doll footstool, since it's a toadstool. X'''D I tend not to use a lot of my doll furniture, but now that I have a spot for it? I think I want to make an effort to play with it more. Like, I need to find where I put my kitchen set now. Clearly we need to have a doll dinner party. XD

[theowlwrites]

Shall we dance? // Bailamos?

Melissa Schemmenti x F!Reader

Cariño: Term of endearment, can be translated as honey/ dear/ darling.

~Just want to clarify that I love Mexican and Italian culture. 🫶🏽

Warnings: no physical description of reader, it is mention that her nationality is Mexican en 2 occasions, consumption of alcohol. Angst, fluff, and a little smut at the end?

Summary: Reader is the new Spanish teacher at Abbott, she goes to a celebration of 5 de Mayo at Barb’s house, were things turn interesting with Melissa.

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“Come on!” Janine was trying for the hundred time to convince you to go to this little get together at Barbara's house “It will be fun!”

Today was 5 de Mayo, and for some reason, in the States, they celebrated it. You have nothing against it, but back in México it goes like any other normal day. Despite that, seeing all the decorations with Mexican themes made you miss your home.

“I've already told you” You close the folder you were working on a look at her “I can't go, I already made some other plans”

The truth was that you didn't have any plans, you just don't feel part of the teacher group just yet. You are the new Spanish teacher at Abbot, just entered this year. Everyone has been nice to you, especially Janine and Jacob. You also have a good relationship with Gregory, but you aren´t really close. When it came to the older teachers, you have no issue talking to Barbara, she is really nice, she sometimes even asks you to help her with her Spanish. But Melissa, she was a different story, she isn´t exactly mean, but she likes to make clear that she preferred anything Italian over Spanish, and that Italian cuisine was better than the Mexican. You never argue, mostly because Melissa intimidates you, but not for the reason she intimidates the other younger teachers, but because you have the biggest crush on her.

So going to this 5 de Mayo party to Barbara's house looks like the perfect place for Melissa to tell you over and over again how Italians do it better. Not really something you are looking forward to.

“Leave the booze to me Barb, I know a guy that can get me the best tequila” At that moment Melissa and Barbara were entering the teacher’s room, interrupting you and Janine.

Barb looks directly to you, ignoring Melissa “Oh good, I was looking for you dear” She takes a sit next to you. “Please can you take care of the music? Maybe you can play some Spanish bangers in that Walkman of yours” She meant your Spotify. All eyes were on you know, making you feel the pressure. “You are coming… right?”

“You know Barbara… I… I don´t think I can make it, I have to...” You were avoiding looking at her, you couldn´t lie to her face, actually you couldn´t lie to anyone’s face, you were a terrible liar.

“Okay, what is it?” Melissa´s voice came from behind you, then she walked to your side and took a sit in front of you. “Why don´t you want to spend time with us?”  She had her glasses over her head, leaving a few strands of hair free next to her face, she was raising an eyebrow. She was looking hot.

“It´s not that” Your voice comes out weaker that you expected. “I don´t know, it makes me feel a little… homesick, I guess” It wasn´t entirely a lie, but you couldn´t tell the redhead that she makes you nervous to the point of almost forgetting how to speak English.

“Oh darling” You felt Barbs arm wrap your shoulders. Melissa was still looking at you, but this time with more gentle eyes that before “I can imagine how you feel, but I think this could do you good. You can show us a little bit more of your traditions, I would love to hear about that”

“Yeah girl… we can get to know each other a little bit more” Melissa winked and eye at you, which made your heart beat faster.

With a big sigh, you finally agree “Okay then, I´ll be there at five o´clock”

“You won´t regret it, amigo!” Janine says

“Amiga… with an a” You laugh.

“See you at five o clock then, dear. Don´t forget the music.” Barbara smiles, pleased that she convinced you to go and leaves the room with Janine. Leaving you with Melissa, who was still looking at you.

She stood up and grab her bag, carrying it on her shoulder. “See you soon… cariño” You were so glad that Melissa left immediately after saying those words, otherwise, she would have noticed how your face turned red as a tomato.

Later that day you were at home, putting together a playlist of spanish music. You added some ballads, some more mariachi music, and algo some dancing music, like salsa, cumbia and some bachata, just for fun.

At 5:15 pm you were standing outside Barbara´s house, you have already knocked twice and nobody answered. Maybe you had the location wrong, so you decided to call Janine, but just as you were going to press the call button, a voice from behind called you.

“Hey, cariño, it´s over here” Melissa was standing next to her car on the sidewalk, holding some bags that you assumed contained the tequila bottles. “This way”

You followed her to the back of the house, everyone was there, at the patio. No one was inside the house, that’s way nobody heard you knocking.

“Look what I found in your front door Barb” Melissa was referring to you, as she went straight to the table to settle the bottles. All eyes went to you, for second time in the day. Everyone was there already, with the exception of Ava, that preferred to stay at home watching Desperate Housewives than “going to that lame party” (her words). 

“I forgot to tell you we will be at the back. Anway, I´m very glad you came. You bring the music?” 

“Of course,” You proceed to connect you phone to the speaker and start reproducing your playlist.

“Now this is a fiesta!” Said Janine while trying to dance at the bit of one song.

You were standing next to the speaker, watching everyone enjoy the party. Barbara has offered you a plate of mini taquitos, that were actually really good. It was probably the music, the Mexican decoration and even the taquitos that made you feel nostalgic, so your mind started wondering through your childhood memories. All those parties with your family, how your father had taught you to dance in those parties, how you mom food tasted. You were so immersed in you thought that didn´t notice when the redhead went to stand right next to you.

“Penny for your thoughts” Her voice snapping you out from your own mind.

“I was just remembering some childhood stuff, that all” You didn’t dare to look at her eyes. And she noticed it, actually she had always notice it, how you would avoid looking directly at her. She always took those moments as opportunities to look at you with more detail. Melissa hadn´t admitted this to anyone, not even Barbara. but she thinks that you are very beautiful, she´s intrigued by you. She likes it when you speak Spanish, you make everything sound better. But she has no idea how to approach those feelings, so she decides to keep her distance too, by not being the nicest or most accessible teacher at Abott.   She wanted that to change, and she was going to start working in that today. 

“You know… I sometimes feel nostalgic of my home as well.” She drank from the plastic cup she was holding. “I have always lived in Philly, but I don´t see my family as often anymore, and we haven´t had a reunion or a party in so long… I miss that” You looked at Melissa. She was actually telling you something personal, without sarcasm. “But of course, it must be harder for you, being away from your country” She then looked you in the eyes.

“It´s not too bad” You were actually looking at Melissa´s eyes, for mor than 1 second, for the first time, and God they were beautiful, just as her. “I visit them once a year, and they sometimes come visit” There was a silence, both of you looking at everyone else enjoying the party.

“Would you like a paloma?” Melissa asked, with a mischievous grin.

“That´s what you are having?” She nodded. “Yeah, please”

Melissa served you a paloma (soda with tequila), and from that moment you never parted her side. Both of you kept talking, laughing, at some point you teaching her some Spanish, and she teaching you some Italian. It was probably the booze, but you started feeling how Melissa was getting more comfortable around you. She was being handsy, placing her hand around your arm, sometimes over your hand, and some other times around your waist. Soon she started leaning against you, caressing your hair, holding your waist longer. She was flirting. Neither of you were drunk drunk, you were still perfectly conscious and in you five senses, which made you very anxious but excited about this sudden change in Melissa´s attitude.

It was already 9:00 pm, Janine, Gregory and Jacob had already left, tomorrow was school day. Barbara, Melissa and you were sitting around the folding table in the middle of the patio. Your music still playing. The three of you has stop drinking like an hour ago, to sober up, and were just chatting. And even without the effects of the alcohol, Melissa was still being nice to you, maybe a little less handsy, but still very friendly.

Barbara excuse herself to go to the bathroom. A comfortable silence between Melissa and you, when a salsa began to play at the background.

“God, I love that salsa, I used to dance it all the times at parties, with anyone, even alone, I just wanted to dance it” You smile as you remember. Unconsciously you closed your eyes and started moving in your chair, humming the song. Unaware of the way Melissa was looking at you.

“Shall we dance?” You snap your eyes open. She offers you her hand to you, already standing up next to you.

“What?”

“Bailamos?” She repeats, and this time you nodded. She holds her hand until you are standing next to her. She places her free hand on your waist, keeping you close to her, while her other hand holds yours at the level of her face. And you start dancing.

It´s a slow salsa, so it is easy to dance, but you have the feeling that even if it was a faster rhythm, Melissa would dance like if she had done it all her life.

You feel Melissa´s eyes on you, she´s smiling. She moves her arm, so it surrounds your waist. The sudden closeness makes you lose your balance a little, Melissa holds you tighter, preventing you for falling. You both laugh.

Her face inches away from yours, her eyes going from your eyes to your lips. She caressed your cheek with her other hand, and pulls you closer, closing the space between you.

The kiss is sweet, slow. You both take your time to feel it, you enjoy it. Your arms around Melissa´s neck, keeping her close to you. Soon the kiss turns a little more heated, Melissa´s tongue asking for permission to pass your lips, to which you happily submit.

You still can taste a little bit the alcohol from earlier, and you taste the sweetness of Melissa.  Really there is no other way to describe it, it feels and taste sweet to be kissing her like this.

You break the kiss until you realize you need to take a breath, but not breaking the embrace. You are still so close to each other Melissa can basically fell how your heart is beating fast.

“I never thought Italians were this good at salsa dancing” That´s all you said, making Melissa laugh.

“We are good at everything darling, but you do it amazing yourself, cariño, give yourself some credit.” She kissed you again. “Let me drive you home.” Melisas whispered to your ear, you just nodded.

You both said goodbye to Barbara, not without offering to help her clean, to which she refused. Once inside Melisa´s car she couldn’t stop eyeing you, she kept a hand in your thigh. You couldn’t stop looking at her either, and honestly, if it wasn´t for the seatbelt, you would be on top of her long time ago.

You arrive home, Melissa opens your door, helping you out. And before she could say anything, you were kissing her. This time was passionate, full of desire and lust. Melissa was against the car, her hands on your hips. You were leaning on her, your hand on her hair.

“Come inside, please” You didn’t mean to sound do needy, but you couldn´t hide it.

“I would absolutely love it cariño, but tomorrow is school day, and I need another change if clothes. I just wanted to make sure you arrive safe and sound.” She was keeping her hands on your hips, but this time with a stronger grip, trying to create a little more space between you tow.

“Please” You took Melissa´s hands away from your hips, letting you lean to her once again. “Por favor” (please) You whispered to her ear. Now her arms were surrounding you shole waist. You started kissing her earlobe, descending to her neck. Melissa was in a trance. “Te necesito” (I need you)

“You are making this very difficult for me, cariño” Now it was Melissa´s voice the one that came out shaky, which made you feel proud.

“It doesn´t have to be difficult, you can just come in”.

“Let´s make a deal, hon… I promise that tomorrow I will be here, with a bottle of wine, and we can do whatever you want, but you have to promise to speak I little more Spanish to my ear, deal?” That mischievous grin was back on Melissa´s face, and you loved it.

“¿Te gusta cuando hablo español?” (Do you like when I speak Spanish?) You said as innocent as you could.

“I have no idea of what you just said, but keep doing that you will pay the price tomorrow”

“Trato… deal” You agreed. She kissed you once again, this time keeping it less heated and shorter. You took a few steps away from Melissa, trying to pull yourself together, and trying to ignore you soaked underwear. If Melissa wasn´t going to spend this night with you, you had some plans before going to bed, and as if she could read your mind, she added…

“Oh, and cariño… don´t touch yourself tonight, It will make tomorrow more fun” She winked her eye to you. It wasn’t a question; it was an order. “You can do that for me, right hon?” You really wanted to release all this tension tonight, but you couldn´t say no to Melissa.

“I promise” you said

“Good girl” She went inside her car. “See you tomorrow cariño, sleep tight” She left, leaving you horny as hell.

God, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow…

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Okay, so this idea pop into my mind while I was watching Shall we dance?, I really love that movie, and I love Lisa’s character. 🥹

Hope you like it, and let me know if you want a second part 🫣

[rainbowchaox]

Analysis of Pissa So Far.

This is a essay looking at our favorite death dads and how their relationship changed and their different nuances from to start to most recent. This will primarily look at the major three times we had Phil and Missa interact from the start with being paired for the eggs to recently the Mexican Independence Party. So bare with me and come with me down memory lane.

I rewatched day 1 of the pairing up of pissa to mainly cope with CERTAIN lore that happened recently. And yes it’s as fluffy and cute as I remembered. But let’s start at the beginning. Before the pairing up Missa and Phil knew of each other casually like acquaintances. In real life along with in general their characters/cubitos. (Again major thanks for the server in general bringing all these wonderful creators together.) Anyways the first time Phil met Missa was when he jumped off the wall and gave them food. I like to imagine missa had a non-serious crush on the man. But they didn’t really interact. And it’s fair to understand why.

But then the egg event happened. Which honestly in my opinion was the best event to bring the Spanish and English sides together organically. And looking back now it WORKED. So back on track everyone goes to the adoption center and like most Qsmp events it’s total chaos. Phil chooses his ticket and when I rewatched it Missa literally like spammed clicked it to break it and get Phil. Atleast that is what it looks like to me. So we already have the seeds of simp Missa from the very start. Also can we all take a break and just realize they both got tickets with D? And literally they are Deathduo? The more I rewatch the pairing lottery the more I think it was rigged by the admins and not actually by chance. Every duo either had similar humor or charm.

Immediately Phil and Missa find out they both have D. And it’s casual no romantic undertones the cubitos are still getting to know each other. But Missa being a sweetheart immediately is like you can choose whatever egg. And I think this is when Phil starts to soften and gets majorly endeared towards the clumsy reaper. Like not a crush. Not love. But the seeds of the adoration and love we see from Phil down the road. The fact of the matter Phil let Missa choose Chayanne name. The fact literally the newly formed death family was being fluffy and saying chayanne will be the best egg while literally everyone was screaming in the background. Its the main thing that would later define the dynamic of the ship. The gentle understanding and teamwork. That would later be a staple whether you ship them platonically or romantically.

And chayanne is the best way to show why pissa was meant to always work. Chayanne personality and hobbies all came from his two dads (Literally the reason chayanne was interested in cooking so much was because Missa taught him to cook). And like Phil once he was thrust into parenthood with Missa immediately found him endeared by his assigned husband? The amount of times he laughed because of Missa. Another theme so important to why pissa works so well.

Missa is Philzas calm balm. He relaxes Phil so much. And that’s so rare for that to happen. So of course a hour or so in taking care of their son. Phil visibly softens and gets endeared to the man. Phil immediately starts worrying about missa when he left. Missa may have fallen first but Phil fell harder. Like more time Phil spends with Missa the more comfortable and at ease he gets. Missa fully was like I have the best husband ever let me casually call you pet names.

Not to mention two popular scenes burned into the minds of fans. The moment when Mariana called Phil my love and tried to steal him. And Phil being Phil immediately was I’m okay with my partner thank you very much. And both Missa and Phil cuddled close. I still think Missa fell day 1 but Phil was quickly getting a crush on his assigned husband. Secondly Phil literally invited Missa to bed.

Their dynamic was one of like relaxation of trust and just both trying their best for Chayanne. They easily slid into a cute dynamic as both got endeared to the others. And also in day 1 Phil never said platonic it’s only after day 1 he started using that. And only when he wasn’t with Missa. He is a repressed romantic guy struggling with a crush. Not to mention the crows practically grew so attached to Missa it was insane to see.

Anyways like most couples they had to both take care of chayanne until Missa canonically got kidnapped by wolves for four months. During the time Missa was there he was pining HARD for Phil. Calling him his love and darling in Spanish. Phil meanwhile keep saying it was platonic and most of the fans accepted that. But then Missa was gone.

And cubito Phil missed him so fucking much. It’s at this point I fully believe is when Phil finally realized he loved him. He kept referencing Missa. He made armor for Missa. He dyed his backpack black with a skull because of Missa. It’s truly my belief that Philza realized he fucking adored the man in Missas absence. He never gave up waiting for Missa. And Missa eventually kept his promise and came back to his family.

And this is when you see some of nuance or facets change slightly in their dynamic. The core is the same all the way back from day 1 but it does change. It somehow becomes softer and domestic. Sure Philza even before his grand realization in Missa absence SPOILED missa. Missa made him soft. But when the reunion happened? Somehow Philza softens even more. Somehow he spoils Missa even more. This is why I believe that Philza finally realized he loves Missa. Because there is a clear increase in the affectionate displays between them.

Philza and the rest of the server went on the mission once Missa appeared. It was legit like Philza forgot that he was a mission. Philza when Missa appeared immediately softened so much. Of course Philza isn’t angry he’s gone. He just missed his husband. And voila once asked by Cellbit “oh this is your husband?!” He immediately agreed. This is important because for months if someone asked about who is Missa he would always and never fail to say Missa is his platonic partner/husband.

But in the reunion Philza just said husband. Because in my opinion Philza fully thought of Missa his romantic partner. The fact that Philza showed everyone including Missa the skull on the black backpack almost like a bird showing off his feathers. And Missa was immediately all gushy. The fact he only looked at Missa when he said you can go into my boat. And felps not realizing the sorta of energy the two of them was having immediately was cursed to be a third wheel.

Like literally felps was in the back of the boat being all “just ignore that I’m here” when literally Philza and Missa were lost in their own fucking world. Gently flirting with each other. Felps was regretting majorly getting in the boat with them so no wonder he bounced as soon as possible. And literally they were left by themselves still on a mission to save people. But I won’t lie it was a date.

Just them loving in each other company. And Philza being so gentle and loving and protective towards Missa. Their dynamic at their core is the same yes. But it’s undeniably more romantic. And Missa side of the dynamic also changes. He starts trying his best to protect Philza. The man who has from the start been protecting him and their son.

Missa slowly starts to become more brave and actually comments on how attractive Phil is in front of him. (I can see your pecs….yes Missa we get it you love Phil). They are closer than ever. Phil also immediately accepts Missa as Tallulah other dad. Do you guys know how massive that is? He trusts and loves Missa so darn much to let him easily be part of his whole family.

And eventually Missa had to go for a bit. But the amount of pissa interaction we get during the renuion stream doesn’t end. We have loads more to dissect. Missa comes back in hope to see his son and new daughter but sadly they were sleeping but later on despite showing Tubbo around. Once he saw Missa was whispering to him in chat immediately left as soon as possible to get to his husband. Also Cellbit who was with him and tubbo was immediately like “oh you need to help your husband understandable” while tubbo was just like so confused.

Meanwhile before this Missa was crying wanting to go back to Phil. Phil is his safety blanket. Phil never fails to make him feel safe and secure and protected. There’s reasons why Missa fell so quickly. And they met up. And to bring up my earlier point above. What Phil does nest is one of my primarily reasons why I believe Phil fully realizes he loves Missa.

Yes Phil spoils Missa. It’s his love lanuage but all the gifts and upgrades he did late at night (which Phil made a mission to give stuff to Missa before he logged off.) and even the armor he made so long ago. The amount of spoiling and pampering just screams love, adoration, and affection.

And of course they get sorta matching backpacks. And of course Missa says he loves him so fast so the translator doesn’t pick it up. This leds to when Missa showed up by himself had a loony toon day before being called out by roier. He fully says he loves Philza. LOVES PHILZA. TE AMO. Romantic.

Most of the fans knew because just look how Missa acted. But once it was confirmed Missa feels romantic feelings for Philza? That’s when the majority starting fully accepting them as romantic soulmates. And started seeing Philza actions how they are. Romantic. (Though if you prefer them as platonic that’s also very valid).

The only reason a pissa wedding or confession haven’t happened is because Missa loves Philza so much he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable or burden him with his feelings for him. If philza said let’s get married he would accept immediately. But knowing Phil he will say nothing about loving Missa because he is scared he won’t be able to be protect.

And more recently. The Mexican Independence Day party. I won’t lie the times they were together they were always flirting. They were so cute. And both in my eyes were getting brave with their love for the other in their own ways. Missa literally screaming VIVA TE AMO on stage when Roier said Philza. Or Philza making sure he follows Missa during the dance. The fact Philza was so gentle explaining the recent egg disappearance and made a comment of being shock that Missa came back (he misses Missa so much each time he is gone.).

And their dynamic switches slightly again. Because Phil the whole time was worried and hovering around Missa when ingesting everything lore at once. And Missa is again getting brave he fully said he going on a date with Phil. It’s romantic. There’s no way I can personally can see it otherwise (though again if you like them platonic you are hella valid). At the start there was seeds but their romance has grown. They love each other. They need to confess for my sanity. And I fully trusts that Missa will have some sort of role in saving his love. And maybe perhaps we can get a confession or wedding in the future-

[billiebustupofficial]

Hi, I really love Billy Bust Up and it's cute and beautiful art style, and the songs of the characters but I been wondering since a while. Since Barnaby love parties would he celebrate "Día de muertos" You know cause the thematic of this party it's to celebrate the memories of the death ones and if he don't celebrate it I would recommend him to celebrate it 💖

Also I'm from Mexico so I would not take this like a cultural apropiation. 💘🇲🇽

So we do have a lot of Mexican inspired stuff in our game as the lead writer and character designer, Ash Ortiz, is Mexican! They wanted to add a piece of their home and culture into the game. It’s why they added an Axolotl character. Aristotles tent area also has a lot of meso american themes behind the environmental design.

There was a point in Barnabys design that he was coloured to look like a alebrije, so I imagine he would love Día de los Muertos.